Read Break Her Online

Authors: B. G. Harlen

Tags: #Suspense & Thrillers

Break Her (10 page)

She frowned. “What do you do the rest of the time? When you’re not doing this?”

“That’s a good question.”

“Thanks.”

“I work in an office.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. Even if you got away, went to the police, identified me, I’d have an excellent alibi. It would never be me that could do this sort of thing. You must be mistaken.”

“What kind of office?”

“I’m an accountant.”

“No.”

“It’s important to have a skill.”

“Seriously?”

“When am I ever anything else?”

“Wow.”

“So there,” he said. “You got something out of me. And I’ve just set back your situation as a result.”

“But that’s ok with you, you said.”

“Yes. You’ll be the one who suffers longer because of it.”

“Because now for a minute, I’m not hopeless.”

“Exactly. And now I have to make you feel that way again. And more.”

“I’m already beginning to feel it.” She started to look worried again.

“Everything must be paid for,” he said calmly.

He looked carefully at her across the table. He saw her breath begin to quicken. She wasn’t superhuman after all. It was the beginning of panic. She didn’t know what he was going to do next.

He leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t quite decided that yet himself.

 

 

 

 

It was inevitable that she wouldn’t be able to consistently maintain her underlying sense of purpose. He was good at what he did. As she lay beneath him, forced to face that smug, disturbingly bland face, her body ached and her soul just wanted to flee. It was better, in a way, when she faced away, even though the physical pain was often worse. It was easy to act beaten down by his attacks because she was. And it was easy to shift every now and then into resistance because she felt exactly that way, too. It was becoming easy to feel that there was no beginning and no end to this, just an eternal, painful present under his dominion. She found that it was bringing up old feelings and resentments, and she was not sure if that was going to be helpful or fatal. The feeling of being constantly at the mercy of somebody else’s whim, just like when she was a child. Somebody who enjoyed the power he had over her and never let her forget for a minute that he had it. The overwhelming physicality of this man now, so like the giant figure of the man who had always held her life in his hands when she was small and who never let her forget it. “What are you going to get me for my birthday?” she’d ask.
 
“I’ll let you live,” he’d say, with a grim smile.

“I’ll let you live.”

What a kidder.

So many years, so many miles, so many experiences away from all that, but this man now was bringing it all back. And she would have to kowtow to this one, to grovel, if he demanded it, to talk with him when he chose, to let him put his hands on her when he chose, and even to pretend that she wanted it, that she liked it, to do things for him that she would only do for someone she loved. Always and everything when he chose. She couldn’t leave then, and she couldn’t leave now. But she did have a fighting chance now. Not much of one, if considered realistically. Just a small one.

It was funny how life kept throwing you curves, long after you considered it essentially over. It seemed that she was destined to lose something vital every few years: her childhood, her innocence, the people that she loved, her belief that there was any sense to be made of the world. Everything gets stripped away. But then, she didn’t believe in destiny. That was just the breaks. And plenty of people had it worse.

Anyway, she didn’t have any choice. Somehow, she always survived. She
had
always survived. Of course, it was always possible that someday she would run into the buzz saw that would finally destroy her. You couldn’t rule that out. Maybe this man was the one. She knew she couldn’t afford to think like that. But she also knew that it might be true.

And then, she couldn’t help thinking that that meant she’d win either way. Freedom or peace. It was the only comfort she would know for some time.

 

 

His endurance was really amazing, psychopathic, she thought, or maybe he was sneaking some Viagra. She lay there, exhausted. He’d been pounding into her, straight-forward, missionary-style fucking, but non-stop, for 30 minutes.

“You know,” he said, sitting back on the living room floor where he had most recently taken her, “a lot of women complain that their men can’t go for more than a couple of minutes.”

“Have you heard me complain about that?” she asked.

“Still alive and kicking,” he said. He lit a cigarette. “You?”

“Yes, please.”

“Very good. It’s wise to show me the proper deference.”

Her eyes were shadowed with misery. She said nothing, just took the lit cigarette he offered. He placed an ashtray between them.

“There are worse things, you know.”

“I know.”

“There’s always something worse.”

She nodded.

“You’re lucky that this is my particular method. I guess they didn’t want pure pain. That’s another way of killing a soul, of course. And there are certainly plenty of specialists out there.”

“Why do you think they chose you?”

“Nice try. Because my methods work. Maybe they assumed this would be harder on a woman.”

“They.”

