Page 25 of The Wild Man

My words are cut off when he applies more pressure to my back and my hands automatically reach out for the rock so I don’t land face first against it. I feel the slap of the leaf against my lower back. I’m tempted to try and wiggle away from him, but I know he’ll only grab me to keep me in place.

So I drop my head and silently count to ten over and over in my mind.

I’m halfway through my third round when I’m pulled from my numerical thoughts. Wild Man, still using the leaf as his washcloth, moves it down over my right butt cheek. I turn my head to the side and watch him through my peripheral vision. His eyes are laser focused on his task, which happens to be my ass, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

He disappears from sight when he squats and moves the leaf down my legs. So far, he’s left my private parts alone. I wonder how long my luck will last, or if he has no plans to touch me there.

It’s like God has something against me, because as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I feel the slightest of touches on the outside of my pussy. The touch becomes firmer, and it’s not coming from a leaf. It’s Wild Man’s fingers.

He flicks my lower lips before pinching them between his fingers and tugging on them gently. I bite my tongue almost to the point of drawing blood. The muscles in my back go stiff, and I’m just about to stand up to try to get away from him, but he anticipates my move and stops me with a hand on my back.

“Stay.”

The way that one word leaves his lips, the deepness in his voice, has me freezing. It sounds sinister, like he’s on the verge of something. And it’s something I instinctively know I want no part of.

So I stay still. I close my eyes and pray that what comes next will happen fast and it won’t cost me more than I’ve already given.

eight

Everlee

I try to keep my breathing even and hold onto the disgust I’m supposed to feel, but my wayward body isn’t on board. It likes the way his rough fingers slide between my folds and nudges the bundle of nerves housed at the top of my slit. No matter how much I want to abhor his touch, my stupid fucking body won’t stay on track with my mind.

I feel myself get wet and it turns my stomach. I want to purge all the moisture from my system so there’s none left to form between my legs.

My nails dig into the rock beneath my hand so hard, I worry I’ll break them off.

When I get home, my family won’t have to worry about locking me in the house. I have every intention of committing myself to a mental facility. That’s apparently where I belong, because somewhere along the way I must have lost my mind. That’s the only explanation there could be for actually reacting in a positive way to Wild Man’s touch.

One of his hands rests on my ass while he uses the fingers of his other hand against me. He rubs one between my lower lips, gathering the moisture there, and leads it to my clit. A warm blast of copper explodes in my mouth when I bite my tongue too hard. It’s either that or moan in pleasure from the way he presses against that little button. He manipulates it with an expertise that shouldn’t come from someone who’s never had sex until yesterday.

Or rather, I don’t think he’s had sex. As far as I know, he’s never had the opportunity. But who knows, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m not the first female he’s held captive and used for depraved things. I try to think back if there have been any cases of missing females over the years, but my brain won’t function properly. It’s being overrun by the explicit pleasure I’m too weak to ignore and too ashamed to acknowledge.

The disgust I feel for him has flipped around and points its accusing finger at me.

Wild Man pushes a finger inside me, and I rise to my toes, trying and failing to get away from the sensation. He pulls it out, but only so he can insert a second finger. He fucks me with those two fingers a couple of times before he adds a third. It stretches the ring of my pussy to almost uncomfortable levels. Especially when he thrusts them in deep, only his knuckles preventing him from going in further.

A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek and drips onto the back of my hand.

Then suddenly I’m empty, and because my body hates me, a feeling of loss hollows my stomach.

I not only hate Wild Man for the sexual abuse he’s forced on me, but for also manipulating my body to fit his needs.

I sense him moving behind me and a moment later I feel something else at my entrance. Something broader and less abrasive than his fingers.

He tunnels his fingers in my hair, grabbing a fistful. Then with his grip in my hair and his fingers curled around my waist, he ruthlessly plunges forward with no warning at all.

My screams at the intrusive invasion of my body drowns out any noises he makes. The intense feeling of being too full is almost too much for me and those familiar black spots appear in my vision. I sway forward, half expecting to slam face first into the rock I’m leaning over, but Wild Man holds me up by my hair.

My stomach revolts and saliva gathers in my mouth. I feel like I might throw up from the pain.

I get a short break as Wild Man holds still inside me. I feel the bristly hair on his groin press against my butt. He lets out a noise, sort of like a muted rumbly growl and his fingers dig deeper into my waist.

The pain slowly begins to ease, and I’m both grateful and resentful. Grateful because that shit was not pleasant. Resentful because the feeling that replaces the pain is not one I want to feel.

Wild Man slides out slowly, and once just the tip is left inside me, he rams forward, filling me to overflowing once again. I clench my jaw and curl my fingers against the rock at the way his hardness glides against the walls of my pussy. It should be criminal for something so bad to feel so good.

Each slow slide backward and harsh thrust forward has stars sparking behind my closed eyes. The good kind of stars. The kind that has me catching my breath and wishing that things were different.