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NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 26 May 2003 07:17:46 -0500
From: Rachael Ross <rache18us@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Weekend (rache18us@yahoo.com) M/F, Rom, BDSM, Oral, Anal, Asphyxia, Snuff, True
Date: Mon, 26 May 2003 17:10:06 -0400
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Disclaimer: I wrote this story and it is a true story as best I
recalled at the time of writing. Oh, the descriptions of some events
might be less or more accurate, but the emotions are what I was
worried about. I wanted to remember exactly how I felt. So I wrote it
a few days later. Don't steal this, it won't do you any good. It'll
still always be my story. My experience. You're just out of luck. Keep
away from minors, intended for adults.

Written in Seattle 2001

****Warning: There is an extreme snuff scene on Sunday!!****
(But we're safe Friday and Saturday)

Originally posted as a 3-part serial in BFG Newsletter

---------------------------------

Weekend

Part 1: Friday
By Rachael

Friday, July 20th. I'm on my way north, watching the rolling hills and
forests and distant mountains pass slowly by. Exit 192 goes by,
Everett. I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, Paul was very nice,
sometimes, and sometimes he was a bastard. He called me, remember? I
haven't been with anyone since March, since Paul dropped me off and
left leaving angry words hanging in cold Seattle air. Is this the
right thing?

Exit 234, Mount Vernon. It's getting dark now, I'm fidgeting in my
seat. I hate long drives, I hate being the passenger. Why don't I want
to drive? Everybody drives. Buses are so slow, stopping 4 times
already. The guy behind me keeps trying to talk to me, he's going to
Bellingham too. He wants me to move my big canvas bag so he can sit
next to me. So he can put his hand on my knee and tell me how pretty
girls shouldn't be traveling alone.

But I've been traveling alone. Occasionally sticking out my thumb and
getting picked up by men like Paul. Still alone though, still
wondering what it would feel like to be a person instead of a thing. I
know why he called, he wants to put his hand on my knee and tell me
I'm sorry. Not him, what does he have to be sorry about? Fucking
Jackie? That was my fault wasn't it? That's what he told me in March,
if I wasn't so messed up. If I wasn't a case. If If If ... There were
so many that night. If is the middle word in life, someone said. What
a joke. If is the middle word in knife.

In the mountains now, twisting turning pushing everyone one way and
then the other. Little shoves to remind us we're out of control,
depending always on someone else. Our fathers, our boyfriends,
strangers who bring us into the arms of love. No illusions there, I
don't love Paul. He doesn't love me. I know why I'm going and it's
killing me inside. I hate myself. I want to see him, I want to feel
him like before, inside me. Loving me, hurting me, hating me for the
things I ask him to do. Hate and love, black and white. There is no in
between. Grey is when we do what we hate because we love it. And the
other way too.

Exit 256, Bellingham. The guy behind starts talking again. Where am I
going, what am I doing, do I want to have some fun, do I like to
party, do I need a ride somewhere...On and on. Maybe I should have
just given him a blowjob so he'd leave me alone. Fuck. My heart is
pounding, for Paul, of all people. I look out the windows as the bus
pulls into the parking lot but I don't see him. A little panic, what
if he's not here? I don't know anyone, do I? Another long slow bus
ride back? But I know he'll be there, he broke up with Jackie, he's
got nobody else and I'm the lucky one who gets to pick up his bruised
ego. What am I doing here?

Paul's here, smiling, smoking, waving, watching as I walk over to him.
he takes my bag off my shoulder, "Hi" says he. leaning down to give me
a kiss. I turn my face and give him a cheek, he takes it but his eyes
say "Is it like this now?" We get in the car and driving again,
watching the town go by. He tells me he's missed me, he never should
have let me go, he made a mistake and he's so so so very happy I've
come up to give him another chance. I don't say very much, but he
looks good. Tall, dark, he shaved off his beard and mustache, he looks
better. He tells me I'm too thin, been hanging around those anarchists
too long, he says. Eating grass and saving the planet. Little does he
know, it can't be saved. He's asking me about Greg, a little jealous,
but not too much. It's enough to make me ask about Jackie though, he
knows that's a fight so he smiles and says Jackie who? It's like I
never left.

His apartment is clean, cleaner than I remember. I flop on his couch
and he gets us beer. I hate beer but I'm thirsty. I get a pill out of
my purse, I wait until he's there I want him to see it. What's that,
he asks. I swallow it down and tell him its birth control. Oh, well,
okay...Yada yada ya...He lights a cigarette and turns on his radio, I
look at his desk, a little thing from Ikea. The Power of Myth? Kind of
deep for him, I think. Paul is 26, grad student at WWU working in the
Sociology Department. Trying to understand people. Good luck I think,
he can't even figure me out. How's he gonna deal with some cult in
ancient Peru?

He's sitting on the couch and I can't help it. I walk over and sit
down next to him, just like I used to do and he puts his arm around,
just like before. I forget what time it is, what day it is. What month
and year all I can remember is that I've been here before. His hand is
on my breast, rubbing my bra through my blouse while my hand is on his
thigh. How did I get so horny? What am I doing here? I feel his penis
growing hard and I unzip his jean while he lifts his hips, I pull them
down. I know what he likes, the way it always starts. His fingers in
my hair, pushing me, urging my mouth down to his cock. I close my eyes
and feel him inside my mouth again, hard and hot and so delicious. 

