Becoming Claire (invitation only)

[patrick1]

watching her

How demure she is. She walks past, careless, humming slightly to herself, emerging and disappearing from view as she walks along the avenue of oaks. She bends to look at a small blue flower. The arch of her back. When she straightens: how lovely is the shape of her body. As she moves on, there's something reserved in her movements, something pent-up. I've felt this from the first day I saw her: that there may be a quiet volcano within her, restrained, aching for release.

All too quickly she's out of sight.

I love to watch her. Soon the watching will end, the secret watching, and I'll miss it. I like the frisson, the slight fear that she'll just turn this particular way for once and discover my regular hiding place, and look into my eyes, and recognize me.

She never does turn this particular way. She walks on, her head bowed, sometimes, her eyes bright and watching for bird life, sometimes, her brow furrowed, sometimes.

Of course, soon I shall be watching her in another way, but this thrill will be gone. Will it be like sex itself used to be so often for me, back when I was married? Will the anticipation, the foreplay, the uncertainty be more exciting than the achievement, the act, the consummation?

No. Not with her. Not with -

I'm not going to call her by her real name. I still can't decide what to call her, though. In a crazy way, that's the one thing that's still not in place. I have her new home. I have the agent who will help me move her there. In her new home, I have everything she and I may desire for our new relationship.

But I don't have a name for her. Blondie? I love her hair, but - no, I may want her hair in other shades. Shy? I love her diffidence but - no, I shall want to make her other than shy.

It will come. Perhaps tonight. Perhaps in a dream.

Meanwhile, I have three more pictures of her. Approaching. Then bending to look at the flower. Then straightening. There's no rush. I shall simply go home, and look at the three pictures. Crop and correct them, focus them on her. Print the one of her bending at triple size, perhaps. There's still space on the wall. So that even when she's not there, I can watch her. Imagine our life together...

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar Thomas Winters:

Edgar is an Ordinary Seaman working the merchant marine trade with voluntary layoffs in various ports around the world when he has some money to spend and his urges have built to where they just have to be released or he'll go nuts.

That happened once when he waited to long and he was almost caught as he raped and abused the teasing bar bitch who'd happily let him buy her drinks, but then refused to 'pay him back' with a good fuck. Well he'd gotten the fuck and gotten away, although she'll wear the marks for the rest of her life.

Now Edgar knew when it was time so he doesn't lose control again and it's time.

He leaves the ship in England and begins to tour the bars looking, and also seeing if there's work as a bouncer that pays under the table so he doesn't have to return to sea to soon.
His huge size, 6'10" tall and his weight, 365 pounds, make him well suited to bouncer work, as does his predisposition for inflicting pain and laughing at any he recieves.

He a huge and crude man with a minimal education but what he knows he knows very well and has picked up lots of 'tricks' in his world travels and visits in many ports.

 

[patrick1]

the George and Dragon pub

The big American's already drunk when I get there tonight. 'Hey, how're doing?' All that stuff. I don't know how Edgar holds all that beer and still stays standing. Maybe it's the weeks at sea, abstaining from the stuff, maybe that somehow makes room for the vast quantities of alcohol he can imbibe. The second time we met, I tried to match him pint for pint, and he ended up carrying me home. Not to the house; to the little flat I keep here in the city.

Now I know to pace myself with him. I buy him two pints to my one.

Tonight he's expansive, on one of his favourite subjects: how to (mis)treat a woman. 'This Filipino broad, can't remember her fuckin' name, man she was -'

I've never raped a woman in my life. Part of me hates to hear his stories (and how much of them are story, how much fact? I don't think even he knows). Part of me wants to hear the next appalling, amazing detail. 'She was hangin' by her ankles, I swear to you...'

Do I need him? I look at the way he guzzles his drink, and hear the way he loudly chews every mouthful of food, and I think, I need never see him again, I could do this on my own.

