Patreon LogoYour support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)

Rape (CougarGirl and lowblow emma)

The fucking bitch. Fucking tight cunted bitch.
I try again, and again, forcing until it feels like my cock will snap.
She’s not like this back home. There she’s dripping juice at the sight of man. Her thighs are slimy before she’s got her kit off.
I pull away and try to insert my index finger, but she is too dry and tight. I lick my finger and try again, forcing my way in as far as the first knuckle.
She’s groaning now, begging me to stop. Her protests spur me on. At last, I am getting to her, letting her feel my power. If she knew who I was, she’d regret the way she’s treated me.
I’ve got my finger almost all the way in now. I pull it out and lick my index and middle fingers, tasting her yeasty cunt before probing again. It is easier this time, although she tries to clamp her muscles to keep me out, but she is still dry.
She cries out as I push deep and open my fingers wide. Her anguish arouses me more.
Again I taste her as I lick three fingers. They slide in quite easily now, she is beginning to moisten. It is more difficult for her muscles to protect her. She must know that she can’t resist me.
Maybe that is what makes her scream. She should save her breath. There is no hope that anyone will hear her.
I withdraw my fingers and taste her for the final time before I guide my cock between her lips.
This time I penetrate her easily. She is loose and wet and doesn’t try to keep me out. She lies flaccid and begins to sob softly.
 
He couldn’t get his cock inside me. All he could manage was a finger, but even that was a struggle for him. For me, it symbolised the invasion that was to come.
I couldn’t flee and I couldn’t fight. All I had was my voice and finally I found I was able to use it, once I had swallowed my pride.
‘Please, no, stop this. What have I ever done to you? I don’t deserve to be treated like this. Let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone what you did, I promise, just let me go.’
But he wasn’t listening, or if he was listening, he didn’t care. He carried on, poking his fingers into me, forcing them apart and prising me open, against my resisting dry flesh.
I cried out in protest, but he persisted. Eventually my body gave in, my juices began to flow to ease the torment that was coming.
Then I heard a scream, sharp and piercing. It wasn’t me; I didn’t scream. I didn’t call for help and didn’t expect any. It was my body screaming, in outrage at the violation.
What was there left to do after that? Nothing, but to give in, to accept what was happening, and then, in the midst of the rape, I saw a glimmer of what this would mean for me for the rest of my life.
And that is what made me cry.
 
This is better. Now I can show her. Show her my strength, my power and my virility. Show her that I am not the child she seems to think I am.
I settle into my rhythm, starting slowly, each stroke faster than the one before, starting shallow, each stroke deeper than before, starting easy, each stroke harder than before. Soon I am running at full throttle. My breath coming fast until I am gasping for air. I lean forward and grab her tits, partly for the pleasure but also for support as I hammer her as hard as I can. I squeeze harder as my pleasure mounts.
My balls are tightening in my crotch. I feel the milk swelling up. I slow down to try to delay cumming, but I know it is too late. My rhythm builds to a frenzy and I cum, my hips jerking as I sow her with my seed. I stifle my groans; she must not hear my voice.
While my breathing settles, the anti-climax of sexual release sets in. I shake it off. I have succeeded. I set up this place, made it safe and secure. I conned her into coming here and trapped her. I have overcome her, despite her attacking me. I have taken her. She is mine.
With that thought ringing in my head, I pull out and climb off her, collect my clothes and release her hands on my way out of the room.
I dress in the corridor and switch on the lights.
 
