Frea

He found her standing in the fiction section, completely engrossed in a worn out copy of "Lord of the Flies". She was beautiful as always, her long dark hair falling in gentle waves down her back, her full, pink lips puckered slightly as she absentmindedly chewed her thumbnail. The lacy, cream colored skirt that she wore highlighted her porcelain skin and complimented her curves gorgeously. A quick check of the library told him that there were no other patrons; the lone librarian, so easily dealt with, sat in a crumpled heap behind the circulation desk. She was effectively the only one in the building, but she either did not notice or did not care.

Silently he stalked up behind her, wrapping a gloved around her face to cover her mouth. She dropped the book with a soft bang on the flagstone floor. She struggled with him as he pulled her body tightly against his.

"Shhh," he whispered into her ear, using his free hand to stroke her hair, "I'm not going to hurt you, as long as you behave." She began struggle more violently, trying desperately to pull his hand from her mouth so she could call for help. She brought her foot down heavily onto his instep and he loosened his grip ever so slightly. She quickly followed the move by throwing an elbow into his stomach as hard as she could. He attacker grunted and doubled over. She pulled away from him, running toward the exit, hoping to find someone who might help her. She heard a roar of outrage from behind her and she quickened her pace. She was almost to the door when the man grabbed her again, tackling her to the ground. Stunned, she did not have time to move again as he stood up, grabbed a handful of hair, and dragged her back toward the back of the library.

Roughly, he pulled her to her feet, shoving her back hard against a set of shelves. He pressed himself against her, letting her get the full picture of his size and strength. She whimpered in pain and tears started to roll down her face. "Don't start crying now," he told her, a smile entering his voice, "You've been so brave, don't lose that." She quieted her sobbing a little and he used his thumb to wipe away the tears from her cheeks.

"Please, don't do this," she whispered, begging, "Please, I have some money, it's not a lot, but you can have it, just please don't...." He leaned in a whispered in her ear,

"Don't beg... it's unbecoming." He stroked the back of his hand along the side of her face. She tried to pull away, but his other hand locked into her hair again, holding her in place. "Now, little one, you and I are going to have some fun. And if you're a good girl, I'll let you go home safe and sound. But if you don't, you'll have to be punished." The word 'punished' sent the girl into fresh waves of panic. She could feel the strength of her tormentor rippling through every muscle of his body; she could never hope to match it. His hand wandered away from her face and started petting down her shoulder and side. She squirmed uncomfortably, but he still held her in place by her hair. As his free hand moved to cup her breast, his mouth suddenly descended onto her throat. He made no pretense at being gentle,

"Stop, please, you'll leave a mark." Her mind had gone to that irrational but safe place that was more worried about what her mother would say about her having a hickey than it was about the stranger molesting her in the library.

"Good." He wanted to mark her. She tried to push him away again, but he held on fast to her hair, causing her to cry out in pain. She felt his hardness pressing into her stomach. Even through the hurt and the fear, she felt the heat of her body betraying her. It was starting to become aroused to defend itself against the pain of rape.

His hand traced back up her side and greedily squeezed a breast. She moaned in pain and shame laced with a touch of arousal. He must have heard the change in her voice because he asked, "Do you like that, baby?" furiously, she shook her head no, but he grinned wickedly at her. He withdrew his hand, moving it back down her side. When it came up again, he slipped his hand under her shirt. Forcing his hand under her white lace bra, he ran his thumb over a hardening nipple, growling in satisfaction at the moan that escaped her lips. He played there for a while, enjoying the tormented sounds he drew from the girl.

Once he got bored with her chest, his moved his hand further down. He gripped her thigh for a moment before pulling up the hem of her skirt. She beat against his chest, struggling to free herself once again, but he held firm. There was no way he was letting go now.

Forcefully, he grabbed the waistband of her black boy shorts and began to tug them down. She squeezed her thighs together, hoping to prevent their removal. He kicked her legs apart, using his knee to keep them separated. He watched the burning shame spread across her pale skin as he slid a finger along her slick folds,

"All wet and ready, are we?" He asked, pressing his middle finger into her entrance. She gasped and quick as a flash, she struck him as hard as hard as she could across the face. He snarled in anger, pulled his finger from her body, and backhanded her. Violently, he pulled her away from the bookshelves and pushed her back onto a table. He grabbed both of her hands with one of his larger ones and pinned them over her head. He used his free hand to undo his belt and pants. She was battling him fiercely, twisting and kicking, but he was positioned safely between her knees where she couldn't quite reach him with her blows. He pulled his stiff cock out and ran it along her slit.

"No, please," she was begging again, "please, don't!" He entered her in a single thrust, causing her to cry out. He looked into her eyes as he pounded her, relishing the surrender he found there. In spite of humiliation welling up in her eyes, she began to roll her hips to meet his thrusts. Her sobs steadily subsided and were replaced by whimpers of pleasure.

She felt her orgasm building, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Sensing that she was about to cum, he plunged his hand between their bodies, seeking her clit. His thumb brushed against it, causing her to moan and arch her back. He smirked victoriously as he ground his digit against her. With little warning, her warm tunnel clenched around him, her high pitched keening announcing her release to the empty library.

"There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He mocked her. In humiliation, she turned her head to the side, refusing to look him in the eye. She tried to bury her face further into the table when she felt him lean over her, bringing his mouth to her ear. She felt and heard his hot, labored breathing, his voice reverberating in her skull as he growled out his own climax.

She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for what felt like an eternity before he finally withdrew from her. She sat up, rearranging and smoothing her skirt over her thighs. He watched her as he put himself back together. With her hair around her face like a protective veil, and her feet swinging several inches above the floor, she looked much younger than her twenty three years. She was waiting for him to leave. He handed her a card, "Alexander Hunter" she read from it. She looked up at him, confused.

"Don't worry, Lydia, all your questions will be answered soon" and with that cryptic announcement he simply walked away from her. Leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own heart beat echoing in her ears. She pulled out her phone and called the police.

**

Lydia was glad to be home. She had spent the majority of the evening being poked and prodded and questioned. She had done her best to cooperate, but the endless barrage was exhausting. She had told them everything she knew, even handed over the card he had given her. The police assured her that they would do everything in their power to catch him, and they would call her if they needed anything else from her, and then they sent her on her way.

She started up the shower, debating whether or not she should call in sick to work the next day. She tried to relax under the hot water, but every sound set her nerves back on edge. She turned off the water and headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, cell phone in hand, wondering if she should call someone to come and stay with her. She tried to convince herself that it was not necessary, but when she carried her tea into her bedroom she changed her mind. There, lying on the neatly made bed was a single orange lily and a note, 'You were wonderful, Darling. See you soon'.