Later, how long? Maybe 15 minutes, maybe more. I am swallowing his
semen, sucking him as it slides down my throat. I haven't tasted him
for so long, it's a surprise how much I've missed it. His hand is
inside my blouse, inside my bra, squeezing my small breast, pinching
my nipples while he cums. It must have been awhile for Paul, just like
it's been for me. I'm already wet and wishing his hands would go
lower. Fuck I missed this, half an hour after getting to his place and
I start sucking him like he owns me. Where's my collar? 

Paul gets up and puts away his cock, he's just looking at me. My face
is a mess and I have my hand between my legs. He just laughs. Just
like old times he says, but he's got plans for tonight, dinner and a
party. My pussy can wait, yeah just like old times. He likes to keep
me hungry, that's his thing, keep a girl hungry he says and she'll do
anything you want. My cunt is on fire and he won't do anything now
except get ready, he tells me I can have the bathroom first. What a
gentleman. I shower and wonder why the hell he doesn't have a tub. I
dry off and get dressed in the living room while he washes his face
and changes. I decide to call my Dad, just to say I'm okay but he's
not home. Must have been waiting a month to get me out of the house.
He won't be back until Sunday, probably 15 minutes before me. Fuck.

I'm already feeling down. It's happening and I know it and I can't do
anything about it. Paul's the same, different face but still the same.
I dig a pin out of my purse, it's stuck through the side and I pull it
out, pressing it through my nipple. It feels good like that, it takes
my mind off things. Off wanting to fuck so badly I can taste it. I put
my blouse on, leaving the pin where it is. It'll be messed up, blood
spots my blouse a little but it's dark blue it'll be okay. It catches
on the material too and that's gonna suck all night but I don't want
to take it out. my nipple is hard, and the soft rayon sliding over it
is like a little torture. I decide to do the other one just as Paul
comes out buttoning his shirt.

"Jesus." that's all he says and he watches me push the needle through
my other nipple, through about an inch of my tit where the areole
starts and ends. I gasp and frown and stare at it I love it and I can
see Paul watching. He knows I do this, he's done it, but maybe he
forgot. I don't say anything and he doesn't either. I put my blouse on
and button it. My clit is hard.

Watching the night go by. It's late but I'm hungry. We talk about
people we both used to know. Now only one of us knows them, my friends
and his friends. Some people will be happy to see us together again
and I'm looking forward to the party. Paul is being nice, but he keeps
looking at my breasts, the little drops of black on dark blue. I can
feel him with my toes, he's hard and I push against his penis with my
foot under the table. I am hungry but not for food. We're having
steak, Black Angus, it's good and bloody and I play with the knife. I
feel like stabbing it between my legs. Screaming at him to do it and
take me and make me pay for coming all the way up here just for this.
It doesn't make sense, nothing in my head is clear. I need a new drug.
But all I have is the knife and my knuckles are turning white. I stare
at the blood on my plate. I feel like a cannibal.

We leave and we still talk. He's all about changing his life and how
much it means to him that I've come back. I never left, doesn't he
know that? I sit in my room night after night and I think about him.
I've talked to him, slept with him, died for him over and over. His
small talk makes me want to bash my head against the window. You can't
change your life, I tell him. You can only watch as it unfolds. It's
defeatist and he tells me. I know it too, I just want to argue with
him. It's all preordained, all of it written and rehearsed a thousand
times before this night. He asks me how I know and I tell him. I'm
sitting here, aren't I?

What does that mean?

I look at him and watch him light a cigarette. I wished I smoked. I
wished I had something like that to keep me company. but all I have
are pins in my breasts and I touch one with my fingers. It doesn't
hurt anymore, That's what people don't know. It only hurts for a
little bit and then you need more. Like morphine it takes more and
more and it has to be bigger and better or it doesn't matter.

Is that supposed to mean if you had a choice you wouldn't be here?

I turn away. I don't know what it means. But I won't give him the
satisfaction. I remember an email I sent someone this morning, it had
some poems in it. It had my Elvis poem. I ask Paul if he ever read my
poetry, he hasn't. I wouldn't show it to someone I knew personally up
close and in the biblical sense. It's not safe showing that much to
someone, is it? Paul has seen every part of me outside. He's seen me
bleed and he's seen me cry. He's left me stone cold dead inside while
he fucks a friend I used to have. But he never read my poems. The
thought comforts me.

Nothing to say about the party. It was the same as it used to be. Some
people asked me how I was, like a cancer patient on leave from the
hospital. I told them "fucking great" and some people just ignored me.
So what. Professor Linski was there, he accepted my application once a
long time ago and then I rejected him and his department. That was in
March. He didn't talk to me. I should be flattered I'm sure, what an
arrogant ass. March was such a good month, Jackie wasn't there. No
surprise, she wouldn't be. No sense in it she couldn't gloat anymore,
she was cold too. I kept Paul close all night. His arm around me, it
was the deal. If I was alone for 3 minutes I told him, I was leaving.

Finally back at his place. I didn't wait, I took of my blouse and
pushed to more needles in, little silver X's in my breasts. I sat
there on his couch, looking at Paul while I pushed the sharp pleasure
through me. There was a little more blood and I rubbed it around my
stiff nipples. I spread my legs for him. He's hungry too, he hasn't
hit anyone since me, Jackie would cut his balls off. That's why he
left me, remember? Because I'm so used up. He told me he was down in
the fire too long with me. Making him insane. But now he wants it, as
bad as me even. He wants to remember the little things like feeling
strong. Like being in control.

He takes off his shirt and his pants, slipping his belt out of the
loops. Turn over he says and I do, I get on my knees on the cushions
and put my hands on the wall. I look at my fingers, red from blood and
pressed against the cool white paint. I wish he would nail my hands to
the wall, just like they are. My pussy is soaked and I want to be held
where I am, unable to move. I turn my head to tell him, to ask him if
he has a hammer, some nails. But he's not looking at me, he's ignoring
me. He's ripping my panties off, digging his fingers in a little hole
he made and shredding them. It feels good.