I stopped crying when I ran dry of tears. My chest was exhausted from my sobbing and my pelvis was sore from the pummelling it had received.
His movements were so frantic that I could not have not counted them. He seemed to be out of control, determined to hurt me, clawing at my breasts. When he finished, it was the calm after the sudden end of a violent storm.
It took me a while to realise that he had released my hands. My arms were cramped and numb and I had to rub my wrists and ease my shoulders before I could reach down to free my feet. And as soon as I was ready to do that, my eyes were blinded with the light from the naked bulb. I squeezed them tight shut, opening them slowly and repeatedly until I could bear the light and see to release my feet.
Physically, I was in no worse shape than when he attacked me on the stairs. Despite my fears, his knife hadn’t drawn blood. My mind had not yet begun to comprehend what had happened. I was still in relief mode. The only thought in my head was of his sperm swimming inside me. They felt like millions of worms burrowing away inside, deeper and deeper with every passing second, heading for my womb.
My legs were as weak as my arms had been. I was barely able to stand as I opened the door and looked carefully to right and left. There was no one in sight. My skirt and blouse, what were left of them, were on the stairs, so I made my way cautiously along the corridor, holding my arm across my breasts and my hand across my crotch, preserving all that I had left, my privacy. Half way there, the nausea hit me. I squatted against the wall to vomit and retch. Wiping my hand across my mouth, I staggered on to the stairs. My clothes were where they had fallen, tattered but enough to cover my modesty as I went for help. I was about to try the door, when I remembered my bag with my money and tickets. Hopefully it would be where I had left it on the desk in the room at the end of the corridor. Feeling more confident now, I hurried towards the room, my heart in my mouth in case it had gone. But it was there. I had just got my hand on the bag, when the lights went out and I was grabbed from behind.
 
Silly bitch. She must have thought it was over. It never occurred to me that she’d be that dumb. I watch her stagger towards the stairs, covering her tits and pussy. She’s not normally that modest, parading around in next to nothing, happy to show whatever she’s got to anyone who wants to see it, and to some who don’t. I look away and block my ears as she throws up, like she’s been out clubbing with her friends. Disgusting. When I hear her coming back, I hide behind the door. I knew she’d come back in here. She can’t get out, the door is still locked. She’s coming into my web. I cradle my balls and feel myself stiffening again at what is to happen. All I have to do is wait for her to get to the desk, then I switch off the lights as I step out behind her.
 
I don’t know where I found the strength to react as I did. Maybe it was just all too much. Maybe it was the shock after believing it was all over. Maybe I felt I had been too naive in letting myself get trapped and too weak in letting myself get raped. Maybe I was starting to blame myself for not having fought hard enough before. Whatever the reason, I went wild. He’d got me trapped against the desk, but I had my feet and arms free. I squirmed desperately, this way and that, trying to push him back or slip down out of his grasp or wriggle free from his control. I lashed out with my feet, catching him some hard blows on his shins and grabbed at his hair, pulling it hard to get him to slacken his grip.

As we wrestled, he pressed harder against him, forcing my stomach hard against the edge of the desk, and the more I tried to shake him off the more I noticed something pressing hard against me. He was getting another erection. Was he getting off again at the control he was exercising over me? Or was he getting off because I was fighting back?

One thing shone clear in my head. He was clothed and he couldn’t rape me again with his jeans on. And he’d need at least one hand to free himself, which would give me a chance. So I stopped fighting, just froze, went limp, trying my best to pretend that I had lost the will to fight.

Sure enough he let go with his right hand. And as soon as he did, I spun round and brought my knee up hard, aiming for the top of his thighs and those precious jewels that make guys so powerful and yet so vulnerable. And sure enough, I felt my knee brush against him as he moved backwards to get out of range.
 
This is better. She’s like an eel, but a soft warm one. Her body wriggling against mine, soft to the touch but firm to the feel as she pressed hard against me. It’s a relief too. I did wonder if I’d be able to manage again, so quickly I mean. A guy, even one as virile as me, needs time to recover. But this rubbing is getting me hard as a rock, harder than before.
Then suddenly she stops. This is just too obvious. Does she think that I’ll be taken in and believe that this little vixen is going to surrender? No, it’s a trick and one that I can use to my advantage if I am quick and clever, which I am.
She can’t do anything while I’ve got her trapped. It’s when I have to get my cock out that she’ll make her move. I’ll be ready for her.
I brace myself and remove my hand to unfasten my jeans. And then she’s off again, pushing back and twisting around to face me. No prize to guess that she’s going for my crotch again, her little party trick. I move back quickly, so her knee only grazes the front of my balls. The sudden sharp pain actually adds to my arousal, but I’ve no time to loose. I have to act or she’ll be free and away. I aim for her stomach. One swift hard punch followed by a scream.
No time to waste. I spin her round, force her face down onto the desk, pull up her skirt and peg my cock up her ass. Home sweet home.
 