But part of me - the major part of me - wants him there. If force is needed, he'll provide it. And I want to expose her to him. There's something in him, horrifying as it is, that I want to emulate.

'Tomorrow, Edgar...'

'I'll be asleep.'

I lean closer so no-one else can hear. 'Tomorrow, at this time, be awake. It's tomorrow. When I've given her a name.'

'What?'

'Just be here. Drinking tomato juice. Or strong coffee.'

I want to sit with him, drink another pint, hear more tales of derring-do and misognyny. But I need a clear head tomorrow. A good night's sleep tonight. 'Goodnight Edgar...'

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

"Okay pal and I'll show ya how ta treat a woman so she'll respect ya when ya've finished with her and maybe beg ya not to go so she kin have some more," he says laughing wickedly, evilly with a gleam in his eyes, after all Donald's shown him a picture of the hot looking little bitch and Edgar's ready, willing and eager to get to know her a whoooole lot better.

 

[sandmartin]

It is only eleven o’clock in the morning and all ready the day is fast heating up. I reach the shelter of the trees and enter the shaded wood thankful of the break. I love the wood with its canopy of green towering above, an abundance of wild flowers and heady scents – pine, bracken and dog rose. I pause for a moment, sucking in a huge lungful of the aromas… and then I relax, moving deeper inside the green awning. The constant drone of buzzing flies provides a backdrop to the wonderfully shrill symphony of bird song, I pause a moment to listen, closing my eyes, my head turned up as I bathe in the concerto.

Slowly I walk on, absorbed by the peace and harmony that radiates around me. Somewhere, in the distance I can hear the magical sound of water dancing across stone and I tune in. Light slants down through the trees and I am absorbed by the melody of music as the water continues its song, but something is amiss!

I listen hard, trying to detect what is wrong and then I realise that the bird song is missing from the magnificent harmony. I pause to search the stillness around me, and am aware that I am feeling unsettled…

How long has it been there?
What does it mean?

I move on, my senses tuned, alert and watchful. This wood is wrong… something is wrong! I stick to the dirt path, following its trail as I try to bring the inexplicable feeling of fear under control.

My eyes scour the trees surrounding me. I am well aware of just how easy it is to feel you are being watched in woodland, and then I see him. My heart skips a beat and I feel my feet flounder for just the briefest of moments. He calls, I assume to a dog though I can’t see one. My anxiety lifts slightly as I continue onwards.

The middle aged man with grey hair passes me by and I am immediately filled with relief. He had nodded to me as he passed and I ignored him, pretending I hadn’t noticed – how rude I must appear?

Some instinct told me not to look back, that if I did I would find him staring at me as I walked on. I obeyed my instinct until I could bear it no more.

Stealing a glance over my shoulder I discover that he has gone, but gone where? I stop and turned around slowly, my eyes staring up the path along which I have travelled. I am sure I had not imagined him, yet there is no sign of him at all; it was as if he had never been there! Then I heard the bird song strike up once more and I turned back, feeling myself relax, and my mood lifted. Soon I would need to find some place to stop and enjoy my sandwiches while listening to the overture of the woods around me – I was, to put it simply, in heaven.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

He hears Donald's call and freezes because that means she's in sight and coming along the footpath.
His eyes narrow, he swallows the increased saliva flow and his big cock twitches and begins growing in anticipation of what'll soon happen.
He follows her as she walks down the path and with each step he gets harder and more aroused as he watchs her ass move and imagines it with his prick buried to the base in it.

 

[sandmartin]

The Forest Glade

It's uncanny how you always feel you are being watched in a forest, today was no exception... try as I might I couldn’t shake the sensation. I was very use to walking by myself in woodland and such things didn't usually bother me.

Today was different; I genuinely felt something was out there – watching, waiting. Why did I feel so guilty about the fugitive glances I was throwing about me? If was almost as though I were afraid of being caught looking back at someone.
“Oh this is ridiculous Sandy!” I chided myself out loud as I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees – nothing! Not a soul in sight, no stranger lurking behind me on the path and no boogieman hiding in the trees. I was completely alone – there!

