The Dawn of Darkness (Part 23)

Ugh. My head still hurt like a bitch.

His fist had felt like it was punching through a brick wall when it connected with the side of my head. The first blow, the one to my mouth, had been more of a surprise than anything. Sure, it had hurt, but nothing like the one that knocked me cold. The first swing was only meant to daze me. The second had a more intent purpose.

Now I'm in the trunk of a car, naked except for the blanket that he'd wrapped me in when he threw me in here. There was a tire iron jabbing into my hip when I came to. I'd tried pounding on the trunk with it, but we were on the move and there was no one to hear the noise except for me and him. And he sure as shit wasn't going to be helping me any time soon.

Patrick. What a fucking nut job he'd turned out to be. I'd had him figured for one of those sexually repressed middle-class white boys. The type that got a suck, a fuck and a "good luck next time." He was gruff and conditioned, but there was something moldable underneath. Something that I thought I could work with. He'd not warmed to me easily when we'd first started hooking up to study. Threw me for a loop. It'd been so long since I had a challenge.

Men had been trailing after me since I was young enough to get them strung up on serious charges. My breasts had grown to a full C cup by the time I was 12 and didn't show any sign of slowing. By the time I was 16, they were double D's and took over the majority of my upper body. Girls called me fat and assumed I was a slut. Boys followed me around like obedient little servants. That didn't help much with the girl situation. Not until they saw that I turned the majority of them down.

I never had to suck or fuck any one that I didn't care to. I just had to give them the impression that I might. There was something in the way that they stared at me that said it all. They wanted a promise more than an actuality. And a promise, even just a hint of a promise, could be manipulated very, very easily.

There wasn't a project that I had to put more than ten percent effort into. There was never a need to buy a car when there was always someone to drive me around. Why buy a meal when there's some willing fool to pick up the tab? Why ask when there are so many offers?

It got fucking boring after awhile.

I'd played it out until senior year in college. Then the well began to run dry. Professors weren't as willing to help me. They were older and more set in their ways. The ones that might have been swayed by my ass actually wanted me to give a piece of it up. And even that wasn't a guarantee that it would get me anywhere. Those teachers were the ones who were fucking at least a half dozen of their female students. Their favor was always based on a curve of which one fucked them best. It went against my personal set of rules.

If I wasn't the only player, then I wasn't going to waste my time playing.

So I turned to Patrick. He was good looking, which was an oddity for a smart guy so willing to help out another student. It took me a little investigation to figure out why that was. He'd been mixed up in two of the most bizarre murder cases the small college town had seen in the last 20 years. All the good looks in the world aren't going to save you from girls thinking that you're going to chop off their head and put it in a box in your closet.

But he hadn't really done that, I reasoned. The shit that had happened to him happened around him. If anyone knew what it was like to grow up around shit and not let it define you, it was me. My mother was a junkie and a slut, known on a first name basis by all the cops in town. By the age of seven I'd even seen her blow a couple of those cops to get them off of her case. I had discovered that who you know isn't who you are. So I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

It had worked out fine at first. He'd had this thing about acting like he was in control of me. Like the strict teacher, snapping at me and barking orders. It took me less than a minute to realize that playing the part was well worth my time. He had this way of breaking down everything that would be on my tests into a language that I could digest. The work become impossibly easy. I aced tests without needing to see test questions beforehand. I aced them because I actually understood the work. And he'd gotten me there. So what was the harm in playing into his game a little?

A few weeks in, I was beyond ready to fuck him. We'd spent a few nights in his room, where he'd pace and posture. He made me sit on the floor. He'd wanted me to look up at him, to be in that position of power. I understood that. I didn't mind doing it because it gave me a choice angle. Patrick had an unbelievable ass. And when I would look up at him and let my eyes glaze over adoringly, he'd get a massive hard-on.

Massive was an incredibly accurate adjective for it. I'd never needed to stave the desire to lick my lips so much in my life.

After pizza one night, he drove us to a hotel. I'd figured that was where we were headed based on his lack of conversation. Men fear losing a woman's agreement by fucking it up too much with something as troublesome as words. I'd just sat there and let him pull the car into the parking lot. I got out silently, followed him to the room. I'd sat on the bed and watched him pace nervously. He wanted something very specific, that much could be attained from observing his jerky movements.

I tried to approach him and suddenly he snapped whatever piece was missing from his mental puzzle into place. He'd ordered me to wash the make-up off of my face. Fine, I'd thought. He wants me to look girlish. They all love them young, don't they? He'd stared at my naked face and his eyes went blank. He was looking past me. Past the cover. Reading the pages. Making out the story.

It was the first time I'd ever freaked in a sexual scene. I'd had guys ask me to do everything from let them suck on my toes to donning a strap-on and fucking them in the ass. But this was different. He wanted something sexual, sure. Exactly what that was he had yet to tell me. But there was more. It was as if he wanted to fuck my mind. Fuck my brain, my thoughts, my memories. Dig around and shoot his cum all over the inside of my head.

It was scary and excited me like nothing else ever had in my life.

I rolled with it. He ordered me to undress and I did willingly. I couldn't remember the last time that I had stood fully naked in bright light, just letting someone look at my body. He didn't want to appraise it. He didn't want to find fault with the thickness of my thighs, the line creasing the center of my stomach, the tiny white web-like stretch marks that marred the vision of my beloved tits. I was more than my parts. He was looking at my whole. Assessing me as an entire human being.