He's going to whip me, just like before. Just like always he's going
to do it and make me ask him to do it harder and faster and more
always more. I'll beg him to do it until I can't feel anything except
the burning inside. He's swinging the belt and it hurts, oh God it
hurts so much. My eyes are squeezed shut and water is being squeezed
out my nose is runny, snot running in my panting mouth. I push against
the wall as hard as I can because if I don't I'll let go and try to
stop him and I don't want him to stop. I concentrate on that cold wall
and the fire on my skin, welts rising, blisters, blood bruises black
and yellow and beautiful. He whips the back of my thighs and up,
across my cheeks and up to my back, over and over. I'm quiet at first,
then little grunts and then moans and then high pitched squeals and
then finally screaming as I feel myself needing it. I'm going to cum,
my pussy is sucking at the emptiness inside. I need it a touch, a
kiss, a penetration to complete the journey.

When Paul stops I have already collapsed, crying, holding myself.
Hugging my arms around me while I shake. It is a moment of clarity of
knowing, pain has driven away everything else but the want to be
taken. The fire licking my skin grows more intense, the whipping was
nothing, it's the afterwards. The time when my body tries to heal,
when nerves become awake and the flesh is alive. I'm on my side when
Paul enters me, he pushes his hardness inside me fast and hard, but I
am so wet and ready I feel nothing but pleasure. It's what I need, he
slaps my ass, and rubs it, tracing his fingers along the welts. he's
slamming into me, making me cum for him, trying to drown his cock in
my need. He lifts my leg, holding it up against his chest, my foot
beside his face so he can look down at me and see himself moving in
and out.

I'm shaking, biting my lip and moaning loudly. His fingers on my
wounds, teasing me, burning me. he's driving inside and I feel my cunt
stretching around him. I've wanted this for so long, dreamt of it.
Paul reaches down, digging for clit so he can pinch it. Pull it. Make
me scream again because it's so sensitive. And then finally, at last,
I am cumming. Paul fills me with his sperm and holds himself inside
me, driving his warmth to meet my own. I just lay there, letting it
happen. I feel so tired, so exhausted. I haven't the strength to move
and he picks me up. Bringing me to bed.  

++++++++++++++++++

Part 2: Saturday
by Rachael


Saturday July 21. I have dreamed. Like always and it is moving away
from me. Clear thoughts, which a moment before made wonderful magical
sense, are now jumbled and confused. I don't know where I am, I keep
my eyes closed. I can feel pain, between my legs, across my back. Oh
yes, last night. It comes back in bits and pieces. Remembering and
wanting to remember. I feel the need to use the bathroom, my bladder
is pushing me to get up. But I don't want to. I don't want to move.

I'm on my side, facing the edge of the bed, eyes opening against the
dim light. I can see a picture on the wall. A photograph of a lily,
white and black. Robert Mapplethorp. It looks like a ghost, virginity
lost I think. A memory caught forever on glossy matt finish. Behind me
Paul is asleep, but not totally. I can feel him, hard again, the way
he was when I fell asleep. His penis is pushing against me, between my
thighs and it feels good. I used to hate waking up and feeling him
aroused when I was not. I used to hate a lot of things, until I didn't
have them anymore.

I shift and feel a thousand little pains rising through my body. But
it reminds me of what I want, what I always want. I feel Paul moving,
asleep? A reflex to my own discomfort? Or is he waking, feeling the
heat of my sex so near his own? I want to use the bathroom, clean
myself. But I want him to use me too, I want to feel him before I have
to face myself in the mirror. I hate looking at my face. The too wide
mouth and narrow eyes. I'm suspicious of myself. My thoughts are so
obvious to me, I wonder how it is I can bear to see anyone else. I
push back a little, lifting my leg so that his cockhead comes in
contact with my sex. Paul's arm moves  over me, sliding down to cup my
breast. The needles are gone I realize and it makes me a little sad.
he squeezes me softly and I feel his hips move, pushing slowly inside
me. I'm dry at first and it is uncomfortable, but inside I'm wet and
it feels nice.

We make love like that, very slowly. I can feel the dull throb of my
bruises. And the sharp tiny flashes that never quite disappear
whenever his body touches the long welts, which criss-cross my thighs
and butt. It is a sensation I enjoy, I've missed it. He's moving
inside me, deliberately pulling almost completely out and then sliding
back as deeply as possible. My nipple is between his fingers and his
mouth is in my hair, on my neck. He's breathing me. And I close my
eyes, feeling the pressure in my bladder, wondering if he feels it
too. It will be a long time before he will cum, I know it. I've been
here before, marathon morning sex. I start moving myself against him,
I can't help it. My body does as it will, I try to remember my dream
while my senses are slowly overwhelmed by his touch and kiss and smell
and sound. Only the darkness is mine, eyes shut to the pain and
pleasure.

How long? 10 minutes? 15 or 20? Of slow delicious fucking. I'm jamming
my pussy back on him, impaling myself over and over again. I can't
cum, that lofty plateau isn't mine this morning. But it's wonderful
anyway, I enjoy it. The feeling of being one with somebody else. He's
wrapped around me, his strong thigh over mine. His arms around me,
pulling my to rest on his shoulder as he pushes endlessly in and out.
I have to pee, I tell him softly, in a whisper. And at first I think
he hasn't heard me, or that I said it only into the darkness. But he
relents, he holds himself inside me and it's okay. A slight moan and a
little chuckle, so does he.

