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Thank
you readers! I welcome ANY and ALL
feedback- good or bad. This is my first
time doing this, as I know it is for many others-
and I
really would appreciate the comments.
Oh, and there is more to the story- this first part is slow, but the
second part is not.
I moved
in with Nick when I finally hit rock bottom.
Jobless and homeless for over two months- having crashed in apartments
of family for too long now, starting to stink like fish, I had to try something
new.
Nick
was the slickest kind of charmer- meek and soft-spoken and willing to please,
but truly a devious manipulator inside.
He offered me half of his apartment at my first mention to him of my
situation. I refused repeatedly-
thinking I would never let it come to that. But soon his offer became the last
vestige of hospitality I could find, and I was hard-pressed to refuse any
longer.
Reviving chivalry with fanfare and
flourish, Nick took the few bags I had and wouldn't let me lift a finger to put
anything away myself. He insisted I
relax on the couch. He even remembered
to put marshmallows and a cinnamon stick in the hot chocolate he made for
me. How thoughtful that he remembered
exactly how I had told him I liked it once- a long, long time ago.
This
treatment was the precursor to a beautiful honeymoon Nick and I shared
briefly. He wooed me and bewitched me
perfectly. Even without the drug he was
putting in my drinks, unknown to me at the time, I would have sat cozily
nestled in the palm of his hands.
The plan Nick had plotted all along became unhidden
one evening when I began throwing up.
Awful, violent retching consumed me till my eyes were teary and the gunk
in the toilet was tinted with red. I
felt chills all over- it turned out my temperature was over 103. I had no medical insurance, so I thought I
would just have to bear it out, hoping it was a simple bug that would leave
after its unwelcome 24-hour tour of my body.
Nick
was still the perfect gentlemen and the perfect nursemaid. After a couple of days with no reprieve from
the sickness, I asked Nick's opinion. I
thought he would have some insight based on his medical background at
Columbia. He mumbled something
technically obscure and came up with the idea that I needed to go see a friend
of his, an internist nearby, who would have the tools to diagnose me
correctly. Nick assured me that he
would take care of any fees incurred. I
was not in a state to argue very clearly even if I had wanted to, so I agreed.
The doctor made his
inspections and prescribed a remedy for me- of which he handily happened to
have samples in his office. I thanked
him for his help and Nick took me home.
The medication worked quickly and wondrously- I almost felt high. But I thought it was my imagination. Nick, of course, took care of dosing me- so I never even knew where he kept the drugs or what they were.
Then
another evening, I had the same symptoms of that night before. That is when Nick checkmated me. While I knelt over the bowl, my eyes blurred
from the tears, and my throat too raw to cry, he crouched next to me, his hands
pulling back my now disgustingly matted hair.
He put his lips next to my ear to whisper the truth of my life during
the past two months with him.
"Ah,
Mara, you're undone now. Your body
needs something, doesn't it? Do you
feel an inescapable craving, a harrowing yearning for something? Something- and you don't even know
what?"
I was
in a fog, so wearied from all the retching, I couldn't think enough to realize
I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. But the words he said clicked- I did _need_ something, but
what? I wasn't clear-headed enough to
wonder why- why did I feel this burning need, borne only of drug addiction,
which I remembered well from my long-ago coke-stupored days. In those moments so weak, I just knew I
needed it, and it seemed Nick had it for me.
Always the gentleman.
He
continued whispering, straight into my brain, "Mara, do you know what you
want? Do you know what I have for
you? I can make you feel so much
better. I can make you feel normal
again." Then he chuckled- like I'd
never heard him do before. It was
suspiciously eerie, and almost... sadistic.
I still couldn't come out of my haze enough to respond properly to his
change of attitude and tone... I was balanced just between this need he
described and my dignity, which I sensed he was about to throw on the floor and
grind to dust under his boots.
I
managed, "Yes, help me, Nick.
Please, I do need something. I
know you can help me." Completely
losing the struggle between my physical and my spiritual beings, I heard myself
begging him to sate the desire I had. I
was fiending, I finally realized it.
But why? Now I did ask myself... but only briefly, before I retched
again, ripping myself apart inside.
Nick
had positioned his body right behind mine.
We had never slept together in all this time- he had gallantly insisted
I take the bed and he never once even asked for it. But now, somehow, his body's front pressed to my body's back
brought sexual thoughts to mind- forceful, non-consenting ones. Ones I probably would not enjoy. My mind remembered briefly a little debate
Nick and I had made on the phone once.
Does a woman’s body enjoy any intercourse, even if unwelcome? I claimed no, but his defense for the
opposite stance was the wetness proof.
I wondered if he had had this plan in mind at the time. I wondered if it also came to his mind in
this moment, as it did to mine.
I felt
his strong body press into my back, forcing my chest against the bowl, just
enough to slightly wind me. His hands
reached around my waist and up to claim my breasts- but somehow I wasn't as
shocked as I certainly should have been.
Could I refuse these advances in my state? I was sick from whatever drug my body was not getting and I couldn't
say no to the physical needs that were now ruling me.
As he
squeezed my breasts, surprisingly not roughly, he kept talking quietly to me,
"Mara, do you want it? Do you want
what I can give you? Do you want the
medicine I have for you, dear? Your
body is punishing you severely because you've gone without. You need it- you need it so badly inside
you. You can have it, just ask me for
it, Mara. Ask me as nicely as you can,
baby, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll
provide you with everything you need, Mara." He punctuated these words with a kiss- much rougher than his
hands on my breasts- behind my ear. The
kiss soon became a nibble, teeth sharp and large on my skin, until I yelped.
