has no CT
Join Date: Sep 2000
draft version 2
He zips up his pants and turns off the TV. As the naked couple fades away he takes a final sip from his beer can and thrws it against the wall. He does not want to be a mere spectator tonight. He wants to be a participant. That was why he went to the bar. As he stands up to stumble toward his bed, he looks at the pile of cans that has accumulated in the corner over the course of the night. That is why he bought her so many drinks. Her. There mere thought brings his liquor-enhanced fury to a climax. “She had to have wanted it too. The way she dressed. The little whore. You don't just let a guy buy you drink after drink if you don't plan on returning the favour.” He thinks to himself as he stars at the beer cans. “Apparently she she thinks favours don’t need repaying.” After he walked her home she had merely said goodnight and gave him a hug. “A hug! Of all the sluts in the bar I pick the cheap hug-whore!” He turns to the VCR to put the tape away. He is tired of being a spectator. Ever since the divorce all he had ever been was a spectator. An observer. No more. Tonight, he would be a participant. He takes his keys off of the counter, stumbles down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage below his apartment building. After a few minutes of stumbling around he finds his car, get in, and drives. He veers left and right over the road until he finds her house. He gets out of the car and walks up to the door.
The first ring only makes her turn over in her twin bed. The second ring of the doorbell is enough to make her sit-up in bed. She looks at the time. 3:36 am. She doesn’t have to be at work for another few hours. “Why am I awake?” She thinks as she begins to head towards the bathroom, her head still pounding from the night’s festivities. “I never set my alarm for earlier than six.” The third ring of the doorbell answers her question. She stops at the bathroom door. “Why would be coming over at this hour? Why?” She picks up the wrinkled shirt off of the spot on the floor where she had thrown it before she fell into her slumber. With nothing more than this shirt and a pair of white cotton panties, she proceeds to the door to see who was calling at this early hour.
He hears her footsteps. He begins to mumble under his breath. “Come on baby. I’m ready for you. You know you wanted this, with your little mini-skirt. It’s time for us both to get what we wanted.” The door knob begins to turn, and before she has a chance to begin opening the door, he is moving.
As she opens the door he lunges at her. She has no time to react as his blundering body falls onto hers. As she tries to crawl away she feels his hand on her calf. She kicks to no avail with all her might as he tries to stand with his arm still extended, gasping her calf. He stumbles again, then manages to crawl up upon her.
“Quiet bitch!” he slurs as he places his hand over her mouth. “No yelling! I have a headache!” As he sits, straddling her body, he looks up and sees at the end of the hall the open bedroom door. With one hand still firmly clutching her mouth, he manages to, after many failed attempts of standing, drag her, still seated, to the bedroom. She kicks, tries to bite, tries to punch repeatedly at but the alcohol has made him oblivious. He drags her into the bedroom, and throws her onto the bed as he trips over the linens which had fallen to the floor as she rose to go the bathroom. The tries to run, but again he was able to grab her and again mute her with his hand. He again straddles her, pinning her arms to her sides with his legs. Exhausted, he sits like this for a few minuets while he regains his breath. As he attempts to wipe the sweat from his brow, she begins to scream again. Almost instantaneously he brings his hand back down to her mouth. “Why won’t you stay quiet? I said I have a headache!” He looks up and sees the pillow, and its white-flowered casing. With his free hand he shakes the pillow out of the case. He lays the case across her mouth, removes his hand, and stuffs her mouth with the middle of the case before she can begin to scream again. He quickly grabs the ends and after many trials, is able to produce a structure which resembles a knot near the back of her head.
She tries to scream, but can not make a noise louder than a sigh due to the crude gag he has fashioned. She tries rubbing her head against the bed to try to slip the gag off, but it will not budge. She tries to push it out with her tongue, but this only seems to move the casing closer to her throat. Her hands begin to ache as the blood supply is cut off due to the weight of the unbalanced the man on her arms. Every muscle burns with lactic acid as she tries to squirm free. Suddenly she feels a new pressure against her stomach. She feels his hand move across her stomach, to the small of her back, and down underneath her panties. She tries to struggle more, but this results only in her pelvis being raised enough off the bed that he is able to slip her panties off and down to her knees. His hands are rough against her smooth skin, and his hands begin their journey towards the torso again. Her body completely exhausted, she has no choice but to watch as his hands clumsily lift her shirt over her B-cup breasts.
Her skin feels even softer than he had imagined it would on his car ride over. Milky white, it seems to glow in the single light of the hallway outside the still open bedroom door. Her breasts are firm and at the same time, soft and giving. “I haven’t felt a woman’s skin since my bitch wife left me” he says to nobody in particular. “Stupid bitch! She said I had a problem. Well it was her who had the problem!” His ramblings become less and less intelligible as he continues his groping of her. “It’s been so long…”
She hears a zipper. She looked up and sees his pants now around his knees. “NO!” With a sudden burst of adrenaline she begins to twitch again, with more ferocity then ever before. Again, it is no use. His massive body and intoxicated strength hold her down as if she is not moving at all. She feels him inside her. She tries her hardest to resist, she hates the feeling. She tries again to scream, but again she can only produce muffled excuses for yells. The more she tries to squirm away the faster he moves. She stoppes trying. “I am helpless.” She lets herself go limp, and she begins to cry. Mucus drips down from her nose, her eyes itch with tears that go un-wiped, she cries.
"I've almost forgotten how good this feels!" he says again to nobody. He cannot tell which feels better; the feeling that he is getting from penetrating this woman, or the fact that he is in complete control. She can not leave him like his wife. She can’t say 'not now honey, I have a headache' or 'maybe tomorrow when I am not so tired.' He is getting what he wans when he wants it. He loves being in control. He feels the pressure build in him. He is almost saddened knowing that this wonderful experience is almost over.
She hears him moan, then feels him lie on top of her, exhausted. She is crying even harder now, her eyes clenched shut. She feels him get up, hears a zipper, and then felt all the pressure that was on her arms release. He was letting her go. "Is this it? Has he had his way with me and is now going to kill me?" He stood up and looks at her. “There! Now we are even you dumb whore.” He turns his back on her and heads toward the front door, stumbling as he goes, using the wall again for support. “Next time a man buys you drinks, you better remember to pay him back like a good little slut.” He opens the door, and walks to the driveway, leaving the door ajar.
She hears a car start, then tires squeal as he speeds down the street. Using her bathroom mirror to decipher the mess of a knot that he made, she frees herself. As she removes the knot, the alarm clock began to buzz. She has exactly one hour to get to work.