We both go into the bathroom, into the shower. It is small and tight
and glass. He turns on the water and his hardness is pressed against
my tummy. His hands slide down to cup my ass, squeezing them in a
moment of beautiful pain. I have my arms around him too and he kisses
me as the hot spray streams over our bodies. I let my bladder go,
unashamed. My urine splashes out in a heavy stream, mostly between my
thighs, but some on him, being washed away. Down the drain, I didn't
even notice it. He pulls me close, and his tongue is thick in my mouth
as he lets his own body release, a stream of heat against my body,
washing between us and gone forever, forgotten.

He turns me around, stroking himself. he bends his knees, positioning
his still hard manhood at me anus.  No, I don't want it there. Not
now. I want it in me, inside my womb. I turn my head to look at him,
as he works the head back and forth, pushing upward. No, I say.
Please, not yet, not now. he looks at me and smiles. I know he thinks
it's just a game. Another one of my lies. I've lied so much, so many
times. Just to get what I want. The head is right at my tightness, he
reaches around me, grabbing my breasts and digging his fingers into
them. Hurting them, taking great fistfuls of my body and twisting
cruelly. I put my hands on the wall and cry out. It hurts, it's not
what I want! No! I scream it and I try to pull away, but I can't. He
rams his cock inside me, raping me suddenly and I feel my body tearing
as he enters.

This is what he wants. What he thinks I want. The pain is searing,
like being ripped inside. My tits are being ripped off and I'm
screaming, reaching around, over my head, trying to scratch his face,
push him away. But it's no use, the hot water pours over us as he
thrusts again, deeper, splitting me with his strength. I cry out and
feel like something is broken inside me. A sharp pain like a knife
twisting in my guts. He starts fucking me, raping me while I just hang
there. His hands hold me up. I'm impaled on his cock and I can't tell
if I'm crying because the water keeps running into my eyes.

Paul pushes me up, against the wall. It feels cold against my face and
breasts and stomach as he drives his cock into my ass. He's going to
cum fast now, I hold on to that thought, waiting for him to finish.
I'm sobbing, my breath is pushed out with every push inside. I grab
the hot metal showerhead above me and hang onto it. Pulling on it as I
feel my body yielding finally, letting him slide in and out faster,
more easily. Be over quickly, please, just do it. I keep begging him,
silently. Out loud. I don't know. My eyes are closed again and I feel
his hands on my back and neck. Shoving me against that wall. Smashing
me while he uses me. I'm not a person anymore.

Finally his cock spills it's useless life into my ass. He grunts and
groans and squeezes my neck with his hand, pressing my face against
the wall while his balls empty inside me. I hate right then. Not just
him but me too. It's like before. The illusion of love is torn away.
Washed away, spilling down my thighs and into nothing when Paul pulls
out of me. I don't move, just stay like that. Like he was still
pushing me, keeping me in the corner while he washes himself. Paul
touches me, with soft soapy hands. But I shrug him away, no. He steps
out without a word, sliding the glass door behind him. Separating us.
I stay like that for awhile and then I sit down. But it hurts. The
welts and bruises from the night before. The pain inside from being
sodomized. I put a finger to my anus, pushing it inside slightly, away
from the falling water. And it comes out red with blood and smeared
with semen.

After. It's almost noon he made me breakfast. Like nothing happened.
I'm supposed to be oh so happy he made me feel hurt so good. I look at
myself in the mirror. I hate myself because I won't leave. I hated
what he did but I didn't hate it as much as being alone. I look at my
body in the mirror, turning so I can see my back. I'm black and blue
and there are places where the skin is gone, little spots that leave
blood when I touch it gently with the towel. My breasts are bruised, a
little. Only a little and I can see his fingers, all 10 imprinted on
my body. And now I do what I hate the most. I lay down and masturbate.
The door is locked and he's yelling because my eggs are getting cold.
But I want to cum. I remember last night and this morning and it's
good. I remember everything and run my hands along the back of my
thighs as I finger myself. I'm going to cum I just need a push. I just
need to remember something, what he did. How he took me making me take
it. yessss...I am cumming, spilling my wetness between my fingers. I
suck them, licking them clean, thinking and remembering the way he
used me.

I hate that.

After lunch Paul takes me shopping. The mall, Belles Fair. He missed
me and he wants to prove it. You already did I say and he laughs.
Yeah, but he wants to give me something. It's hard for me to sit,
everyway I try is uncomfortable. I end up riding on my hands and he
thinks that's funny. We talk about my doctor and my meds and my group
he wants to know if anything is different. Obviously not. I let him
rape me, sane people don't do that do they? I took a Prozac and
another birth control with my orange juice. It makes me want to throw
up. I just look out the window. Why did I come? This morning I knew.
And last night. But here in the daylight I want to go home.

At the mall I follow him sullenly. My spirit is hiding, I watch my
feet move and feel the tug of his hand. Paul is becoming angry, his
fingers tight. He's been so excited, waiting to show me something. But
I'm ignoring it and he doesn't like it. My body hurts, I feel myself
walking differently, the muscles in my ass sore, aching and it feels
like everyone can tell. I don't want to see those people. I don't want
them to see me. I wonder how it is we got here. How did I ever come
out of the shower, out of the bed? 

