One Long Night

The night has been too long, you're sure by this time even Mitchell, the security guard, has gone home. The night hangs in thick strands of dark, punctured by the pale illumination of the street lights. Echoes of your heels click clack on the blacktop as your rummage through your purse, searching for your keys. Sleep weighs heavily on the edges of your mind and the sharp crispness of the night air stings at your bare legs. It has been a long day selling tops too small to girls too young, and pants too tight to women too fat. The perfume you "borrowed" from the shop before you left swirls in the winter air, offering no protection from the encroaching cold. A shiver runs up and down your spine; however, it is not from the plunging temperature. Heavy footsteps are drawing up behind you.

You glance down at the shadow looming towards you, cast by the baleful light of the failing fluorescents that the mall installed a few years back. Your steps quicken to match your heartbeat, but the figure is approaching quickly and your car is still a few hundred yards away. "Why," you ask yourself, "do I feel the need to park in the back of the damn lot?" You can see the answer to that question from here, though. A large dent on the side of your otherwise pristine Mazda seems mockingly distant, yet as pervasive as it has been since it was acquired two months ago.

Suddenly you feel a thick, meaty hand grab your elbow, stopping you. Instinct takes over and your body is a blur as you spin, throwing your weight into your knee as it rises quickly and speeds toward the man's crotch. In the flash of motion, you get a truer idea of this man's size: immense. He stands a head over you, his broad shoulders rippled with muscle under a black leather jacket. You also realize the flaw in your attack plan as your knee connects solidly; directly into the man's thigh. His eyes are dark, obscured slightly beneath a black ski mask, unsurprised by your assault.

"That almost hurt, bitch. I was just going to take your purse and your car... but now I think we can have some fun." His lips curl into a sneer beneath his mask, revealing ivory white teeth that appear to be sharpened into wicked points. Predator teeth, your mind screams at you. His fist, roughly the size of a frozen chicken, slams hard into your stomach and the wind in your lungs escapes into the night. His teeth gnash at you, inches from your face, and his breath smells distinctly of Wintergreen and menthol. When you joked with Lucille that you hoped to get eaten tonight, this is not what you meant.

Before you can mentally decipher the irony of modern sexual euphemisms, you are airborne. The man had lifted you effortlessly by one arm and hurled you into the air. Being midflight is not nearly as terrible as you imagined, but then the landing reminds you that gravity is a law that mankind is not meant to break often. The asphalt below you scratches and digs into your bare legs, a warm wetness quickly rises to your knee and you curse yourself for wearing a short skirt on such a cold evening. Jeans would have been far more practical, and in the current situation, probably less inviting.

Moving slowly like a caged panther, and only slightly less muscular, the masked man stalks toward you. You push back on your heels and hands, adding promptly to your collection of abrasions, when your left high heel snaps at the base of your sensibly priced shoe. You silently curse shoddy Italian craftsmanship, and kick flailing at the nightmare nearing you. Your ankle is grabbed out of the air with lightning precision and nearly inhuman strength. Holding your leg as leverage, the man twists his body and delivers a devastating punch to your thigh. Your voice catches itself in your throat as the pain snakes throughout your leg, a well learned lesson from your Master back in the safety of home. The man just grins down at you, "Not screaming yet, cunt? Good... I like a challenge." You have never heard such lust and admiration turned vile by menace in anyone's voice before, and fear embraces you like a mother's grip of an infant.

The marauding beast in human guise tugs your shoe from your foot and hurls it down at you. The snap of your mouth and the copper taste filling your mouth tell you instantly that your lip has been split open. You stifle another scream as he reaches down and wipes the warm crimson blood from your chin, lifting his fingers to his own mouth and tasting your life. His mouth seems to savor your essence, and your eyes widen as he sucks his hand clean of your blood. "You might not be screaming now, cunt, but you taste scared. It's a good start." Your lip, ripped open by your own shoe, begins to quiver.

His hand moves to his belt and your eyes follow it to the hilt of a large, curved hunting blade resting in a suggestive fashion across his jeans. He draws the blade slowly, its steel glinting in the moonless night. He runs the knife down your ankle, not cutting but scratching down to the bruise now forming on your inner thigh. He drops to a knee before you, dropping your leg unceremoniously to the hard pavement, and using his free hand unzips your jacket. "I can cut that fucking jacket off you, or you can just take it the fuck off."

You shrug the jacket to the ground, not taking your eyes from the empty spheres in his mask, hoping the daggers you are staring into him could find some way to become tangible. A cruel chuckle rumbles from his taut chest, you realize he is actually laughing at your half-hearted defiance. And he should be, despite your belligerent stare, you are following every command this man is making of you. The knife catches more of the ambient light of the darkness as it careens toward your chest. With one violent swipe your tank-top is tattered down its front and your ample breasts spill out, reacting instantly to the chill of the night. The knife if firmly planted blade up into your neck as your attacker's free hand paws greedily at your tits. He begins almost lovingly, stroking and massaging your chest, but then quickly the aggressiveness reasserts itself and your nipples are twisted and pulled hard. Despite your fear, a gasp of pleasure slips out of your mouth. "Fucking slut, I knew you'd get off on this," his voice, rough and filled with spite, rattles into your skull and sits firmly on your brain.

