Rendezvous With a Stranger (18 page)

      
There are clothespins pinching my breasts in dozens of places, and pain from the taps of a cane to enliven me and augment my screams.
 
Then there are the cocks, the one at my mouth and another rapping at my cunt and exposed clit.
 
I expect the first to pummel me hard.
 
I gasp when I realize there is yet another preparation before the violation begins.
 
A dildo at my ass moves easily into the interior and is fastened there with ropes run through my cunt.
 

      
With a fiery force of focus and torment reigning down on me, I feel the first prick enter and the rough thing pump me heartily.
 
I almost find some body rhythm in the screwing, but my rapist is at an edge, moving unevenly, taking his time to slap my hips and squeeze my ass and then tug at the stretched-out labia.
 
These tender morsels of flesh have been so well secured that I can hardly move and not scream.
 
When this man finishes there is another.
 
Though I believe this time it’s the rubber cock of a woman, who even with her manly style, cannot hide the womanliness of her aura from my heightened intuition.
 
I fuck them all, losing my sense of everything but physical sensation.
 
It overloads my mind, my body feeling beastly.
 
I’ll do anything they ask, take any pain and love it.
 

      
I must be fucked for an hour, but with no appreciation for real time, I know only that it is endless—endless, violent ravishment I welcome.
 

      
I sense the ebb, the flow, the waves of energy of those who surround me, and then, once they have taken their pleasure, I feel them silently slip away.
 
One after the another they disperse until there are fewer than two in my midst.
 
Just one breathing soul, just one beating heart, just the sound of one body’s steps, quietly taking me down from the ceiling of this boundless, nameless, unknown place.
 

      
I feel the pins released.
 
The pressure on my nipples subsides.
 
And then there is a last hurrah as the half-dozen clamps that tug at my swollen, molten, anguished labia are removed.
 
The pressure subsides there too, while fingers at the door of my cunt move inside the wet opening.
 

      
I feel the climax suddenly, the sensation of being ripped apart again by my own satisfaction demanding my attention. My belly contracts, my inner muscles squeeze, I feel the rubbing of my clit as it screams with joy through the streets and avenues of my body, up my spine and down the rivers in my thighs and on and on and on. I cry wildly and thrash about, then feel the hand softly caressing my center as I twitch lightly on my bed as the orgasm finally drifts away.

      
I know when I open my eyes it will be the stranger’s face I see.
 
With the bonds released and the blindfold tossed to the side, I see his face, his long loose hair, his half naked body and the look of his lips ready to kiss me.

      
“I knew it was you in the car,” I tell him, happy now that I have all the facts I need.

      
“Are you sure?”

      
“Of course, I’m sure, but please confess.”

      
“I confess to nothing, Ellen Laurey,” he says in the smooth even tones of his haunting baritone.

      
He’s trying to rattle me even when he’s soothing all the physical aches with his massaging hands.
 
I look up to the sky, seeing no sky, but a canopy of a greenhouse that had surrounded me with the earthy smells of a deep forest since this began.

      
“Where are we?” I ask.

      
“In the funky penthouse of a friend,” he replies.

      
“What friend, do I know him?”

      
He smirks and shakes his head and I stare at his impassive face and his cobalt eyes and read his reply before he speaks it with his lips.

      
“You can ask, but there are some things I may not tell you,” he repeats an old refrain.

      
“Ever?” I wonder, trying to look desperate.

      
“Ever,” he replies.

      
I think for a while of all the things I don’t know about him, the truth about his schemes and methods I once imagined that he’d eventually tell me.
 
Now I’m beginning to believe I’ll never know all the truth.

      
“So, you won’t tell me everything,” I consider aloud. “Like how you broke into Isaac’s apartment?”
 
I must have asked him a hundred times in six months.

      
I see the answer in his eyes.

      
“Or how you knew my name, ‘Lynnie’?”

      
The same expression confirms the truth.

      
“Ever?
 
You’re sure?” I ask again.
 
“Even if I whine and beg.”

      
“No, and I’m likely to strap your ass soundly if you start nagging me like a shrew.”

      
I shrug, beaten again.
 
Yet, I’m not particularly concerned.
 
“I guess as long as I’m satisfied that I’m safe,” I tell him.
 
I think I’ve said enough.

      
I see by the look in his eyes now that he’ll leave me guessing.
 
I may see Nicholas Riley when I look at his face, but he takes on the look of the stranger.
 
And it is that stranger whose serene blue eyes I can never see beyond.
 

      
My body feels an anxious spark, the fluttering in my belly and the jolt in my cunt.
 
I’m sure I don’t care anymore. His tender hands pour with passion, while his lips speak of love. And that is enough.

End
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