Paul is leading me to a jewelry store. Brilliant glass treasure chests
blazing with wants. I'm afraid to look, It makes me feel worse. Even
more plain and undesirable. I have 5 pieces of jewelry that are mine.
A small gold cross on a chain and 4 earrings. All the rest belonged to
my mother, I don't wear them. Paul is talking to the saleswoman, I
look at her out of the corner of my eye. She looks clean,
business-like. I wonder if she has scars. She looks fake and I forget
her. Watching the way my dozen shadows in various shades of gray dance
when I move. So many lights, nothing to hide here.

I hear someone, asking me to look at something. But I just stand
there. Paul's voice is strained, he's embarrassed and that cheers me a
little. The saleswoman is patient, she's seen everything. Even little
girls who don't want to be spoiled. And that's what I feel like, I
stick my lower lip out a little, enjoying my new self-image. Paul
sighs and finally buys whatever it is he's looking at. He shoves the
small blue box in my face and I look away. I just want to go, I say,
I'm sorry. He doesn't say anything, he just drags me through the mall
and out, into the parking lot. It's starting to rain lightly. And Paul
starts asking me what's wrong with me. It's just like before, he says.
I haven't changed, he says. It's not his fault, it's mine. He never
knows how to please me, when I want what I want. He can't figure it
out. Welcome to the club, I say.

The day is all messed up. I start thinking about it on the way home.
Home? Is it really home? It felt like it before, it's so easy to say.
We haven't really talked about anything yet. I don't want to bring it
up. I want to go home tomorrow, I just don't know if he'll let me. I
start telling him I'm sorry. And I mean it because I don't know what's
going on. Why I act like this. I slide over on the seat, the pain in
my ass and thighs reminds me of last night. And how much I needed what
he gave me. I put my head against Paul's arm and tell him I just don't
feel well, I want to go home and relax. Make it up to him. He puts his
arm around me, it's what he wants to hear. He wants to believe me and
so do I.

My mind is changing, like it always does. It frustrates me. Angers me
sometimes because I have no control. And if it's bad for me it's worse
for the people around me. Paul's forgotten I think. But it's coming
back.

He tells me he's sorry about this morning. he thought I wanted it, he
doesn't understand sometimes that no really does mean no. I kiss him
and tell him it doesn't. No never means no, Paul. I rub his cock
through his pants and he laughs. He says someday he's going to kill me
because I say no once too often. The thought thrills me and I ask if
that's a promise. His hard cock is throbbing and he doesn't say
anything and neither do I. It's okay now, I feel better. I ask him
what's in the box and he tells me now I have to wait.

In his apartment everything is quiet. It is dark inside and I like it.
Dark thoughts fill my head and I want no light to ruin my new mood.
I'm on the couch, a stripe of vertical light coming between the
curtains over my shoulder. Paul tells me to undress, he wants to give
me my present. I don't know what it is, jewelry I suppose. I take off
my blouse and bra, my skirt and panties. I am naked, rubbing my hand
along the rough lines on my butt. I love the way they feel. Paul gets
my pins from where he put them last night. He doesn't say anything, he
hands me the box while he starts sucking on one of my nipples. It gets
hard fast. So fast, it's aching. I open the box, it's earrings. Golden
hoops as big around as my thumb, with small pearls, shaped like tears
hanging from each one. They're simple and beautiful.

Do you like them, he asks me and I have to say yes. I do like them. I
take one out and hold it as he pushes the long silver pin through the
hard little nub of my nipple. It is a long sharp sensation, one I
never tire of and it's better this time because someone else is doing
it. I spread my legs, and my cunt glistens in the thin ray of light.

Paul takes the earring from my fingers and pulls it apart, a thin
round curve which slides almost effortlessly through the new hole in
my nipple and into a curving hollow on the other side, closing itself.
I am pierced. He repeats it on my other breast and I have to smile. It
is so simple, so nice. Pearl tears, like drops of pale milk leaking
from my breasts. Only the tiny drops of blood remain, and even that
isn't very much at all.

I want him so bad, inside me. The urge to run is long gone, melted
away by whatever chemicals my brain produces at random. Now I feel the
need again and so does he. But he wants more, he tells me I have to
pay for those earrings. For being a bitch today at the store. I know
he's right, I always deserve to be punished. I long for it.

He leaves me, flicking at my new treasures and pulling them, feeling
my tits stretching. I pull them up, lifting my small breasts and I
wish the rings were steel. A vision of being pulled off my feet by
them makes my body shiver. It's a delicious thought and I pull them
hard, until I'm afraid I'll break the thin gold rings.

Paul returns. he has brought rope with him, white nylon and soft,
supple. He ties my hands, tightly behind my back. And then again at
the elbows, pulling them together painfully. I can feel my shoulder
blades moving, cracking as they strain. It is wonderful, arching my
back and pushing my decorated tits out.

He ties another, shorter length of rope around my neck. A slipknot he
can pull tightly, he pushes me onto the floor so that I am on my knees
with the right side of my face on the carpet. He fingers my sex as he
talks to me, telling my how beautiful I am. How sexy I am. He wants me
to be his good girl, to let him do what he wants. I'm moaning and
saying yes over and over, agreeing to anything. My pussy is wet and
hot and hungry for him.

He tells me has to punish me. he doesn't want to, but he has to. Do I
understand? I am moaning, his fingers sliding in and out of me. My
pierced nipples sliding across the rough carpeting, my shoulders
aching. I can't answer him fast enough and he punches me in my cunt.
His fist smashing into my sex, hard. Everything is blinding bright,
pain flashes through me like lightening and I can't breath. He yanks
the rope, pulling me up by the noose around my neck and my scream is
cut off even as it starts.

I can't feel anything but the sharp pain between my legs that doesn't
end. Even the blood suddenly pounding in my head, unable to escape is
nothing compared to it. My chest heaves, my lungs feel heavy, bloated.
I'm shaking and I feel his body behind me, holding me on my knees,
choking me, killing me. Everything is going dark, even the pain.

