Conscent.

2003-01-14T17:33:11Z

I love how she begs at the door like this....

It isn't the same as a hungry dog scrounging at my doorstep, or an eager slut knelt on the front lawn while dew drops of fresh rain bead in her hair and dot her shoulders, no... This isn't the begging of someone who wants to be let in. This is the tearful, red-eyed plea of someone wanting desperately to be let out.

"Please...." That's a word that makes my heart pump quick and die a moment later... she repeats it over and again, like a mantra; like a prayer. I'm waiting and, like God, my patience is infinite; but oh, I can't help but sit by that door and trace the woodgrains, listening to her sharp, hiccuping breaths as I wait....

I found her on the street. She was a run away. She had a home; she threw that away. She had a name; I took that away. She'll thank me later; if I tell her to.

She doesn't know I'm here, but she must feel me like the heat of a naked sun in winter; a memory or a ghost of something real.

"Please...."

Her voice is hoarse. It's been... twelve hours since I took her; the little thief had thought she could find dinner for the night, steal from some korean street vender and find herself unpunished, untouched. Not like the cops would bother to hunt her down; she's trash and she knows it. Justice is fickle though; I found her instead.

I liked the way her legs moved beneath those baggy, stained windbreakers; I liked her knotty hair and the freckled skin beneath, the soft downward curve of those pink and unkissed lips, the scent of unwashed cunt that wafted like blood on the water but most of all, above all else, I loved the way her eyes sheened with tears she'd forgetten how to shed; they made her street-innocent, broken and utterly devourable. I could fuck her innocence to death....

No one gave a fuck when I cloraformed her; it was a block over, when she slowed down and hugged her little backpack full of treats, when she felt safe and hungry and hopeful; I yanked her around, jerked her thin shoulders and slammed them against a brick wall so fast her breath hissed into the air like a smoke-stack billow; happened too quick, too hard for her to scream. I smothered her into sleep instead. Her eyes were muddy brown, forgettable and dry; she didn't have a chance to cry. I put her in the van, in broad daylight and no one gave a fuck. I love this city.

She fucking had fleas. Filthy.

"Please... let me out... please, I do what you want; I'll suck your dick, anything, just don't kill me; let me out, please, please, let me out."

The first hour was spent letting her know what to expect; I said nothing, no a single word, and fucked her the moment she came-to; fucked her through those blue windbreakers, tearing the fabric down off her ass, ripping her stained panties aside and giving my cabin a fresh coat of arromatic funk from her exposed pussy; I ground her cheek so far into that wood, clawing at her thighs and squeezing her skinny ribs, her cheeks smeared blood all over the floor.

She put up a fight, but couldn't scream; I gagged her with clothe. She probably swallowed her own vomit a few times, but I don't like to think about those things when I'm raping teenagers on the livingroom floor.

Mmmm.. I worked on her then; she just felt struggling and struggling until I sent a shock of fire up her spine with the tail of my belt, making her arch and kick out so beautifully I could have cried for a picture of that moment.... Instead, I recreated it. I let the pain die. And I sparked it again. And again. I made her thighs blush purple with zebra stripes with she squirmed beneath me; I don't need bondage when my one hand can force down both her wrists. All that time, I didnt say a word.

I let her up and she ran; caughter her by the wrist, put her down with a slap, and she stayed still, curling, crawling up against a wall, tearing, begging with her eyes and mewing through her nose. She shivered. I took out my cock, stroked long and slowly, and I watched her. This little girl lost in the forest, crying on my floor with ripped panties still clinging to her thighs, was hatefully erotic. I came on her feet.

Then I dragged her by that scraggly hair and threw her face-first into the closet. I locked it.

For the first four hours, she didn't make a sound; I was disappointed.

Now she's begging and I'm choking my dick in a fist, listening to her. Waiting.

"Please..." and a sob, a long, shuddering sob.

"...sir."

And I open the door.

Light pours over my shoulder, bathing her filthy skin clean; she crawls on her hands and knees. It's stiff and clumsy, but she crawls. And when she reaches my feet, I don't move. She hesitates. She knows not to look up; she's a clever girl.

I close my eyes and feel the soft cheek of a little run away girl brushing my thigh, eager, lonely and afraid. I stroke her cheek; she breaks down in tears.

I have her conscent.

And now, we begin.

Cruelty Defined

Conscent.