You are grabbed by the hair securely as he moves behind you, and you are guided by his hand, your hair and the knife. You stumble in the direction you are being moved, towards your car. You are thrown towards it, your stomach catching the trunk solidly, bending you forward. The knife reappears quickly at your neck and you are forced around and down, kneeling submissively before this man. You see that in the fraction of moments that you were tossed like a ragdoll he has unzipped his jeans, and now his cock sits before you at eye level. The point of the knife is centimeters from your eyes as your hair is pulled up by the scalp. Your mouth opens to bark a pained protest, but it is muffled by the thick meat slammed into your face. The force of his insertion slams your head against the car and drives the head of his cock to the back of your throat. Instinctively your lips surround the shaft of him, your tongue flutters on the soft underside of his prick, and you realize that he is not fully hard. You close your eyes, waiting to feel the cutting blade at you again, but he begins guiding your head using your hair as a handle. You manage to take all of his length into your mouth, sucking as though your life depends on it. Your tongue works small circles under him, occasionally slipping out of your mouth to graze his balls, which are slapping against your chin. You feel his shaft hardening and engorging as your move your lips up and down his length, keeping your teeth clear of his thickening shaft. He pulls your hair harder, and drives the full length of his cock into your mouth. It passes down your throat and you swallow all of him down even as he pushes his dick deeper into you, grinding your nose against his abs. Your breath begins coming short as he pulls out of your mouth, a line of your saliva and blood connecting his now fully erect member. It looms in front of you, streaked with lines of your blood from your lip and you subconsciously lick out at it.

You are dragged up and spun around again before you can feel ashamed for enjoying sucking his cock. Your back is pushed down, forcing your tits to bash into the trunk of the car and your face to plant itself against the back windshield. Your breath is coming heavily, shaking slightly as he forces your legs apart from behind. You feel the cold metal of the blade slap against your ass, and you realize your skirt has been pulled up. "A thong, huh? Yeah, you wanna get fucked, you goddam slut..." The knife slips under your panties and they fall to the ground by your feet. Suddenly you feel the swollen head of his cock pressing at your pussy lips from behind. In one forceful thrust he enters you, bringing another gasp to your lips. You bite down onto your swelling lip, the blood spilling into your mouth, as he starts pumping into you. Your leg is lifted onto the trunk, and the man's strong hand keeps your hips firmly planted against the cold metal, slamming every inch of his thick cock into you. Your breath comes in short gasps and you feel the walls of your pussy gripping his dick tightly as an orgasm rips its way through your battered body. Even before the tremors of your climax have subsided, his cock is pulled out of you and you feel its tip put against your ass hole.

You try to whimper, "No," but it is cut off as he forces his head into your tight butt. Your body tightens against him and you hear the tell-tale sign of him spitting onto his own cock, and he begins driving himself into you. The pain sears away as the endorphins of your orgasm begin building again, and you start thrusting back to meet each push. His heavy hand moves from your hips and encircles your neck, choking you as he fucks deeper and harder into your ass. His other fist, still gripping the knife, jabs into your ribs and for the second time tonight the air in your lungs flees into the night. You feel his balls slapping against your pussy as he buries the entire length of his throbbing prick into your tight ass. As you gasp for breath you feel yourself tightening again, and before you are even ready you are cumming again, moaning and convulsing as he penetrates you deeply and viciously. His thrusts start coming harder and faster, and his hand grips tighter around your throat, and you are spun back to your knees. Your bruised and broken lips are parted by his cock and you taste your pussy distinctly on his manhood. As you start to suck again, his balls twitch and your mouth is filled with warm jizz. Choking slightly, you suck harder, drinking down every last drop, tasting as his cum mingles with the blood in your mouth. His dick is pulled free from your mouth, and suddenly you are slapped hard to the ground. Your lip splits further and you lay on the ground, bloodied and your legs quivering. He tosses a scrap of paper down at you. "You know what, slut? Keep the fuckin' car, and hey, why don't you give me a call sometime when you want to get some real cock again, eh?" He zips himself away and strolls off, blending effortlessly into the shadows of the night. You are reminded of a ninja, and look down at the scrap he tossed at you, lifting it before it is stained and ruined by your blood. You blink.

You just stare down blankly at the torn bit of paper: your Master's cell phone number. And you smile inwardly while you go and retrieve your jacket, purse and keys. There is a rose waiting for you on the driver's seat. A note states simply: "Happy anniversary. I love you." The night is not so cold now, and you drive home, wondering what the rest of the evening could bring.