And suddenly I can breath, the dull gray light is coming back and I
heave, like trying to vomit the stale air from my body. I'm coughing
and it hurts. My sex, my chest, my head, everywhere all at once. I'm
laying on the carpet again, saliva pooled beneath my lips and I
realize I passed out. Unconscious with no idea for how long.

Let's try it again, he says. Tell me you deserve this. That you want
it. My voice is a croak, a whisper. I want it. Paul yanks the rope,
And? My lips move, but nothing comes out except a hacking cough. He
punches me again, driving his fist into my exposed vagina, smashing it
against my pubic bone and this time he doesn't need to pull the rope.
I don't remember anything except the explosion of pain.

And waking up again, my body a mass of pain. Everywhere, all at once.
I scream and it feels good to scream. Paul pulls the rope and tells me
to be quiet. The silky soft rope cuts off my air quickly and I am
pulled a foot or more off the floor, my mouth open and nothing coming
out. Inside my head it is loud, primal. Screaming endlessly against
the pain. He drops the rope enough so my face hits the carpet, my nose
filling with blood suddenly. I can feel it running down my open lips,
into my mouth as I breath in. And in the back of my throat, leaking
behind my tongue.

Paul's cock is hard and he pushes it into my flaming sex. A sharp pain
to give the brilliant throbbing a point of focus. He rams deep inside
me and I feel as if it's a knife, cutting through me. He can't believe
how wet I am and he fucks me hard, getting his body up on mine. His
hands are on my shoulders, another sharp pain and cracking sound as
they move to places they've never been. Paul is driving me, and
underneath it I feel good. 

The pain is wonderful, like a white line I've just crossed. I'm
rewarded with my aching cunt stretching around Paul, trying to hold
him inside. The knife in my womb makes me moan. I swallow blood and
taste it, an earthy taste like nothing else in the world. I'm trying
to push back against him, but I can't move. I can only lay there while
he fucks me.

I feel an orgasm, a confusing mix of pleasure and pain.
Indistinguishable. My body is collapsed, laying flat on the floor
while Paul straddles my thighs, working himself in and out of my
bruised and bleeding body. He feels me cumming, spitting out blood as
I groan and cry out with a high pitched wail. The very act of giving
my body release fills me with even more pain and heightens it for me.
I close my eyes and suck air through my teeth, pulling at my arms, my
hands straining to get free.

Paul holds himself inside me. But he isn't cumming, he lets my
battered vagina grip him, contracting around him and releasing, spasms
of torturous pleasure. When it is passed and I am laying there
unmoving he pulls out. He moves on his knees to my face, lifting my
chin. My eyes are wet with tears and blood covers my mouth and chin
and cheeks. His cock bobs up and down, it too is red, stained with
blood. I can't feel anything between my legs anymore. Everything from
my neck down is like a giant throbbing ache.

I look up at him and he moves so that he is sitting underneath my, his
legs spread. He guides my mouth down to his penis and I open up for
him. My nose has stopped bleeding, but still I swallow some little bit
as Paul moves my head up and down his hard shaft. I can taste myself
on him and it excites me, I can feel the fires still burning.
Unquenched by my orgasm. I flop on my belly, like a fish out of water
trying to suck him. He leans back on both hands and watches me. My
nipples are being rubbed raw on the rough carpet, as is the rest of
me. I start to work myself back to my knees, but Paul stops me.

Like that, he says. Keep sucking. I move my mouth up and down, trying
to breath. My neck still feels the rope, almost forgotten. I can feel
too the way it burned when he pulled it tight. I wonder if he'll do it
again, my pussy tingles despite the pain. A sudden flutter to tell me
I'm still alive. I take his penis into my throat, swallowing and then
catching him as my throat opens. My mouth slides down the length of
him and I pause, working up the energy to push my mouth back off. He's
trapped in my throat, momentarily gagging me, choking me, but I can't
do anything about it. Paul is watching me. Lighting a cigarette while
I struggle to mouth his cock.

I arch my back still further, pushing with my hips and my mouth moves
back up his shaft. I start jerking, making fast short movements with
my mouth. It hurts my shoulders, and my breasts are on fire beneath
me, being smashed by my body with every jerk. I'm breathless, feeling
desperate, my body is tired and I don't know how long I can do this.
Paul grabs a fistful of hair and pulls me off him. He touches the end
of his cigarette to the side of my left breast and I bite my tongue as
it burns, he holds it there, watching my eyes water.

This pain isn't so bad as the other. I've done this and it is a little
light behind my eyelids. I don't make a sound, holding my breath for
the 4 or 5 seconds he holds it against my tender skin. He puts the
cigarette back between his lips. He wants me to suck his balls now, he
lies down so that I am between his thighs, my chin on the floor and my
mouth at the base of his cock. He watches as I open my mouth and
tongue and suck and work his soft silky pouch between my lips. I suck
it gently, tonguing it as he starts to masturbate.

He watches me, smoking with his left hand while he slowly jerks his
long shaft with his right. I keep sucking his balls, feeling them
jerked with each stroke of his hand. I bath them, worship them. His
fist is moving in front of my eyes and he's getting close. he stubs
out his cigarette and leans on his left hand, stroking himself faster.
He's going to cum and I suck his balls harder, holding them in my
mouth as his cock suddenly erupts. he tilts it towards me and his
spurting semen shoots into my hair, across my forehead, into my eyes.
It runs down his stroking fist and down to his balls, into my mouth. I
suck and lick trying to get it into my mouth.