This was the biggest indignity of all I had suffered so far. How can I describe something I have never experienced before? I’ve never done anal, never wanted to. Despite my reputation, I’m actually quite conservative sexually. I don’t mind going on top sometimes and doggie style is alright as a treat for my boyfriend. But anal, no, never.
He moved so fast, I didn’t have time to react or protect myself. My mind shut off the horrible unfamiliar sensation of his cock working my ass, leaving me with the pains one hand pulled my head hard back by the hair while the other rested surprisingly gently on my hip, as his belly slapped repeatedly and regularly into my buttocks, crushing me into the edge of the desk.
I had no tears left to sob and no voice left to plead for some dignity and respite. All I could do was wait for it to end, which it did with a sudden grunt. As he pulled away, I felt the last of his cum drip onto my bottom and run down my leg.
When he released my hair, I slumped forward onto the desk and slid slowly to the floor. Pulling my skirt down over me, I crawled in what I hoped was the direction of the corner of the room, where I curled up into a ball, shivering.
There was a lot of rustling and stumbling around, first in the room, then along the corridor, a muffled curse when he must have caught his leg on some furniture, and finally a click that sounded like the door. Had he really left or was he lying in wait for me? Was this another trap?
Then the lights came on, hopefully for the final time.
 
This is the best, the best part of the whole thing. I’m in total control while she’s free to fight as much as she wants, except she can’t anymore because I’m dominating her. That’s something she never dreamt I could do. She’s always the one who has to be in control. Not anymore. Not this time.

This makes me feel so powerful. My orgasm is one of the best I’ve ever experienced. Lasting and meaningful. I feel Ellie and I have connected this time, formed a bond that can never be broken.

It’s a pity I can’t see her. I think about putting on the lights so I can see her flesh, See my cock between her cheeks, fucking that cute little ass. But I can’t risk her seeing me.

I shake the last drops of my cum over her. Waste not, want not, that’s what my mother always says.

Time to go so I don’t miss my train home. I pull up my jeans and hurry along the corridor, checking my pockets as I go. I mustn’t leave anything. Can’t afford to take any risks. I stumble over the furniture I have left blocking the corridor, but I can’t risk putting the lights on yet. Can’t risk her seeing me. Can’t take any risks. Got to get home fast.

I unlock the door and emerge into the fresh air. It’s early evening and still warm. I can blend in with the rush hour as commuters hurry home.

As I leave, I switch on the lights. I don't lock the door behind me. I want her to be able to get free, to get back home. So I can see her there.
 
I didn’t trust the light and I didn’t trust him not to attack me again. I stayed where I was, curled into the corner, listening for any sound that he might make. And of course the harder I listened, the more I heard. Creaks and groans from the building. Occasional noises from outside that I’d not noticed before.
Eventually, I plucked up courage and slowly edged my way towards the door, keeping my clothes pulled tight around me, until I was able to peer timidly into the corridor. It was empty apart from the furniture strewn along it that had proved a trap for me and for my attacker. But what was in the rooms? I got onto my knees and crawled to each door, pushing it open and checking inside before moving on to the next room. The rough floorboards tore my knees and splinters stuck into my hands.
At last, scratched and bleeding, I reached the door of the room where I had been tied to the bed and raped. My stomach churned as I threw the door wide open, to find the room abandoned. Except, except for my underwear, now in shreds. I collected the remains and clung to them like a child hanging onto a blanket for a comfort. By the time I had reached the stairs, I was confident that the man was gone. For the first time, I stood up and walked back along the corridor, picking my way between the chairs and tables until I reached the room at the end, where I collected my purse and hunted for the remnants of my mobile phone.
Now came the moment that I had always been confident would come. The moment to step outside. As my hand held the lock, I wondered if my attacker had locked me inside, but the door open easily and the warm air of early evening flowed over me.
I felt so exposed with my torn clothes and no underwear. But the few people who were around seemed not to notice me. A man walked past me with his dog without even looking at me. The few who noticed me looked away, not wanting to get involved with someone in my state, fearing what it might involve for them, some trap perhaps. The only person to approach me was an elderly woman carrying her bags of shopping, with tins of cat food on the top.
‘Is anything wrong, luv?’ she asked.
Was anything wrong? I didn’t know where to start. I just slid down onto the pavement and cried.
 
