home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search
- Getting Off Easy (Adrian)
-
-
- The bookstore was nearly empty, and probably about to close. I was
- wandering idly through the stacks near the front of the store, where
- the rare and expensive books were kept in locked cases. First
- editions, with crabbed signatures scrawled on the fragile pages. I
- studied them through the glass, wondering why the same stories cost
- so much more here than in the paperback umpteenth editions in the back.
- I craned my neck, leaning on the lever that would open the case if it
- weren't locked. Unexpectedly, the latch slipped, and my chin bumped
- against the glass door.
-
- He was on me in the next second, seeming to tower over me as he shouted.
- "What were you doing in here? It's after 9, we've been closed for ten
- minutes!" He held me by the collar, shoving me back against the other
- bookcase. The back of my head cracked against the shelf and his eyes
- bored into me. "And what's a punk like you doing here with the first
- editions anyhow?" He jiggled the broken latch, then slapped me. He
- patted over my pockets, reached inside my jacket. "Didn't you have time
- to take anything, kid?" I was too scared to speak.
-
- Not finding any books with that cursory search, he shoved me into a back
- room and locked the door behind me. It was a workroom, full of broken
- and half-bound books, with a long, high table of scarred wood running
- down the middle of the room. There was knife on the table, small but
- sharp. I had almost made up my mind to take it and fight him when he
- returned. "OK, punk, the store's empty and the door's locked, so I have
- time to look for my merchandise and call the police." I backed away
- from him slightly. "But I haven't done anything wrong! Really, sir,
- I wasn't going to take anything...I was just looking...I didn't know
- the store was closed..." He stopped me with another slap. The edge of
- the table bit into the small of my back, and I couldn't retreat any more.
-
- He unzipped my jacket. "I don't believe you. The police won't believe
- you either." I let him take my jacket, then my sweater. "They're
- cracking down on shoplifters these days. You should get at least a
- few weeks in Juvenille Hall." His tone was almost casual as he fished
- my wallet out of my pocket, looked at my driver's license. "But you're
- a bit too old for Juvie. That's too bad." His hand was relaxed,
- he knew the back pockets of my jeans were empty. "A kid like you could
- have a rough time in prison, even for a weekend." I shivered, pressing
- back against the table, pleading with him. "Please, sir, don't turn me
- in. I didn't steal anything. You know I didn't. And I never will.
- Really. Please let me go." I was almost in tears.
-
- "Maybe I will let you go." My heart leapt. "But not yet." He stepped
- away from me, opened a closet that seemed full of tools. "Take off
- your jeans and hand them over." I protested, not very coherently. He
- cut me off impatiently. "I know you're not hiding books in your
- pockets. Just do as I say. You're still getting off easy, you know."
- His eyes sparked dangerously in the dim light. I kicked off my sneakers,
- and gave him the jeans. The eyes raked over me as I blushed and looked
- down, noticing a hole in my sock.
-
- He was very fast. He turned me around, lifting me by a handful of cloth
- at the back of my T-shirt, forcing me against the table. "Grab the other
- side of the table! Hold on with both hands." I had to stretch across
- the table, my toes barely touching the floor, my weight balanced
- painfully on the bones of my hips. His hands were almost gentle as
- he pulled down my underpants. I started to cry. "Remember, Adrian,
- you're getting off easy. I could still call the police. In fact, if
- you let go of the table, or if you scream, I think I will call the
- police." He stroked my buttocks lightly. "And they certainly
- wouldn't believe your account of this little interlude. Though it
- might amuse your cellmates." A slap, not very hard, but frightening.
- "I'm sure they would find other ways of amusing themselves with you."
- I was silent, biting my lips and clutching the wood.
-
- I trembled on the edge of the table for a long moment. I didn't
- know what to be afraid of - rape, a beating, maybe even a camera.
- My breathing was ragged. "Please, sir? What are you going to do
- to me?" He was silent. I couldn't see him, but didn't dare let
- go of the table to look behind me.
-
- Then the cane bit my flesh with a fierce heat. The blows were fast
- and hard, so overwhelmingly painful I could scarcely squirm under
- them. Sasha had caned me before, after erotic spankings that left
- me giddy with endorphins. This was different. It was punishment,
- and a brutal dare not to scream. I bit back all but a whimpering
- moan, tears already soaking into the wood.
-
- My legs flailed helplessly, with no leverage as they dangled from
- the edge of the table. I had lost count of the blows, my whole
- bottom was on fire, I must be bleeding already. He paused a moment.
- Was he going to stop? Taking pity on obvious suffering? The
- cane came down again, striking deep along the curve at the top of
- my thighs. I jerked against the table, biting my lip and tasting
- my blood. He struck the same place, hard. The shriek tore past
- my clenched teeth.
-
- He stopped. His voice was teasing, almost gentle. "Too bad about
- that scream. I *did* try to go easy on you." I heard the rustle of
- cloth, through my gasping sobs and the pounding blood in my ears.
- His hands were rough, forcing my buttocks apart. My feet left the
- floor entirely.
-
-
- Sasha has never been able to rape me convincingly. No matter how
- rough the scene, no matter how intense the role-playing - the
- recognition is too strong and the implicit consent is too deep.
-
- Adrian
-
-