What
could I do? I could try to fight him,
but I doubted I would win. Here he had
me pinned, literally and metaphorically.
And though the double meaning of his "offer" was not lost on
me, and I didn't want the sinuous one that he was forcing on me now anyway, I
felt completely cornered. But from that
corner, my mind gave a weak shout of "Fight, Mara! Don't let him do this!" I almost thought I could try to jab
backwards and elbow him, but even then, as if he could hear my thoughts as
well, he pressed tighter against me, leaving no elbowroom for me at all.
I was
left with nothing but begging. My drug
addiction was controlling me more strongly than the sense of self I had. The fiending need was crawling all over my
skin from the inside, becoming intolerable.
I felt sensations simultaneously burning cold and freezing hot all over;
my head pounded with an inexplicable fear and nervousness. Twitches and tremors ran through my fingers
and toes. I could not endure it
anymore. I had to have the remedy for
this chemical dependence Nick had forced on me. I gave in and didn't turn back for a long time.
"Nick,
please, give me what I need. I know you
have it. Please just give it to me
now. I don't know what it is, but
please let me have it." Even
though I felt that was my only option- to beg him this way- it wasn't at all
easy to do. I hated hearing those words
coming from my own mouth, even in a voice so quiet and small and forced. Nick noticed how unenthusiastic my pleading
was. He didn't like it.
"No,
Mara, that won't do," he said as he squeezed my nipples painfully and
pulled my head back by the hair so my eyes met his. "I said to ask me _nicely_, little chienne. Make me feel your need. Let me hear the desperation in your
'Please'. Make it tangible, give it a
body I can touch and squeeze just like the body I'm holding now." He shoved against my back and mashed my
breasts in his big hands. I had to
scream, I had to, but my throat was too raw, so the tears just welled up more
in my eyes. I realized he enjoyed that-
that's what he was looking for.
"Nick,
please," I cried, meaning it more now, letting more feeling into it, my
pride dissipating into clouds that rose far away from me. "Please, please, please," I just
kept repeating, each one sounding more and more despicably sycophantic to my
ears. Each one bringing out new
watersheds of tears for the nightmare into which I'd let myself.
I open my eyes to see Nick's balls above my face,
waiting to be dipped. Every time I open
my mouth to let him in- whether balls, shaft, tongue, finger, or any other tool
of invasion he chooses- the shame and humiliation rise quietly in my mind,
taking me back to that first night.
When the voice of dignity becomes so persistent that I start to listen,
my craving kicks in. I need the
synthetic heroin Nick has been feeding me.
So I open my mouth now, voraciously, to satisfy his sadistic desire to
see me so desperately needy. He likes
to wait to give me the dope- he waits till I can't stand it anymore. He likes the tears in my eyes, the anguish
in my voice, knowing he controls it all.
Knowing he controls all of me.
When I
get that strung-out, I let him do anything to me, just to have what I
need. I let him make me do anything
too- disgusting things, unimaginably humiliating things. I'm so detached from them that I can think
about them easily. I've detached myself from my own pride, out of
self-preservation, so as not to feel the self-loathing that would crush me if I
didn't.
As I
continue to mouth Nick's sac now, greedily, he grabs the sides of my head to
help the process along. I caress his
asscheeks going up and down, grazing my chest.
Sometimes I don’t know if the pure physical beauty of this body-
wonderfully tight and strong, with the right amount of hair everywhere- makes
the ordeal more or less bearable. His
face is just as beautiful, like Inigo Montoya from the Princess Bride. I stare up at what I can see of it now,
hidden behind his shaft.
He
starts talking to me- quietly at first, so I can't understand his words. Then he raises his voice just enough so I
hear him tell me what a good job I'm doing, with vulgarity he only uses in
fevered moments of passion. He tells me
I'm the best cum sow he's ever owned, better than any ball-sucking bitch he
could buy. And he didn't even have to
pay for me. He always praises himself
on how he got me with his own cunning.
I've heard all his talk before.
I'm no longer insulted. In fact,
I mostly agree. It's hard to think I
was ever anything more than his junkie slave.
Sometimes
he demands my active participation in the verbal barrage, making it a dialogue
between us. He tells me what to say,
although I know what he wants to hear already.
Feeling powerless to refuse, I collaborate with creative self-effacing
descriptions to fuel his ego. Between
mouthfuls of his penis, I chant my submission to him with words of his own
style. Those were the words he wanted
dragged out of me; they were difficult at first me for me to say, but
resignation makes them flow now from me like my first tears did. My speech brings Nick to the edge, my hard
palate the freefall cliff for the jizz of his hard member. Now he gags me, cutting my breath off
momentarily, making me swallow, as always, until he finally pulls himself out.
I lie
in the bed, under Nick’s crotch, his flaccidness on my cheek. It is a familiar position for both of us,
almost comfortable now for me. I’m
accustomed to my body being an object of use for the man sitting on top of me-
I’m his pillow, his bedframe, his footstool; my mouth is his receptacle for any
possibility of things, my tongue has served the nastiest of needs.
After
he rolls off me, and before he can push me off the bed, I get down to make sure
he has all the necessary accoutrements to smoke a cigarette. He chuckles and makes his usual joke about
good training. I wait on the floor for
his daily instructions. Besides the
mundane housework, Nick always gives me some odd errands to run. But today...
"Mara,
I have a surprise for you today."
A
surprise- happy for him, probably unhappy for me. I wait in numb dread, but he would keep me in apprehensive
suspense till the time came. He says no
more about it.
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