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Before I can think twice about it, he shoves himself inside me. The pain is instantaneous and splitting.
I scream.
“It’ll get better,” he says, stroking himself into me with slow, measured jerks. “Don’t think about the pain.”
I am in too much of a vortex to think about anything. But he is right. The pain abates, though it is not completely void, but a whole new plethora of different sensations now assail me. I have always liked the feel of fingers in my rectum, and now, an entire organ stretches its nerve bundles – stimulating a whole new different set of fibers. The strange sensations shoot right up my spine.
I gasp and writhe, which only serves to spur on his fucking. He’s even more animated than before. This very act seems to excite him more than the previous one, as if he’s exploring a part of me that has been forbidden before tonight. I squeeze my fists, unable to move them in arcs wider than what the tassels allow me.
He sinks himself so deep into me that he’s hilt deep. His balls are slamming against my ass cheeks. He picks up his momentum, and his thrusts grow faster and wilder and more purposeful until he gives out a cry and spurts his load into me – his second of the night. His body trembles and shudders and his face is contorted with sweet release.
Ohhhh.
He allows himself to jerk once, twice, and then he collapses on top of me. He doesn’t hold me. Our coupling this time is not tender or loving. He slips out of me, refusing to look at my face – as if I am an anonymous whore who is no longer of consequence to him once he has had his fill.
I eye him – the sweat stinging my eyes – as he gets off the bed. His cock is in semi-tumescence. He strides, naked, across the bedroom. Has he turned into yet another entity I have yet to decipher?
“Lothar?” I call to him. My pulse is still racing at an unhealthy pace.
He ignores me. Still naked, he walks out of the room.
Outside the open window, the first drops of rain start to spatter onto the ground below.
13
I’m worried for Ethan. I’m worried about what might happen to him.
I pull at my bonds. They are tight, but not impossible. Sex with Lothar was incredible, especially with the twin elements of danger and unpredictability. But now I’m afraid of what he might do.
Wait, my inner journalistic voice tells me, you’re not supposed to be involved.
It’s a little too late for that, surely.
I do care about Ethan. He’s a lovely, lovely man, from what I know of him. I don’t want him to get hurt.
The bedroom door is closed, but beyond it, I can hear some banging sounds. Slashing. Ripping. I’m frightened all over again. What the hell is happening out there?
I don’t want to be tied up if Lothar comes in here again and decides that I’m a hooker who needs to disappear. Of course, I don’t know for sure what happened in the past. But like I said, I don’t want to be tied up. Why did I let him tie me up anyway?
Oh yeah, like I had a choice.
I am quite limber and flexible. I concentrate on my right wrist first. I scoot myself up so that my buttocks are sitting upon the pillow. I twist my waist so that my left hand is pulled severely by its tassel, but I can now reach my tethered right wrist with my teeth.
It’s a struggle.
The sounds outside the corridor have stopped. For the moment.
I strain my ears to listen, but the downpour outside drowns everything else out. Damn.
I resume the unraveling of my bonds in earnest. A few minutes later, and I manage to loosen the tassel. It all comes out with one expert pull with my teeth. I release myself from the other bond swiftly and jump off the bed.
I spend a few seconds putting my nightgown over my head. I don’t want to be naked, just in case I bump into Jeffrey. In fact, I’m going to rouse Jeffrey. I don’t think I can handle this alone.
I step out in the corridor. My feet are bare.
And freeze when I see the destruction.
The beautiful paintings – made by Ethan – hanging on the walls of the corridor have almost all been ripped or slashed one way or another. By some sort of sharp instrument.
The horror rises with the bubbles in my throat.
My instinct tells me to flee this house. Lothar is not fully sane. What sort of rational entity would do this, unless he really hated the person who did those paintings? Lothar is dangerous. Yes, he’s the most incredible fuck of my life, but he’s also dangerous. He might decide to come back for me with that sharp instrument, whatever it is.
I run down the stairs, almost tripping in the dim light of the sole wall lamp mounted upon the landing. Should I go find Jeffrey? I daren’t call for him, just in case I alert Lothar. Jeffrey obviously knows about Ethan’s condition, or else they wouldn’t be talking about triggers and such.