With that done Paul stands up. he takes a picture of me for his
scrapbook. Tied up, blood crusted on my face and his sperm in my hair
and dripping from my face. He takes the end of the rope tied around my
neck, pulling the noose tight, but not so tight I can't breath. I can
still get little breaths of air and the blood still moves to my brain
and back. He ties the rope to my ankles, bending my legs at the knees
so that my heels touch my butt. If I move my legs away from my thighs
it will pull the noose tight. he demonstrates by pulling my feet down
and suddenly the noose is fantastically tight around my neck.

Paul pushes my legs back and loosens the noose with his fingers. He
tells me he's going to make us dinner. Don't move, he says. Paul
disappears into the bedroom first, I hear the shower start. I'm
concentrating on keeping my legs up, pressing my heels to my ass. I
know if I lose any of the slack I have, I'll never be able to get it
back by myself. It is a long time and I feel my body sweating from the
effort. My pussy is wet from the fear, the anticipation. My legs are
cramping already, I can't believe how much knees can hurt when they
are kept like that for more than a few minutes.

My arms are already numb. I haven't been able to feel them for
sometime, not since before Paul masturbated on my face. I don't want
to try and move them though, the fear of moving my feet by mistake
fills me. Paul comes out of the shower and checks on me. Are you okay?
he asks me. Yes, I barely speak, but I tell him yes. I'm okay. He
touches my sex, still wet, he laughs a little. Well, dinner will take
about half an hour, so just relax. But not too much. He smiles again
and walks out.

Thirty minutes? It sounds like infinity to me. I think maybe I can
lift my head a little and that way lower my feet some. But then what?
It won't help, will it? I'm feeling panic start, there's no way I can
do this. I'm going to kill myself. I won't be able to help it and Paul
won't know until it's too late. I could feel a shiver running up and
down my spine, suddenly cold.

I'm gritting my teeth, straining to keep my legs from falling. The
muscles have burned beyond pain. They are dead, I only know that they
haven't yet fallen to the floor because I am still breathing. I'd
thought I could grab the rope in my hands, but I couldn't. It's
hopeless. My body shakes with the effort and I can focus on nothing
else. Even the pain in my sex is a memory, not even mine. Something
told to me once. Another Rachael, another time. I feel my legs
slipping, moving, the noose tightening a little at a time. How long
has it been? Where is Paul? he can't leave me like this, dying like
this. 

There is a certain relief, an ecstasy which floods me as my legs fall
away, freely. I wonder for a second why I was so concerned about it.
And then the rope is tight around my neck, yanked into my soft skin
and pulling my head back with a jerk. I would gasp if it were
possible, but my wind pipe suddenly feels a crush, as if an invisible
hand were squeezing it, relentlessly. My eyes go wide, the blood in my
head pounding and again my lungs labor without effect. I'm jerking on
the floor, trying to find air. Pulling at my bonds. The heat inside my
body flares and a wave of excitement seizes me. I'm going to die, I
realize and the thought doesn't frighten me now as much as it did a
moment before.

My tongue is thickening, distending out of my mouth. I can't control
my muscles anymore, I am trying to save myself and the room is going
black, tunnel vision and then dancing lights. I feel something; it's
Paul, beside me, his fingers massaging my pussy. Rubbing my clit,
yesss...Underneath it all I can feel the excitement. I can't see
anything, I can't bend my mind around the simple need to breath, but I
can feel the warmth spreading through me. I'm going to cum, it's
coming, my orgasm, my final moment. I struggle to stay awake long
enough to feel it complete. My lungs are burning and my ears hear only
the roar of trapped blood. I'm falling into the arms of death. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Part 3: Sunday
by Rachael

Sunday July 22. I wake up in bed. Safe and sound and alive. My throat
is sore and as I move I feel the pain between my legs. Paul is
sleeping beside me, snoring softly. I get out of bed, it hurts to move
and I go to the bathroom. I look at the shower. God, I wish it was a
tub.

In the mirror I can see my face has been washed, but my nose is
swollen and there is a bruise on my left cheekbone, just below my eye.
There is a thin line of dull reddish purple around my neck, clearly
defined and going from one side of my jaw line to the other. My wrists
too show marks from the ropes, chafed and red. 

I get in the shower and turn on the hot water. It hurts to sit down,
but I do, bending my legs awkwardly, slowly. I can see deep bruises on
the insides of my thighs. Dark and angry with yellow streaks, I
examine my vagina carefully; it looks swollen somehow, red and puffy.
My breasts and stomach are rough, slightly red as if I'd had a rash
recently. Light rug burns from the carpet.

I wash myself slowly, carefully. Everyplace I touch seems to hurt and
I struggle to remember little bits of last night, but it's useless. I
was dying, but Paul was there. He must have been waiting for me,
watching to see how long I could stand it. The moment was unbelievably
wonderful, the terror and pain and pleasure and ecstasy all combining
in one glorious moment. I rub my pussy softly, massaging it with
gentle soapy hands. I touch the rings in my nipples and trace a finger
to the scab on the side of my breast. The cigarette burn, I pick at it
absently. The blister hadn't lasted, now it was just a hard tender
spot. I picked it until it started bleeding, peeling the softening
scab away under the streaming water.

I finish my shower. I hadn't cum, but I felt better. I wander to the
kitchen to make some coffee. I hate coffee, but there's no tea to be
found. I stand there naked on the cold tile floor. Waiting. I open a
drawer and find the knives. I pull out a long curved blade, stainless
and beautiful. I touch the point to my breast and push until a spot of
red appears.

