It was a dark and stormy night. Don’t the good stories all start out that way? No? Well, maybe after you hear my tale, you’ll think differently.
I’ll start again…
It was a dark and stormy night. I walked home, a woman alone in a big, mean city. Everything felt dark and cruel. The cracks in the sidewalk, the stench from the alley, all of it. I pulled my coat closer around my body, desperate to keep out the chill and feel more secure, even if just for a minute, even if only in my imagination.
I thought about my new guy. We’d talked about our fantasies while we drank too much and ate too little. I probably admitted things best left to the dark recesses of my mind. Fantasies fueled by a need to be dominated, controlled, and yes, scared.
An adrenaline junkie from way back, I like the rush of the unknown, the fear of losing control, of not knowing what happens next. Hell, just thinking about it makes my panties wet. Maybe that’s why I did it. Walked home, through that neighborhood, alone, during the dark, stormy night.
His hand on the nape of my neck felt good. I remember how he held me in place while he kissed my cheek in greeting when he arrived. I liked it. A strong, warm hand, an immovable hand.
The smell of his cologne was strong, but not overpowering. I feel like I’d know it anywhere. Tangy, sharp, with a hint of musk. Spicy, that’s the word. He smelled spicy…and dangerous.
That night, though, I had to shake my head to clear it of thoughts of the new guy. I needed to be alert. I might like the rush of fear, but that didn’t mean I wanted to die out here on the dark street.
I’m an insatiable wanton, though. I couldn’t keep my thoughts from wandering. And where my thoughts went, my body followed. Tight nipples, plumping lips, all rubbing against clothing that needed to go away. I needed to be naked. I needed to feel the air on my flesh.
Maybe that’s when my attention wandered too much. That’s the only way it could have happened.
I felt the presence behind me just a second before I felt the hand over my mouth.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut, and you’ll live through this. Be a good girl, and you might even enjoy it.”
I felt my eyes widen, like a spooked animal. I’d seen a horse scared on a ranch one time, eyes wide and rolling. I knew I looked the same in that moment. My body went still. I was afraid to breathe.
“Scream and I’ll still fuck you, but you’ll enjoy it even less.” He laughed. His breath was minty and fresh. It smelled….safe.
I must have relaxed a bit. I’m sure I did. What rapist pops a breath mint first? He felt it, I know he did. His hand moved from my mouth to my throat. He squeezed hard. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes watered. I started to struggle, terrified of being choked to death. He didn’t feel so safe now. My hands wrapped around his hand, clawing his fingers, growing desperate for air.
He wrapped his other arm around my waist and pulled me into the alley that smelled of urine and looked like a place only death lived. I struggled.
“Don’t struggle. You’ll only piss me off. You don’t want to piss me off, do you?”
I tried to shake my head no, but the need to breathe overwhelmed everything. Even my own good sense.
His grip loosened just a little, just enough that I could drag in one ragged breath. He pushed me into a brick wall and lifted the back of my skirt. His hands were warm and firm. They felt good, familiar. His hand stroked my hip through my tights. I could feel my body respond.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
He leaned in close, and I inhaled a spicy scent. Unable to believe my own senses, I breathed in again and remembered another night with a spicy scent, warm hands, and, oh yes, minty fresh breath.
The adrenaline still coursed through my body but I smiled and leaned my ass back into his pelvis. Turning my head just a little, I whispered, “I’m glad to know I’m not the only kinky fucker in this city.”
So, I read the prompt for Wicked Wednesday and my mind went there. Oh yes, it did. Yes, this is pure fiction, and if I had more time, I would totally find out what happens next.