I stride through the commuters that throng the railway station, proud and strong. They must sense my power as the crowd of passangers at the barrier to board the train part to let me through. My balls sway between my thighs rubbing against my jeans. I feel their power as I settle into my seat. My nostrils detect Ellie’s scent on my flesh and clothing. I slip my hand inside my jeans and rub my cock so that I can smell and taste the juices of her cunt and ass.
Today I have become a man. I have succeeded against all the odds, despite people seeing me as a failure, despite Ellie seeing me as a failure. The only greater satisfaction I could have is if she knew who it was who planned and executed this afternoon’s little diversion from the perfect path of her life. But that can never be, must never be. That is a secret that only I will ever know. It would have been good to have kept a trophy. Something to remind me of my power over her this afternoon. But that would have been risky.
As the train gathers speed on its way through the London suburbs, I let its rhythm lull me gently. In my semi-waking, semi-dreaming state, I re-live the pleasures that I have been through today. The pleasures and the trials too, as I recall the sharp agony of her knee crushing in my balls.
That is when I decide. She will have to pay for that. The only question is how. This will take some planning, to which I devote the remainder of my journey home.
 
‘Are you sure there is nothing else you can remember? Any detail, however small, may be vital.’
The police officer who had taken my statement leans across the table in the interview room and pats my arm reassuringly.
‘You’ve done very well, but there are often little things that the victim doesn’t think significant that turns out to important in catching the criminal.’
I shake my head. It is all I have energy to do. I certainly don’t have the energy to think any more about what happened to me today. The officer recognised defeat.
‘OK, is there anything you would like?’
There was only one thing I wanted, something I had wanted since the police car had brought me to the rape suite.
‘A shower’ I said. ‘I want to scrub that guy off my skin.’
The officer nodded.
‘I’ll just check with forensics that they’ve got all the samples they need.’
I shuddered as I remembered the examinations I had had and the swabs they had inserted, in the front door and the back door as my mother would have said.
She put down the phone and nodded at me.
‘They say it’s OK. Go ahead. It’s through there. Your mother should be here by the time you’ve finished with some fresh clothes for you.’
Left alone for the first time since I had escaped, I take the first chance I have had to examine myself. My face is already swelling and one eye was starting to close. When I take off the robe, the mirror shows what the aches and pains had already told me, I am bruising up all over my legs, arms and torso. I run the shower hot and step in, scrubbing hard at my skin to erase any contact with that bastard who had done this to me. But I can’t scrub where I need to most – deep inside me. I feel like I need to rip out my genitalia and burn them to eradicate anything that remains of him.
Reluctantly I emerge from the warm cocoon of the shower, put on a fresh robe and go to find the officer.
‘Your mother has arrived now, but before you see her there are a couple of things I need to say to you.’
I sit back and wait to hear what they want of me now.
‘First thing’ she says sympathetically ‘no unprotected sex from now on, until we know that you’ve got the all clear.’ I stare at her. ‘He didn’t use a condom, so you may have caught something. You wouldn’t want to pass it on, would you.’
I nod. Sex of any sort is the furthest thing from my mind right now.
‘The other thing’ she says hesitantly. ‘I’ve talked with my senior officer and he, we, think the guy must know you.’
I stare blankly at her?
‘Know me? What do you mean?’
‘Well, Ellie, he knew you were looking for another job and who you had had an interview with. He was able to intercept your mail and set this all up. We think that he is someone who knows you back home.’
It all made sense.
‘We don’t think this was a stranger rape, Ellie.’
Why the fuck does she have to keep calling me by my name? We both know what it is.
Slowly what she is saying seeps into my brain.
‘You mean this may not be over, he may attack me again?’
She nods.
‘You’ve got my number, Ellie. Anything that happens, anything that you’re not comfortable with. Whatever it is, let me know right away. Any time. Day or night. And I’ll get someone there right away.’
My flesh begins to crawl again. I draw my legs up and hug them to my chest, trying to make myself as small as I can.
 