“If you don’t know who they are, why would I tell you?” he said.

 
“Are we there yet?” she asked, in the voice of a child.

He looked into her eyes. “Just a little longer.”

She looked away. They were silent for a few moments.

“I hate this.”

“Good. That means it’s working.”

“No. I mean this,” she said, gesturing at herself. “Constant nakedness.”

“Easy access.”

“Can’t I put on a nightgown or a robe or something?”

“Obviously, if it bothers you, we’ll keep doing it.”

“Sometimes I don’t know if you’re a torturer or just a really annoying big brother.”

“Funny.”

“Really. You do have a knack for knowing what really gets to people.”

“Thank you,” he said. “That is the point. I mean the fucking is tough, I know. But forcing you to look me in the eyes while I’m doing it, for example, is much tougher, isn’t it?”

“You know the answer.”

He’d finished his cigarette. He plucked hers out of her fingers and stubbed it out in the ashtray. Then he climbed on top of her again, this time stretching out his body, but resting the weight of his torso on his elbows, leaving a space between her head and his. She tried to shrink away.

“No place to go,” he said.

“Please stop.”

“I’m not doing anything. Just being close.”

She swallowed hard. “I can’t bear it.”

“You said you could.”

“I can’t, and I can.”

He smiled and let his eyes sweep over her face and body, back and forth. He tilted his head and lightly kissed her neck and ear. She made a sound in her throat and tried to shift away. But he didn’t put his hands on her.

“Stay right there. Don’t move. If you move, I’ll punish you.”

She stopped wiggling.

He moved his head down and licked at a nipple. It stayed flat.

“Time means nothing to me. The only thing that matters is your body under mine. Mine owning yours.”

She leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling, the only thing she could do.

“You know,” he said. “If I were a vampire, I would take a nice, big bite out of that delicious neck.”

“I wish you would.”

“No, you don’t. Because I wouldn’t drain you. I’d take just enough and then have you drink mine, so that we would be one forever and ever. You’d belong to me forever.”

“God, that’s so romantic.”

“Isn’t it? You’ll never find anyone who’s as romantic as I am. Or anyone who will love you the way I do.”

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you getting a wee bit carried away by your own fantasy here? You don’t love me.”

“But I do. In my way. I love the women I rape. Not in your way. But in my own special way. It’s love for me.”

“You shouldn’t call it love.”

He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. She stayed still. He just barely smiled. Then he kissed her all over her face, her forehead, her eyelids, her nose. Then her lips again, then he bit her bottom lip lightly and tugged it towards him. He knew what she had to be thinking: would he bite it off? How far would he go? What wouldn’t he do, since he could do whatever he wanted, at any moment turning sex into death, or dismemberment. He saw the fear in her eyes. He smiled inwardly. After a few seconds he opened his mouth, releasing her lip. He moved off of her and rolled onto his back.

“Kiss me,” he ordered.

She looked puzzled. “Where?”

“All over.”

She furrowed her brow.

“Start with my face. Then move down and all around. Smother me in kisses,” he said with a broad grin.

She took several breaths before she began. He almost absentmindedly caressed her body as she kissed him.

“Oh, that feels so good,” he said. “Stay on my chest awhile. That’s lovely.”

She said nothing, but gently kissed the taut flesh, feeling the muscles underneath. “The nipples,” he interjected. “Kiss my nipples for a bit.”

He thought he heard a very slight sob, very slight. “See, isn’t this amazing?” he said, with delight. “Sometimes it’s the little things that mean so much. Physically, I’m not doing anything to you, am I? But you have to admit, this is more soul-destroying than just fucking you.” He continued, as if she didn’t already know the truth of what he was saying. “I’m making you participate in your own – what’s the word – relinquishing of your self. It’s annoying when I act like your lover. It must be close to unbearable to make you do it.”

She finally spoke. “If you keep talking, I won’t be able to enjoy this.” Her tone was bitter.

He grinned. “Move down now. You know where. All around there. Lovely kissing.”

Her breathing was uneven. It would begin to speed up, seeming to build up to something, then he would feel her calming herself down to continue.
 
He kept his eyes open. This kind of humiliation could easily make someone forget what was good for them.

“The inside of my thighs,” was all he said. “Oh, yeah. That’s nice.”

A few minutes later, he said, “Ok, now take my cock in your mouth and look at me.”

She did as she was told.

“Oh, what a picture,” he said. “Stop a minute like that. What are you feeling?”

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