Take Me With You(35)

“If you think you're sore today, wait until tonight,” he taunts. “I want tears.”

My lip quivers as I desperately hold in a tear at the rim of my eye, but when he flips me onto my stomach, I let it fall out of his view.

He pulls open my ass cheeks, I hear him spit a few times, then run his wet hands along the hole. Carter has never even asked for this. I've never explored that area. I wrestle for oxygen as he presses me into the mattress. I flail my arms, desperately reaching behind myself and only catching air.

“The more you fight, the more it will hurt. Take a few breaths.” He pulls my face out of the mattress with a sharp yank of my hair.

I pause, realizing the fight is futile. I have to go along with this. Become the girl who adapts. I resist old Vesper's pleas to continue fighting and let my shaky hands claw on the bed sheets.

He presses the glass against the hole first without breaching the entrance. Then slowly, he slides the glass tool into my backside. I cry against the sheets from the pressure. It's not as painful as I thought it would be, but the invasiveness breaches my soul. He glides it in and out a few times, being surprisingly gentle, until the pressure subsides and the feeling becomes something I can't quite label. It's totally new and my brain and body are unsure of the verdict.

“Good dirty girl,” he grunts. It's the first time he's ever complimented me, and it's surprisingly reassuring. It calms me to know I did something to get on his good side. Night spins me onto my back again and comes to his feet. His body shines with a thin layer of perspiration from his efforts. His cock is still rigid through his pants.

“You don't take this out of your ass, only I do. You don't make yourself come when I'm not here today. That pussy, mouth, and ass is mine to fuck. You can play with your tits; you can do anything but come. If you do, I'll know. And I will make you bleed.”

I sit there, stunned, unsure how I'll be able to sit here all day with this thing in me.

“Acknowledge me, Vesper.”

“Yes,” I mutter.

He looks down at my face, streaked with tears, a physical response from the earlier intrusion and steps closer to me.

“You will like this.” He says it as though it's a comfort. I don't take it as him meaning tonight, or just having sex with him. He means all of this. Eventually I will like this life. What kind of mad person takes someone from their home and believes they will ever like it? That's when I realize his weakness. He believes that one day I'll want to be here, and if I can get him to believe that, then I might have the chance to regain my freedom.





“Here you go, Sam.” Katie hands me a cold beer with a warm smile on her face. Scoot wins. I don't want him snooping, so this means I have to visit him and assure him I am a perfectly functioning member of society.

“Thanks,” I say with a smile. I lean back on the porch swing as Scoot takes his beer from his wife's hand. Katie's alright in my book. She tries really hard to get me to like her, but she doesn't understand I don't really like people. So the fact that I don't despise her, well she's reached her limit with me. “Dinner was g-great.”

“My pleasure. I'll be right back.”

She leaves me and Scoot on the porch to enjoy our drinks. “See? This isn't so bad is it?” he asks.

“Never ssssaid it was.”

“You sound a lot better than the last time I saw you.”

That's because today you didn't ambush me shortly after an unplanned kidnapping.

I shrug. Whenever anyone calls attention to my stammer, even to compliment a lack thereof, it gets worse. He and my dad never seemed to have understood that very simple concept.

Across the street, a woman comes out onto her lawn with tiny shorts and a green tube top. She's not wearing a bra and her nipples shoot right through the fabric.

“Yeah,” Scoot sighs. She just moved in a few weeks ago. God bless America.”

“She m-married?” I ask. It's a force of habit, wanting to know every little fact about people. Storing it into my mental database to come back to later in the event I'd like to pay a late-night visit.

“You interested?” he asks, surprisingly.

“No. Just don't want her husband to k-k-k-kick our asss-es.”

Scoot lets out a hearty laugh. “You gotta use the technique you know, pretend to be looking at the bushes on her lawn, or admiring the kids playing on the street in front of her. Check her out on your periphery.” He nudges me with the hand that's holding his beer.

Ha, he thinks he can offer me tips on watching people.

Yeah, she's hot for a woman in her forties. She knows it. She's probably always been hot and fed off of that attention. She knows we're watching. She's the kind of woman who likes that. She bends with her ass out a little extra. She sticks out her chest. I like to watch the one who really doesn’t notice. Who smiles about a pleasant thought that crosses her mind. Who doesn’t know the strap of her tank has fallen off her shoulder. Who undresses in front of the mirror and examines her flawless body looking for faults only she can see. Even the modest ones though, in public, they know on some level they're being watched. It's why I do what I do, to get rid of that extra layer of self-consciousness between us. The most intimate way two people can be together is when one doesn't know the other is watching.