She’s back. Been back for a few days now. Only her family and boyfriend know what happened, of course. But she can’t disguise those bruises. She’s saying she got attacked in London and naturally everyone is being very sympathetic. Me especially. She’s making no attempt to hide those bruises. It’s like she is wearing them as a badge of courage, boasting that she got a thrashing after she kneed her attacker in his balls. Everyone is praising her courage, but what about her attacker? No one gives a thought about him. He had to be strong to come back after an emasculating blow and have the strength to knock her about like that. Those bruises are his badges as much as hers, more in fact. My badges.

Every time I see them my balls shrivel at the thought of what she did to me, but my cock twitches when I think of what I am going to do in revenge. There’s no rush. Let her settle down first. She is still very edgy, I can see it in the way she behaves, little things like suddenly turning around when is walking along, never standing really close to guys, not even those of us she knows well.

She still torments me, though. She wears those tight clothes, short skirts, flaunts herself like she always did. She is asking for trouble and that is what she is going to get. When the time is right, that is. Not straightaway. I am laying my plans, thinking them through thoroughly. Not like last time when I overlooked some things. This time, it’s going to be planned perfectly.
 
Will things ever be the same again? Like they were before this happened? I don’t name it, did you notice that? I didn’t say, well you know what. It’s always there, though, in my head. It wakes me in the night, it creeps into my thoughts during the day.

Everyone has been so supportive. My mum, well I don’t know what I’d have done without her. And my boyfriend has been so understanding. Even that good for nothing brother of mine has been really great, always there for me.

I’ve not admitted to anyone else what really happened in London. If it weren’t for these bruises, I wouldn’t have said anything at all. Thick stockings and long sleeves cover the bruises on my arms and legs, but there’s no makeup in the world that will cover the ones on my face. So I brazen it out. Admitting I was attacked, but making it clear that I gave the guy’s balls a good crushing.

That police woman warned me not to have unprotected sex. What a laugh. I can’t even bear to have my boyfriend touch me. Even putting his arm round my shoulders make me cringe. Let alone anything else. We did try – he thought it might help me but it didn’t. His touch made my skin crawl. He wouldn’t be around much longer, whatever he says. We were pretty much finished before this – there I go again, you see, not giving it a name. And now, how could he put it out of his mind any more than I could put it out of mine? I need a fresh start really, but that’s what got me into this trouble. If I’d been happy just to stay here and never gone to London, I’d have been safe.

I can pretend to be normal on the surface, but underneath, that’s different. I can still feel him. Feel his hands on me, his cock inside me, his sperm swimming deeper and deeper. And he’s here. The police told me that. He’s someone from around here. Every time I go out, he’s there watching me, following me, talking to me even. I can feel him, his eyes scanning my body, seeing through my clothes to the bruising beneath, seeing through my skin to those sperm, seeing into my mind. He knows what happened, he can see the scars.
 
I will smile and smile and be a villain. Who said that? Shakespeare I think. But whoever it was, he got it right. She has no idea.

The phone rings for a long time before she answers.

I’ve researched my purchase. Not on my own computer of course. I used the one at the local library so that it can’t be traced to me. Then I bought the phone. Nothing sophisticated, not like the one I used to control the door and lights in London. I won’t need anything that complicated. Just the basics. Calls and texts, that’s all I need. At this stage.

Why doesn’t she answer? She’s in range and she’s got her phone with her.

