Freeing Lana (8 page)

A second swat came
harder than the first, sending an echoing ‘smack!’ bouncing off the walls
before returning to her welcoming ears. Even the sound of the paddle as it
quickly reddened her ass caused a barely controllable urge to beg for more. A
third swat, then a fourth and fifth came in rapid succession, stealing any
delusions of control from Lana’s body, her mouth. She moaned loudly as Sergio
applied the wood again and again, any semblance of displeasure lost to her
completely. When she felt the handle of the paddle placed into his left hand on
the small of her back, she could not hold back the whimper.

“Yes,” she said,
knowing he would now know her desire, her appreciation. His finger slid
effortlessly inside her aching opening, the sopping sound it made only
heightening her desire, her need. A second finger found no further resistance
than the first, as he quickened the pace, plowing his fingers inside her again
and again. It was only when a third finger was added, that the pace slowed, her
pussy tightened around him hungrily.

His left hand left her
back and found her hair, pulling her head backward towards him, holding her in
place as his hand plunged deeper into her. When his thumb extended and pressed
against the darker opening between her legs, she thought she might lose
consciousness. But he didn’t push it inside, merely applying pressure, teasing
her with the thought of being penetrated in both openings at once. He knew she
loved it; she had made it no secret, and while she would never ask him for it,
she did everything she could to let him know she wanted it every time. The
absolute lack of control, the purest form of submission in her eyes, she
readily made no complaints when her asshole was violated. She craved it as much
as anything else.

But he rarely obliged
that particular kink she had in her chain, whether he just didn’t like it
himself, or perhaps his knowledge of her being ass-raped by a whiffle ball bat
during the ordeal with the other guy, she didn’t know. And when she searched her
own mind, she couldn’t completely rule out the bat as a catalyst for her
newfound desire to be in the completely vulnerable position of taking one in
the ass. But the teasing drove her bat-shit crazy, and Sergio knew it.

She rocked back and
forth on the chair, meeting each thrust of his hand violently, forcing him
deeper than he might have intended, her moans becoming blissful cries of
desire, steadily growing in strength. A steady, guttural stream of inaudibility
flowed from her lips, no longer resembling words, but rather taking on more of
a sense of an animalistic snarl, as the line between hunter and prey blurred
and then disappeared altogether. He was no longer fingering her pussy; her
pussy was fucking his fingers, or more precisely, violently raping them. But at
that most crucial moment, when climax seemed inevitable, he stopped, slowly
withdrawing his fingers and releasing his grip on her hair. She wanted to
scream. Surely, he knew how close she was.
Surely.

“What would you like me
to do to you now?” he asked, quietly.

Was he serious? This
had become a habit of late, the punishment she had longed for complete in his eyes;
he transitioned back to the weaker, though kinder and caring man who had been
there when she had needed a shoulder to cry on. Surely, he knew she no longer
needed that.
No longer wanted that.
It had served its
purpose, allowing her the time to heal emotionally, but it no longer held a
place for her. What did she want? She wanted him to never ask that fucking
question again. She wanted him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do, to use
her for his pleasure, but she sure as fuck didn’t want him to ask her.

Tell
him to go get the mask.

Shut up!
The mask?
Christ’s sake, no. She couldn’t tell him about the
mask. She couldn’t tell him she wanted him to shove his cock so far down her
throat that she couldn’t breathe, both hands gripping the back of her head and
forcing it deeper until it swelled under the pressure and his hot, salty load
exploded down her throat. She could never tell him that, no matter how much she
wanted it.

She couldn’t tell him
she wanted him to fuck her in the ass harder than anyone ever had, pulling his
dick out just in time to shoot his wad on her back so she could feel it running
down into the crack before dripping to the floor from her swollen pussy lips,
while she sucked her own filth from his dick, never stopping until she had it
erect enough so he could do it all over again. No, she could never tell him
that.

“I want you to tell me
you’re not disappointed in me,” she managed, barely keeping the tears inside.

CHAPTER
THIRTEEN

Tom Tinkerton leaned
against the doorway of the bedroom, lost in thought. He had dodged a bullet in
this very room, but he still wondered if a ricochet was still spinning around
somewhere with his name on it. He had walked in that day in the nick of time,
finding Daniel standing over the girl with a fucking knife. If she had died,
Tom held no doubt that he might have found himself in jail. He knew Daniel was
off his rocker. Hell, deep down, he had known he would go after the girl. There
was no way he could have done anything at that point, but when she went
missing, he should have come here first. God only knew the depths of hell he
had put her through.

But he had arrived in
time to save her, and everyone had seemed to focus on that more than anything.
Even the girl called him a hero at the arraignment.
Some
hero.
If she only knew he could have saved her weeks earlier, she would
probably be singing a completely different tune altogether. But she didn’t
know. No one did.
No one but him.
And try as he might,
he couldn’t get the image of that night out of his head. She was beat to shit.

He pulled his hands
from his face and looked around the room again. The carpets had been replaced
because of the blood. Everything had been painted too, but when he ran his
fingers along the edge of the bedroom door, he could still feel the indentions
where the locks had been. Daniel had never intended to let the girl go; he knew
that all too well. What the fuck was he thinking?

But he knew the answer
to that question; the fucker hadn’t been thinking. He was the perfect
definition of fucktard. Of course, his lawyer had called it insane, and the
idiot judge had agreed, so instead of prison, the son of a bitch was painting
self portraits in The Westville Asylum.

The girl hadn’t come to
the trial and he could understand that completely. The way she explained it,
she had never managed to get a good look at his face and never wanted to. That
made sense on some way, but it had still surprised him that she hadn’t wanted
to be there to ask the judge to send him to prison. Just wanted to get it all
behind her, she had said. Well, good luck.