I set off again and started humming softly to myself in an attempt to lift my spirits. Five minutes later I spied a burst of light through the trees and as I continued toward it I heard the gurgling sound of tripping water once again.

Picking my way through to the edge of the glade, I stood for a few moments soaking up the beauty of the scene; lush grass, bright sunshine, the sound of running water hidden from sight by the cutting a short distance ahead, beyond which lay a backdrop of trees.

All earlier suspicions and fears evaporated as I stepped forward into the grassy glade. The warmth of the sun instantly hit me and I pulled off my thin top. Standing on the bank of the brook I rolled my shirt sleeves up whilst staring down at the white churning water splashing into a small pool on my left.

For the briefest of moments I had an overwhelming urge to just slip out of my tight jeans and shirt and go for a swim – but someone might come! With that thought I stole a quick glance behind me as I settled down on the bank. My feet dangled freely beneath me as I unpacked my lunch from my small knapsack…

 

[patrick1]

Donald: recognition

Why did I have to do that, this morning? The morning of all mornings? Deliberately walk towards and straight past her?

She didn't recognize me. We have sat together in half a dozen dreary meetings, both of us taking notes for our side of the negotiations - and she doesn't recognize me. It gives me a great surge of pleasurable anger, even remembering that moment now. That those enoucnters began my dreams of her, and yet -

Well, she'll recognize me, soon enough.

I wanted to speak to her. I nodded, but I so wanted to say to her, It will happen today because I woke up this morning and I knew your name. The name I will give you. It all became clear.

It was a foolhardy thing to do. But right. This is the new me. I am stepping off a precipice into the unknown. How exhilarating it is.

Now I must check the white van. Remind myself how much to tell - and not to tell - Edgar. Tonight, on her evening walk, she will see me again. Our real relationship will begin.

 

[sandmartin]

I woke with a start, the sky overcast and darkening above me. Sitting up I looked at my watch… “Wow! Where did the day go!?”

It was late afternoon and there was a fresh breeze blowing, which made me wonder if a storm front was moving in. I quickly gathered my things together and set off back through the woods. It was darker under the thick canopy and the dim light held a stillness that suggested my premonition of a storm brewing might be right. I hoped I made it home before it started…

 

[patrick1]

final plans

I meet the big American outside the pub at the appointed time. Not a trace of alcohol on his breath. Why did I distrust him? He must be used to sobering up, for his tours of duty.

'Don, how are you?' I always want to shrink away, at his big greetings.

Today though I have a brown envelope for him, and handing it to him covers my reluctance to exchange high fives with him. 'Your first instalment.'

'So what's the plan?' He's looking over my shoulder at the white van.

'You're ready? It's now.'

'Ready. Hey, and Willing and Able are here too.'

I smile. It's not a reluctant smile. We are going to do this. A lifetime dream. We are about to do this. I can't do it without him. I put my hand around his back: I can't reach his shoulder, which would be the buddy-buddy thing to do. I lead him to the van. 'I'll drive. Let's talk about this on the way.'

It's only a few minutes to the road at the edge of the forest. I tell him what's going to happen. He seems to like the sound of it.

 

[patrick1]

this is the moment

This is the moment. We get out of the van. She's climbing over the stile on to this little dead-end road where I've backed the van. There's no-one else about but the birds, singing their hearts out, as if nothing extraordinary were about to happen.

I open the back of the van, and we walk towards her. I'm swinging my Marks and Spencer's carrier bag back and forth, and pretending to talk jovially to Edgar. 'The hills are alive,' I say to him, 'with the sound of music.' She's approaching, unconcerned. I don't look at her. The asphalt of the road becomes of all-consuming interest to me.