I’m confident that she won’t be able to trace it back to me. I took a while to decide what to start with. Texts or calls? After a lot of deliberation, I settled on a call.

Come on, come on, answer, damn you.

I needed somewhere quiet, so there’d be no background noise to give my location away. That was quite tricky. Life is so full of noise nowadays. It’s difficult to find someone completely quiet. Try it and you’ll see how much effort I made to get this right.

At last, she answers. Breathlessly. I wonder where she was and what she was doing. Breathless. That’s nice, I wasn’t expecting that.

When I don’t speak, she demands to know who I am, shouting in case the connection is poor.

Still I remain silent. It’s difficult that, you try staying completely silently. I’m not going in for that silly heavy breathing nonsense. Silence is more effect.

In the end, she rings off.

No worries. I’ll ring her again later. During the day. At work and at home. During the night. Any time I choose. Every time I choose.
It’s always good to hear her voice. She may block me, of course. I’ve considered that. Like I told you, I’ve thought of all the angles this time. But I’ll just buy a new SIM. And if she’s changes her number, I’ll soon find that out too. No, there is no way she’ll escape me.
 
It’s only natural that I should feel like this, that’s what my counsellor tells me. Everyone I see says there is something different wrong with me. Post traumatic stress, panic attacks, anxiety, you name it and I’ve got it. My counsellor is different – she’s called Sally by the way – she says there is nothing wrong with me, this is just my body behaving normally in response to my being beaten up, raped and buggered. You see, I am using the words now. She insists, says it is good for me. I get the impression she’s getting off hearing me say them, but that’s just me being a bitch I guess. She’s right that I have to face up to what happened, not hide it away. And that’s why I’m getting these feelings. Labels don’t matter, she says, they’re all ways of saying that my mind is reacting to what happened – sorry, to my being beaten up, raped and buggered.

That’s why I am irritable all the time. Every little thing sets me off. Those phone calls, for instance. There have been several of those, all from the same number. In the past, I’d just have said ‘let them ring back’, but now I get really annoyed about the phone company. We can send messages out across the universe but can’t get a decent signal here. Someone has got their priorities all wrong. Sorry, I’m sounding off, but you see what I mean.

Try to think of how you’d have reacted before you were beaten up, raped and buggered, that will help you keep it in perspective, that’s what Sally says. And she’s right. It’s worked with my purse this morning. Couldn’t find it. Without Sally’s advice, I’d have been imagining all sorts of things. Someone must have taken it, they’re tracking me, watching my every move, sneaking up behind me as soon as my back is turned, close enough for me to touch, close enough for them to touch me, to beat me up, rape me, … You get the idea. But now, it was no problem. I was sure I knew where I’d left it, but it wasn’t there. How often has this happened before? Not only with purses, but with keys, bags, pens, even underwear. I searched everywhere and couldn’t find it, but I stayed calm and then, when I wasn’t looking, there is was. Where I must have left it but forgot. This counselling is beginning to work.
 
That was so simple. Sheer genius. I hadn’t planned to do it. You can’t plan everything and certainly not something like this. My plans allow for this sort of inspired improvisation.

I saw my chance and took it. Took her purse too. I was right next to her but she didn’t notice. If she’d moved her eyes just a fraction to her left, she’d have seen me take it. But she didn’t. Doesn’t that just show that what I am doing is right?

Putting it back was easier. No problem at all. I didn’t put it back exactly where she’d left it. Of course, not. There’d be no point otherwise, would there? She’s got to notice. That’s the whole point.

I’m not sure if she has noticed yet. She’s not that bright, but even she must realise sooner or later. And it will be sooner. Two days in fact.
 
I’m staying here, where I feel safe. In my bed, with the door locked and the duvet pulled up over my head. My phone is ringing. It’s in my bag on the floor, but I’m not venturing out to answer it. I know who’s ringing. It’s that same number, it’s always the same number. It has to be him; it’s been him all along. I realise that now.