Paul's hand moves over mine and I can feel his naked body close behind
me. His hard penis pressing against the welts on my lower back, just
above the curve of my ass. He presses the knife harder, driving it a
fraction deeper into my soft flesh. I moan and my knees are weak. Paul
wraps his left arm around my waist and bends his knees, leaning
forward, pushing me so that I'm bent over the countertop.

His hardness finds my sore vagina and he enters me slowly, turning the
knife slightly in my breast and sweet pain fills me. Blood is running
freely now, it isn't a deep cut, but deep enough. I stare at it as his
cock moves in and out of my body. Paul removes the knife and I brace
my hands against the cupboards above me, thrusting myself back against
him. He moves the knife down, to my tummy and presses the blade
against my skin. As we move I can feel the razor edge cutting a thin
line across my body. He just holds it there. I am so close to cumming,
how fast! Its as if every part of me were suddenly alive, where I had
been dead before. I bend my head so I can see the shiny silver blade
against my taut skin. I'm moaning loudly, feeling my cunt gripping his
shaft. I want him inside me, filling me with his semen. I'm cumming
and my hands slip off the cupboards and I fall forward, only Paul's
two arms, his hand grabbing me and the knife suddenly pressing deeply
into my flesh keep me from falling completely.

I gasp as the raw sexual energy is suddenly released in a torrent of
wetness. It surrounds his penis and then flows out, down my thighs. I
have never cum so hard or so much. I can't breath, I can only watch as
my red blood spills across the blade and down my flat tummy, across my
pubis and down my thighs. The pain is incredible. It cuts me deeply
and finally Paul removes it. I'm wondering if I'm cut bad, I know I
am, but I don't care. I start pushing again, my mind clearing and the
sensations in my body passing briefly into a soft pulse. I'm doubled
over; gasping suddenly as another searing slash of pain takes me. The
knife is moving, up along my body. Paul pulls me upright, so that I'm
standing, impaled on his hard cock while he brings the knife in a long
vertical line from my belly button to my breasts.

I bring my hands to my stomach, feeling the wetness of sticky blood,
running over my fingers. It covers my thighs and pools on the floor
beneath us. I'm like a rag doll, riding him as he rams himself over
and over inside me. He presses the crimson stained blade to the bottom
of my left breast and draws it across, biting into me deeply. I scream
and my whole being gives itself completely to another orgasm. My
breast redefined by that sharp incision and I can feel it moving
differently, the soft fatty tissue suddenly cut partially free. Paul
moves the knife to my right breast, and holds it there, just
underneath. I move my hand to the top of it and push down, twisting
it, pulling my tit so that I cut itself on the sharp steel.

My body is red with blood; I rub my hands across my wet stomach and
then to my face, covering myself in it. Tasting it. Paul pushes me
down again, bending me low as he pulls his cock out of me, shoving it
suddenly in my ass. I moan and push, feeling the still sensitive
tissue that had been ripped the previous day. He fucks me
relentlessly, shoving his hardness inside and pulling me backwards,
lifting me so that the knife in his hand is in front of my mouth. I
lick at it, cutting my tongue on the razor edge as he moves us to the
bloodstained floor, keeping himself deep inside me. He leans against
the cabinet, pulling me back against him so that he can push the blade
against my exposed sex. His cock moves slowly with short strokes in my
ass while he pushed the point of the knife between my nether lips.

Paul works the knife slowly inside my wetness, severing my labia,
another flash of pain bringing me to the edge of orgasm; its
continuous now, the sight, the smell, the pain and ecstasy all mixed.
Intoxicating me. I want it inside me, filling my womb with steel. He
begins pushing, slowly in and I move my hips, working his cock deeper
in my ass and the knife deeper towards the very center of my being. I
gasp, screaming, moaning, shaking. I can't keep my eyes open anymore,
Paul pushes the knife inside me, stabbing into my ovary, into my womb.
Killing me with it. He's fucking me hard now, but I can't feel it.
Nothing but the electric pain of being impaled on the knife. My belly
is on fire, a thousand spikes shredding my insides. He works his hand
in time with his hips. The knife plunging over and over again, inside,
fucking me with it. His cock strains and he's cumming, twisting the
knife. Killing me with it.

There is a low buzz and I open my eyes. The coffee is done. My hands
are still between my thighs, I'm on the floor. But there is no blood,
the knife is in my hand, but I have only the small cut in my breast.
It was a dream, all a dream. I drop the knife and wrap my arms around
my knees. I want to cry and I do. I don't know what I'm doing here,
it's a dream, a nightmare. I'm sitting like that when Paul comes out
of the bedroom, tying his bathrobe around his waist. I can't look at
him, I only want to go home.

Paul helps me dress and he puts my bag in his car. We talk a lot,
about so many things. I love him and it kills me to leave. But if I
stay it will be worse. He's taking me to the bus station, he wanted to
drive me home, to Seattle, but no. Not like this, it would hurt to
have that long goodbye. It would kill me.

Now the exits go by, in reverse. I watch Bellingham go away and I have
my hand inside my blouse. Fingering the tears, like mother's milk
leaking from my pierced breast. Mount Vernon and Burlington, going
away. I try to sleep, but it's no use. I can't sit comfortably, my
butt still hurts and my legs still ache. I shift and move and turn and
lean and nothing helps. Everett, finally. It's raining and traffic is
slow. I watch the people in their cars, wondering why I don't drive.
Seattle, home again. A long taxi and a fistful of money, worth every
penny. Home again! I try to open the door, it's locked. Daddy's not
home and I'm sad. I missed him.

The end.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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