He walked out of the
room and headed for the front door. The furniture, the dark paneling, all gone,
the room stood empty. All the paint in the world couldn’t hide the bullshit of
this place. Tinkerton wouldn’t be surprised if they never rented the house
again as he closed the front door behind him.

CHAPTER
FOURTEEN

Lana sat on the side of
the bed, staring at the darkness under the front of the dresser. Why get it
out? All she ever did was stare at it and cry. She hadn’t ever dared to put it
on. But the hood, tucked so neatly out of sight in the darkness beneath the
cherry wood dresser, was calling to her again. Its call was darker than the
shadows it hid in, darker than the thoughts in her own head, begging for her
acceptance.

That prick had awakened
something inside her that scared her more than he had. The very demons in hell
held no horrors like the deepest crevices inside her mind. Rational thought
found no place within her when she thought of the hood, of what it represented.
She should hate him, should want him dead, but she didn’t. There was an
appreciation of sorts, for the birthing of the nightmares which offered her the
faintest hint of some sort of harmony with her own essence. He had been a
monster; there was no denying that, but he had awakened something even darker
inside her, with an irrefutably ravenous nature, though she doubted nature held
nothing of similar.

Steadying herself
against the dresser, Lana lowered herself to floor and reached a hand
underneath. The black felt found her fingers, caressing them, welcoming them.
She slid it out into the light of the bedroom, leaving its invitation
unanswered on the carpet. She gazed at it with wonder and fear, knowing it held
the secrets to both her condemnation and her salvation. She purposely slid a
hand inside the fabric, and as the light skin of her palm contrasted behind the
lone hole in the dark material, her other hand glided roughly across the fabric
of the jeans between her legs, grasping at her crotch so tightly she felt her
weight shift upwards.

“God, help me,” she
mouthed, the only sound actually emanating a deep moan, suggesting as much
dread as pleasure. She held the mask up to her face, staring at the spot eyes
would be, had she felt a need to make holes for them. The blank stare of the
black material mirrored that of
her own,
hypnotic and seemingly
lost in a world of yearning. It called to her, but she knew not how to answer,
or if she even could.

Two fingers, her index
and her ‘fuck you’ finger, wormed their way out of the opening in the mask and
she hungrily took them into her mouth, her weight again being slightly raised,
lifting her ass from its resting place atop her feet. She let her fingers slide
slowly out of her mouth and again looked deep into the darkness. She peered
into the neck of the mask, wondering if she could bring herself to put it over
her head. The only thing stopping her before had been the uncertainty of any
ability to return to the safety of her delusional view of herself, if she ever
intentionally crossed that line.

Her hand, still tightly
cupping her crotch, could feel the wetness behind the denim. This was madness.
She wanted nothing more than to slide that hood over her head and work her
goddamn pussy like a fucking fiddle. She rubbed her hand against her pussy
aggressively, as she imagined a cock being shoved through the hole and into her
mouth, imagining the pressure against her throat as it yearned to unleash its
bountiful load into her.

Put
it on, just put it on already!

Lana grabbed the neck
opening of the mask with both hands and held it to her face, smelling the
pungent aroma of the new material, feeling the darkness inside the mask calling
to her like a lost lover. She held it against her face, her fingers trembling,
her legs shaking under her own weight.

It’s not the devil;
it’s just a piece of cloth. Put it on; you know you want to.

She wanted nothing
more, she knew that. But it was that desire that scared her, not the mask
itself
. It represented a complete surrender to the darkest
part of her, the part that had no inhibitions, no line separating right from
wrong, woman from animal. But it wouldn’t be today.

“Soon enough,” she
promised, pulling the mask away from her face and returning it to its hiding
place beneath the dresser, “soon enough.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Tinkerton rang the
doorbell a second time and waited. Her boyfriend would undoubtedly be at work,
but he knew Lana rarely left the house.There was no doubt in his mind that he
went by the house more than he should, but he was still holding on to a bit of
guilt for everything going as far as it had. She didn’t seem to mind, and always
acted like she appreciated his frequent visits to ‘check on her.’

When she opened the
door, her reddened eyes made it appear as though she had been crying. But she
quickly flashed a smile of recognition when her eyes, red and all, recognized
him.

“Tink!” she exclaimed,
“How are you?”

No, the real question
would be better suited to her current state, not his. The only thing bothering
him was the one thing he could never talk to her about, and so he returned her
smile immediately and got about the task of avoiding the question altogether.

“You ok?” he countered.

But as soon as the
words left his mouth, he wanted to take it back. Her smile quickly faded to one
of embarrassment. No doubt, she had been trying to hide the fact something was
bothering her, but he had stepped right over the edge of that cliff and sent
them both plummeting to the depths below.

Perhaps better at their
newfound game of avoidance, she countered quickly, inviting him inside,
allowing herself to turn her back as she led him into the living room, and
giving her the time she needed to better hide the remnants of whatever had
upset her. Queen to king’s bishop two, takes rook, well played Lana, well
played.

He followed her inside,
dragging his feet more than normal to give her all the time she needed to
recover from his idiotic question, and when she asked him if he wanted
something to drink, he gladly accepted, knowing they could move on now.

“Tea, if you have any
made.”

“Of
course.”

He sat himself at the
small dining table, and pulling the portable ashtray from his coat pocket, lit
two Marlboros with the same match. He didn’t think she smoked much, but she
always joined him in the habit when he visited. The can of Febreze was in the
cabinet under the sink. She would pull it out when he got ready to leave and,
begin to remove any trace of their secret peccadillo. Apparently, the boyfriend
didn’t approve. He knew all too well that even this slightest act of deception
hinted at a window of opportunity, something to tuck away and keep somewhere in
the back of his mind.