It was waiting for me when I got home, sitting on the table in the hallway. A nice box, with some lovely ribbon. A present. How thoughtful. Then I opened it. Bra and panties, identical to the ones I wore when …, when …, in London. The invoice is what did it. It was paid for on my credit card.

Did I order it and forget it? That was my first thought. I know I’m in a bit of a state these days, but not that bad. No, he must have used my card when he took my purse. That’s the only way he could have got it. He was right there with me, so close that I could have touched him, someone who I wouldn’t have taken any notice of, someone I know.

I stood there, shaking, sweating, not knowing where to turn. Was he watching the house? Standing across the street or just outside the door? Could he see me through a window? I crept up stairs on my knees so he wouldn’t see me and lay on the floor to draw my bedroom curtains. I crawled into bed in my clothes.

Why won’t that fucking phone shut up? I’m going to change my number, but it won’t make any difference, he’ll find out what it is soon enough. If he can walk right up to me and pick up my purse, he can get my new number. He may even be one of my friends.

I’m going to stay here until this all goes away.
 
She must have had the parcel by now. I wonder how she felt. Did she get excited, thinking someone was trying to cheer her up with a nice present? How did she feel when she saw what it was? What memories did it bring back? How long did it take for her to realise she’d paid for it?

I can’t find out what’s happening.

This isn’t time wasted. Just time for more planning. Waiting to see what opportunities arise next.

I’ll just keep ringing. Maybe she’ll answer eventually.
 
‘Ellie, open the door, it’s me Sally.’

I ignore her.

‘Come on, Ellie, open the door, we can’t talk properly like this.’

I burrow deeper into my bed.

‘Ellie, please, your mother’s worried about you.’

I’m not falling for that trick.

‘You must be thirsty. Why don’t we have a coffee and a chat?’

Well, she has a point, I am thirsty. But …

‘How do I know you’re alone?’

‘You don’t, Ellie. You have to take a risk sometimes and this is one of those times. Do you really think I’d be standing here with him beside me?’

‘Do you know who he is?

‘Of course not, Ellie, how would I?’

‘Then you can’t know he isn’t with you.’

‘Ellie, I’m alone, OK? It’s just me. What do you say to that coffee?’

Her voice is soothing. And I am thirsty. I slide out from under the duvet and crawl to the door. The curtains are drawn, but he might be able to see my shadow.

As soon as the door is unlocked, I scurry back to the bed, drawing the bedding tight up under my chin.

Sally’s head appears through the door, followed by her hands carrying two mugs of coffee. She pushes the door shut with her foot and comes towards me.

‘Shut it, lock it’ I scream, pulling the duvet tight around me.

She puts the mugs on the floor, locks the door, picks up the mugs and comes to sit on the bed. I reach out and take one of the mugs, blowing on it and sipping slowly. She says nothing and I feel the need to say something. Silence is like that, isn’t it?

‘How long have you been here?’

‘An hour or two. I’ve been chatting to your brother. He called me; he’s worried about you.’

She talks so long her coffee goes cold and give up listening, until … she says something that catches my attention.

‘You are most vulnerable when you are alone.’

I stare at her in amazement. Why has no one ever told me this before? Why didn’t I realise it? It’s so obvious. But she’s not finished. She says something else I should have known.

‘You were assaulted, raped, buggered and beaten by a man. Just make sure that you are not alone with a single man. Two men is fine, or a man and a woman, but never a single male.’

But hang on, this needs some qualification.

‘Obviously, my boyfriend is OK, though, and my brother of course.’

‘No’ she says ‘you can’t be sure, can you? Never be alone with a man, until your attacker is caught.’

I imagine telling my boyfriend that. It’s going to be like having a chaperone around.

But Sally is right.

‘This is the way to stop being a victim and to take charge of your life, on your own terms.’

‘Right’ I say, throwing the covers aside, ‘let’s go for a drink.’
 
Goodness knows what’s happened. She’s worse than before. Flaunting herself around the town. Dressed to kill, showing off her body. Clubbing. Never alone, I’ve noticed. She always has at least one or two people with her, sometimes more. Maybe she hopes this will protect her. If so, she is mistaken. I regret not taking a trophy when I raped her. But it’s not too late. I’m starting a collection. And with her out and about so much, it’s so much easier for me. She’s played right into my hands again. This is fate.
 