Her footsteps are close. I look up. I smile. How beautiful she is. Her right hand goes up to her blonde hair in a nervous gesture I recognize. She thinks she half-knows me. 'Hello,' I say, 'I'm Donald, you're about to be -'

Edgar's almost past her. She half-turns, too late: his big arms are around her, lifting her off the ground. I take the canvas hood out of my carrier. I see her wide eyes for a moment, as I stuff my handkerchief into her mouth, and then the hood comes down over her head. It has a drawstring that I tighten a little, loosely, at her neck, and Edgar is already carrying her to the van, just a few yards away. She's kicking out, I catch hold of her legs, this is it, this is it, Edgar bangs his head slightly as he gets up into the van with her but they're in, and I'm closing the door behind us.

'Hold her down,' I say, 'hold her down,' as if that wasn't what he was trying to do, but she's kicking, Edgar's swearing, I get hold of her right leg, between my knees, facing her foot, and buckle the first cuff on to her ankle, and lift her foot to the roof of the van, and clip it to the ring ready up there. I take a kick in my leg as I grab her other foot, but soon that is cuffed, and raised to the roof, her legs parted. And some of the fight's going out of her, as I crawl alongside her, and exchange glances with Edgar, who relaxes his grip a little so I can take hold of her left arm, and buckle the cuff to her left wrist, and clip it to the ring in the roof of the van, and now she's off the ground, in his arms, God I bet he's horny, and I take her right wrist, and there's a last little fight in her, and grunts from inside her hood and her gag, before I lift her right cuffed wrist to the van's roof and fasten it there.

I nod to Edgar. He lets go.

We sit, dazed, for more than a moment. She hangs between us, by her wrists and ankles, hooded, gagged, helpless. Something like sobs are coming from her now.

I take my hip-flask from my inside pocket. Brandy. I expect she needs it most. But I take a slug and pass it to Edgar. 'She's yours to play with for an hour while we drive to the house. Remember the rules, won't you? And leave most of her clothes on, OK?'

I push through the little curtain I've rigged up, and crawl through to the driving seat. Somebody is coming along the path. My heart skips a beat. Then I think: so what? I wave politely, and the man waves back. I start the van.

She is mine. I hear her muffled cry from the back, and smile, and drive off into the future...

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

The cry he hears up from comes when Edgar rips open her shirt and tears her bra open to both hang to the sides of her body exposing and bareing her breast.

"Mmmmm," he says just loud enough for her to hear in his deep and rumbling voice, "ya got great tits slut. I'll get a lot of fun out of them.
"I like hurting a bitches tits and nipples, I like cumming on 'em and tit fucking 'em too. And yours are big enough for a good tit fuck for my big ole fuck pole slut."

"Now let's see your pussy, cunt and asshole fuckmeat," he says as his big hands none to gently grip the crotch of her pants and then he yanks splitting the seam open.

As she jerks and squirms, screams into the gag under the hood, Edgar pushs two thick fingers into the split seam and hooks them under the crotch of her panties. Then he pulls and pulls until it finally rips out leaving her crotch and part of her ass bare to the air, his eyes and his none to gentle hands and fingers.

He chuckles as he says to her, "Nice pussy slut bitch. Ole Edgar's gonna like reaming it out, stretching it wider then it's ever been stretched... both ways, wider and deeper fucktoy slut."

"And just look at that tight little asshole. I'll bet no body's been in it yet have they slut? Well ole Edgar's fuckstick's gonna open it up for ya and fuck it just like I'll fuck your slut's cunt and your cocksucking mouth," he says as one hand closes on a tit and squeezes it and a finger is shoved to the last knuckle into her cunt.

 

[sandmartin]

Sandy:

“She's yours to play with for an hour while we drive to the house. Remember the rules, won't you? And leave most of her clothes on, OK?”

Oh my God! Everything is such a blur, it’s all happening to fast – Help me – please someone help me!

What’s going on – what’s happening to me? The hood is hot and uncomfortable, I can feel beads of sweat forming rivulets and running down my neck. My wrists hurt like hell where the straps cut into my skin and hold me suspended.

I screech behind my gag and throw myself against the straps holding me suspended as I feel my shirt buttons popping open. Course hands tear my bra open, I scream again and then I freeze, paralyzed with fear as I hear of his plans.

Inside the hood my face is twisted into contortions. I feel his hard fingers scratching at the cross road of seams in the middle of my crotch. He is picking at the stitching, I feel it giving way, slowly at first, and then rapidly surrendering. His finger pokes through cruelly, stabbing at my secret place as it worms its way inside my jeans. Soon he works a second finger inside my jeans and then I hear, and feel, the fabric tear open.

I rear up, throwing myself around in my slung position. He chuckles in response and all I can offer is a muffled scream in reply. Despite my thrashing it seems he is effortlessly able to grasp the gusset of my briefs and all I can do is sob helplessly as the last of my defences is torn aside.

My howl is a mixture of both pain and anguish as he pinches my nipple cruelly and a stab of pain streaks through my breast; in the same instance I feel a dry, hard calloused finger enter my vagina…

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

"Mmmmm, nice tight cunt ya've got slut, but not as tight as your asshole is I'll bet," he says as his finger fucks in and out of her pussy.

As he finishes speaking his hand moves to her other tit to maul it and pinch and play with that nipple annnd as he pulls out of her pussy he positions another finger and this time when it shoves the finger into her slowly juicing cunt a finger is shoved up her ass too.

"Ohhhh fucck. You're ass is sooo fucking tight it's gotta be a virgin ass bitch. Can't wait ta fill and fuck it slut," he says still finger fucking her when she calms down a bit.

 

[patrick1]

donald

I obey the speed limit all the way along the main road. Edgar's harsh voice keeps ringing in my ears. And her squeals and muffled screams.

At Edgar's threats to her increase, I pull over at a lay-by and part the curtain. I gaze open-mouthed at Edgar's violence. 'Hey: remember what we agreed now, Edgar. Don't forget there are still two stages of your fee to come now.'

And anyway, I want to watch. If you're going to hurt her I want to watch.

I don't say.

He tosses a few more expletives my way. What might he do to her, before I can even make her mine? I pull the curtain closed and put my foot down. The sooner we get to the house, the sooner I'll be able to take control. If I can. What might I have unleashed here...?

<>

It's dark when I open the back of the van. The security light gleams on us. I look up at Edgar's sweating, smiling face. I try to sound authoritative. 'Clip her wrist-cuffs together behind her. I'll fasten her ankle-cuffs together. Then you can carry her down to the cellar. Hey, and Edgar -'

His look challenges me. He thinks I'm going to try and restrain him again. Instead: 'Thanks,' I say. 'Couldn't have done it without you. You might want to put on your mask for when she's down in the cellar. I'll be taking off her hood. I want her to see me. But you might not want to be identifiable...'

I shrug. We bind her. She's stopped struggling. Edgar heaves her over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. I close up the van and follow them to the cellar steps. Edgar's waiting. I go ahead, down the steps - we don't have to go through the rest of the house - and unlock the heavy metal door. I lead the way through the small lobby, and out into the big play room. The sound-proofing makes a ripple pattern on the walls and ceiling. He lays her down on the soft carpet. For a moment I'm paralysed with pleasure. This faintly-struggling form, bound, blind, helpless, is the culmination of a life of dreaming; placed here, in a dungeon of my own devising, with a man who might easily kill her if she doesn't do everything we want.

'Fix yourself a beer, Edgar...and a sparkling water for me.' There's a refrigerator, just by the caged opening in the wall where I plan to keep her. The hooks, pulleys, the table and what's hidden beneath the table-top, the array of whips on the wall: I'm intoxicated by the way it's all coming alive, now she and Edgar are here.

I squat beside her. Edgar leans against the refrigerator, drinking his beer from the can. I unfasten her wrists behind her. I loosen the drawstring and pull off the hood. I take the handkerchief out of her mouth. I take a pace back, but still stand over her, my shadow falling across her terrified features. My voice is scarcely more than a whisper: 'There's no escape. No sound can be heard even just outside the door from here. Now is the time for you to stand, and strip for us. Slowly. Sensually. Or shall I let Edgar do it for you? And do whatever he wants while he's doing it?'

Deep breaths. I take deep, deep breaths. My heart is pounding.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

After he's hooded himself in a leather executioner's hood he's bought at a leather fetish shop, Edgar slings her over his shoulder so he can carry her downstairs.

After she's over his shoulder he uses a hand on her ass to hold her in place, and a finger of the hand in each of her holes he's been fingerfucking too. Her cunt's juiced from the stimulation and her ass has even relaxed a bit although it has to be sore.

He ducks through the door and it's closed and locked behind him as it puts her in the middle of the floor so that she bathed in light.

He nods and gets the beer and the water and stands drinking his beer as he listens to the wimp telling her to undress and threatening her with his doing it for her.

'That ain't how ta do it,' Edgar thinks to himself.

He takes the few steps needed to look down at her terror filled eyes as she lays on he floor and growls, "On your feet bitch. NOW!
"Get your ass up and start stipping in a sexy strip tease before I use a whip and whip off every stitch you're wearing and welt your body at the same time.
"Get on your fucking feet and Strip Now you slut whore!"

Then he turns and walks to the wall and makes a show of choosing a whip.

 

[patrick1]

Donald

'That's enough, Edgar!' Should have kept him with me before the balloon went up. He's been drinking after all.

He doesn't take any notice. Keeps fingering the whips and swearing at her.

'If you want the rest of your fee for this job, Edgar, you'll go home now. Sleep it off. And come back here in the morning with the clothes.'

I stare at him. I'm not sure I'm getting through to him. I wait.

 

[sandmartin]

Sandy - Enter the Dungeon

Petrified, my clothes tattered and torn, I lay on the floor trying to comprehend what is going on between these two. It is as though I am a prize, a freshly killed gazelle over which two lions are about to fight. I really don’t care much for the old man’s chances, but dear God please don’t let that other masked animal win.

Terror fills me as he suddenly marches across the room, beer can in hand and yells at me.
"On your feet bitch - NOW!”
I scramble to my feet, tears coursing freely down my face…
“…start striping in a sexy strip tease before I use a whip and whip off every stitch you're wearing and welt your body at the same time.”
Oh God, not that, please don’t make me do that, I don’t want to take my clothes off. I want to plead with them… please, why are you doing this to me? But all I can manage is a deep sob as I clutch my torn shirt tightly across my front.
“That's enough, Edgar!”
I glance up, trying avoid eye contact, I see the brut Edgar toying with a viscous looking whip. The old man cuts in, telling him to go home, something about a fee – I’m puzzled, but too frightened to think about it.

Suddenly Edgar steps forward, raising the whip…
“NO!” I scream, stepping backwards quickly. In two steps I am backed up against the wall.
“Do as you’re told bitch, or you’ll feel my whip. Now get on with it and show us your tits.”

At that precise moment I want the wall to close up around me, to suck me inside and hide me. My hands are shaking uncontrollably as I unfold the front of my torn shirt. Immediately my breasts are exposed, my torn bra hangs from my shoulders. I hate myself for being a coward and complying. My shirt slips off my shoulders, the remnants of my bra following suit and I let them fall to the floor at my feet.

I don’t know where to look, I can’t bear to bring myself look at them. For a moment there is silence in the room, I know the two men are staring at me, and I know exactly where they are looking. Without thinking I raise an arm to my chest and fold it across my breasts…

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

"Mmmmm nice firm tits you sexy bitch and I know just how firm they are. They felt sooo good as I squeezed 'em and your nipples go sooo hard too."

"Move that arm! Now! We wanna see your tits slut not your fucking arm.
"Move it and shake your tits for us, then strip off the rest," he growls.

"Orrrr...." and the hand holding the whip begins to slowly rise. "I wanna see your pussy and ass so shake your tits and then strip off the rest for us."

He looks over at his pal and says in a deadly calm voice, "I ain't going no where til this bitch's stark naked and has given me some pleasure first."

 

[sandmartin]

Sandy:

I feel myself colouring up, my face burning brightly as he talks about my breasts. I physically jump as he snaps at me to remove my arm and uncover myself. My arm drops and I feel the hot flush spreading down my neck and across my chest.

He’s unstable, I’m sure of it, the way his voice keeps changing in tone – it’s impossible to know what’s coming next.
“Orrrr....” and the hand holding the whip begins to slowly rise. “I wanna see your pussy and ass so shake your tits and then strip off the rest for us.”

Oh my God! I want to die! I twist at my pelvis, rocking my shoulders back and forth stiffly. I can feel my breasts moving gently, I instinctively know it’s not good enough, but I just can’t bring myself to go the full hog and shake my breasts.

My eyes bounce about the room. I catch sight of the old man, his eyes are fixed on me, a thin wispy smile locked on his face and I feel my reddened face deepening.

They want me naked. My heart is pounding, fit to burst, but my hands won’t comply. I stand before them, swaying my shoulders, allowing my breasts a little movement while they ogle at me.

Edgar speaks, I flinch, it’s almost a reflex…
“I ain't going no where til this bitch's stark naked and has given me some pleasure first.”

Oh No! I know exactly what he means, he means to rape me…

 

[patrick1]

donald

'I need a gulp of your beer, Edgar.'

How beautiful she looks. Blushing with embarrassment, shaking with fear. Her breasts barely moving, despite his barked orders.

I take the bottle from Edgar and swig some beer. 'The trouble between us, pal,' I say to him, my arm around his back, 'we see this differently. You want to fuck her even though she says no. Because she says no, maybe. You want to rape her. Whereas...'

The beer tastes good. I take a sip more. I can't believe how near I've come to the prize - the woman - terrified, half-naked - and yet - 'Whereas me,' I go on, 'I'm a man for the long game. I was going to keep her here until she begged me to fuck her. That's my style. No force. Just...judicious treatment. Until she begged me. But what can I do? You're bigger, stronger, younger than me. Go ahead. Strip her. Fuck her.'

He smiles at me. He turns to her. A stream of expletives. She takes a half-step back, covering herself again. He takes a step forward towards her. I aim the blow just behind his left ear. The beer bottle breaks against his head. I'm stunned at the force I've used, but he's only half-crumpling, I have to hit him again, and then a third time, and not listen to the noises he's making, not see the blood spurting from the wound in his head.

He crumples to the floor, face down.

I put my arm round her bare shoulders. She tries to shrink away from me. 'Don't be an idiot, woman. Come with me.'

I have to half-drag her to the outer door, which I unlock; then to the inner door, which I unlock, push her through, lock behind me, up the dark stairs to the hallway. She looks wildly about her, as if to run. 'I'm taking you home,' I say, 'for fuck's sake don't run now.'

There's my big blue coat on the hall stand. 'Here.' She's scared. She's shivering. She still thinks there must be a trick. I have to push her arms into the absurdly billowing arms of the coat. 'Pull it about you. Come on, he might -'

I don't have to finish the sentence. Who knows how quickly he might come round? We go out of the house, and I half-push her into the passenger seat of the van. I'm shaking myself; the van stalls twice before I can get it moving. It's night now, I peer out into the darkness, pierced by the headlights. The woman keeps sobbing.

Once we're on the open road, the driving, the effort of driving calms me. He can't follow us; there's no other vehicle at the house. He doesn't know where she lives, or even her name; he only knows where she walks. I tell her this: 'I wanted you. It was crazy. He won't come after you. I'll see him tomorrow, I'll pay him what I owe him. I don't hold it against him. I've opened the door for him, he's not trapped; he'll make it home somehow. It wasn't his fault exactly. It was my fault. Maybe he'll beat me to a pulp. Maybe we'll just get very drunk together. And then he'll be back on his ship and off halfway round the world again. I...I just couldn't let him do that to you.'

She doesn't understand. I wish I had a drink, now. Soon, soon I'm going to get very drunk. Once I get her home. We're on the main road now. Keep within the speed limit Donald. A sports car sweeps past. She's trying to speak: 'I...I...'

'Don't say anything. I wanted you. I'm not sorry. I've been obsessed with you. To him you were just meat. Just another cunt. To me you were - the one. I'm still glad I did it. Even thought it's turned out -'

There are no more words. Even her sobbing seems to subside. I turn towards the city. Round the ring road; along the familiar route I've taken so many times, just to sit outside her house, and watch her curtains, for a glimpse of her at the window, for a moment when she might emerge. Here we are: the end of her road. 'You'll think I'm crazy, but here: give me your hand.' Cautiously, nervously - I see her think about bolting before finally she gives me her right hand. I write ten digits on it. 'My phone number. You can call the police, I don't care. I wanted you. I don't care.' I realize I'm holding her hand, tightly, and I let go. 'Now, go.'

She fumbles with the door but finally she's gone, and not looking back. My eyes fill with tears for a moment. Then I gun the engine. I need a hotel tonight. A place where I'm not known. And a bottle. Maybe two. Oblivion: that's where I'm headed.

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

Edgar:

He comes to eventually and growls at what his "pal and buddy" did to him, a crappy lowlife sucker swat with the bottle from all the glass he's be laying in or rolled onto.

He pulls the money he'd been given out of his pocket, drops it in the beer on the floor and spits right in the center of the crumpled wad of bills to let his buddy know his contempt for his treatment.

He uses a sink to wash away the caked and dried blood from the gash on his head and walks out the cellar door leaving it wide open to any who may wish to enter to see if there's anything to steal and grimly smiles to himself as he imagines the shock the finding and seeing a 'torture chamber' will give them and wonders how long it'll take word to spread.

He heads back to the city vowing if he ever sees his 'pal' again to break at least two major bones as a lesson in what comradeship and being pals should mean to a real man.

(And Edgar fades from the game and story, and I unsubcribe from the thread.)

 

[sandmartin]

Sandy:

I walk away, quickly, my feet practically blazing a trail away from his van. I don’t look back, my arms folded across the coat, keeping it firmly wrapped around me and closed.

The van has gone, I begin to weep to myself, I slow my pace, I am confused and frightened. What has happened here this evening - was that old man my saviour? Did I just witness a man being murdered? Wasn’t I nearly raped and didn’t the old man just save me from that ordeal? Shouldn’t I have at least said thank you?

I stepped inside my house, nervously switching on the light, terrified of what might be lurking in the darkness. I head upstairs, I want a shower, I’m sore between my legs. Should I phone the police – I should, I know I should. I must have a shower first, his number – it’s written on my hand, but why?

I’ll ring him, warn him that I’m going to the police, give him a chance to get away – it’s only fair after the chance he gave me…

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

OOC: Patrick your PM mailbox is full, so I can't reply.

May I suggest emptying all three folders on the upper right side and use the box on the upper left to do each one "Wrom: OKSTTZRCLBDXRQBGJSNBOHMKHJYFMYXOEAIJJPHSCRTNHGSWZIDREXCAXZOWCONEUQZAAFXISHJEXXIMQZUIVOTQNQEMSFDULHPQQWOYIYZUNNYCGPKYLEJGDGVCJVTLBXFGGMEPYOQKEDOTWFAOBUZXUWLSZLKBRNVWWCUFPEGAUTFJMVRE
PP

 

[PhoenixPrime01]

What the heck.... TEST TEST...

It should have said "From: the beginning" so some aren't hidden out of sight.