Fuck, it almost made me wet now, just thinking about it.

He instructed me to brush my hair, with my back to him. I could hear his panting and the tell-tale little squeaks from a hand tugging at a hard cock. I wanted to back onto that more than anything I'd wanted in my entire life. He'd only approached me after getting himself off. Pressed his clothed body up against mine and taken the brush away from me. He'd spanked my ass raw and fucked me with the brush. By the time that handle got inserted, my pussy was swollen up enough from the lust of it all that it was substantial enough. I came hard, only minutes after he'd started. It was brilliant. Not like an orgasm from anything else I'd ever done. It was more than just coming from the brush; It had been an orgasm from my head.

We'd driven home in silence that night. He fidgeted in his seat. His lips parted and closed several times. He wasn't sure what to say. I was scared that his words would be something explaining that he was too weirded out, that he couldn't do it anymore. And I couldn't handle that. Because I wanted more. I needed it. My heart had been racing since we'd left the hotel and didn't show any signs of slowing.

So I did the talking. I didn't give him an option. I asked to increase our study time. I knew it meant more. So did he. His nod was enough to satisfy me.

The studying was something that never stopped. We studied regardless of whatever buttons we decided to push during the session.  The library was amazing. Knowing that there was someone watching, seeing me finger myself and that Patrick was aware of it. He condoned it. He urged it to happen in the first place. I was lucky that I wasn't a screamer. His eyes were rewarding. They glinted a gold-ish green, full of light and depth. His smile was always something resembling the Cheshire Cat's. God, he was hot.

We left the library that day and not moments later were in the alley, him jerking cum all over my face. It tasted sweet and yet smokey. A balance of who he embodied in life. Patrick was kind and considerate in most situations. He opened doors, allowed me to go first regardless of activity, and forever said his "please"'s and "thank you"'s. But he was also cocky and demanding. He snapped at me in a way that I would never tolerate from anyone else. But that was because I figured his gruffness had a purpose.

It wasn't until we got to the house that I started to see stranger things happen. Most people would argue that what I had seen up until that point was strange enough, that it was enough of a warning, but they weren't there. They couldn't look into those eyes. He looked at me in a way was almost comforting. Like he knew it all and accepted it. That nothing could shock him or scare him away. I could stop playing the bullshitter and just allow him to guide me.

When I had tried to introduce a new aspect, he'd freaked out. The idea of being his horse was supposed to be a gift. To show him that I was willing to be his working breed. But he'd felt slighted. Thought I was taking control. Turned it on me. There was the briefest moment of panic that arose in my chest then, but he'd simply turned it over on me and made it into his own satisfying game. I was still being used as he wanted me, I reasoned. He still wanted to use me to his ultimate purpose. I relaxed against the pillar of that thought.

It never occurred to me that I was fighting for something equally as hard as he was. Fighting to appease a monster within myself that could never be fully sated. I'd long been through all of the counseling sessions, the CPS workers who wanted to make sure that I wasn't damaged from all that I'd witnessed from living in my mother's care. I was trying to prove to myself that it was possible to give up my precious control without ever losing it. That giving it over to another person was the ultimate proof that I could completely control my world around me.

So I'd kept going with it. I followed him down his winding path of kink, marching along as his sexual soldier. He barked orders, fucked my tits, made me crave him more. When I'd seen the scars, it was an awakening. He was damaged. There was something just as fucked about him as there was about me. My heart soared. I felt an overwhelming bond with him. His scars were real, his scars I could run my fingers across. It substantiated my own inner scars.

He couldn't tell me where they'd come from. His eyes teared over and his mouth went slack. It was as if the movie playing underneath his skin had broken somewhere in the reel and was flapping loose, waiting for someone to come along and tape it back together. The thing I didn't think of was the reality of a broken movie reel. Whenever it gets taped back together, the damaged ends need to be cut off and thrown away. When you're in the movie theater, there's only the tiniest of blips on the screen where the mending was made, but it's there. Something is missing. As a whole, everything keeps operating, but in the fine tuning... even a couple of frames gone can equal trouble.

The tumult arose when he almost smothered me. He fucked me from behind, my face pressed into my pillow. It would have been fine if his hands hadn't been pressing on the back of my head. I couldn't breathe, my head couldn't move and my heart began to flutter uncontrollably. When he'd let me go, I was light headed in a way that made me feel like I was stoned. I could barely bring myself to argue with him that what he'd done was too much, too far. By the time my head gained some gravity, I'd long forgotten. My attentive Patrick was back.

Then the spa.

Yeah, I don't want to think about the spa. Thinking about it will just make me hate myself for not ending shit right then and there. So I'm not going to think about the spa.

I'm going to think about him suddenly calling me Katie. He'd never done it before. Even when we'd first arrived at the house he was still referring to me by my name. It wasn't until that evening, when I'd fucked him to sleep that he really changed. He woke up that morning looking blank. His face was a void. His eyes were empty. There was a man in bed with me, in the room with me, but there wasn't a man inside of the man.

Evil had replaced the man. It was so thick within him that I could almost taste the smell of it in the air. Whoever Patrick was, whatever he had been to me, it was gone. What remained had knocked me out and stuck me in this trunk. It was driving now. It had plans for me.

And they weren't to fuck me with a brush, that much was certain.