I’m beginning to feel like my old self again. I’m getting out and meeting up with my friends. All I need to do is to make sure that I am never alone. I’ve explained this to my closest girlfriends and they’ve all rallied round. I can barely move without one of the them pulling alongside and suggesting we go somewhere together, even to the bathroom at work, where I am sure I am safe. I’ve told my brother and boyfriend too, as they are completely trustworthy, but no other men. I still feel nervous around men, even ones I know, although I make an effort not to show it.

The only thing is that I am getting forgetful. I put things down and they seem to disappear. Some reappear later in odd places. My boss has gone mad at some of the misfiled paperwork and my mum found my coffee mug in the fridge. Can you believe it? Other things disappear without trace. Little things, personal things, nothing that anyone would want to steal. My old panties were the first. Mum is sure I threw them out which she says I should have done a long time ago, but I am sure I didn’t, although I cannot be sure about anything at the moment. A ring that is too small for me has gone as well, but since I can’t remember when I last saw it, I can’t be sure when it went missing.

This isn’t surprising, because to be honest my head is still all mixed up about what happened. Sorry, mixed up about being raped, beaten and buggered. There, I can say it. Sally says it will take a long time before I am able to put it behind me. No pun intended there, we actually we able to laugh about it, which she says is a positive sign. It shows that I am getting stronger.
 
I’m getting quite a collection. Mostly tat at the moment, but I can pick up something more significant later, there’s no hurry, quite the opposite. She is so careless, it’s almost too easy. She never notices who’s around or what’s happening. Too busy showing off her body or her latest jewellery. Too busy chatting to her friends. Too busy pretending not to notice the effect she is having on me. Too busy to notice a pattern. Which will make the impact all the more when she finally gets her pretty little head around it.
 
The nurse phoned me from the surgery with the all clear. I’d not caught any horrible disease. ‘No more need for those nasty condoms’ she confided. I agreed as she expected, but in truth I’ve not used any. My boyfriend doesn’t like them and neither do I, but that wasn’t the point. Neither of us had felt like it, like intimacy, touching, penetrating.

I texted him the good news and he sent back a laughing smiley. As expected. We got together last night, but it wasn’t successful. We did it, but neither of us felt right. He seemed reluctant to touch me. Maybe he was nervous in case I was sensitive about the memories it would bring back. Or he just felt I was dirty. I wouldn’t blame him if he did, because that was how I felt at every touch of his fingers. We should have talked about our feelings, but it wasn’t worth the bother. Both of us know that it will never be the same between us. I was only staying with him until I got my new job, which now of course I haven’t, and he has only stayed with me because it would look bad if he dumped me right away. It wouldn’t last long time, just a matter of time. One of us will say that ‘we’ve grown apart’ and that ‘after all that’s happened a fresh start will be for the best’. Something like that anyway.

So that’s why I’m feeling down today. Fortunately, my brother, that wastrel who’s good for nothing, has been a great support. Mum has been away and he’s been watching out for me and, with him around, nothing has gone missing anymore. He keeps bringing things to me that I’ve left around and forgotten about. So it looks like what I really need is a minder or, as he puts it, ‘a slave to pick up your things and put them back where they belong’. He’s even found some of the things that I’ve misplaced over the last few days. I was beginning to think someone might be taking them. It’s a relief to know that it is just me being forgetful. I need to take more care, that’s all.
 
I’ve left her alone for a few days, letting her get used to the idea that things are back to normal, helping create the impression that she’s just experiencing a reaction to what I did to her in London. It’s all about time. The longer I leave it, the bigger the impact, the nastier the shock. But I can’t leave it any longer, my mind won’t let me. And this time, there’ll be no doubt what’s going on or who’s doing it. She’ll know I’m here and watching her, tracking her every move, with access to her whenever and wherever I choose.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom