Jeremy took the gun out of me, and while he did this slowly there was still the tearing and it made me jerk my head around and see for the first time the other one in the room. The guy from the car who’d done all that waiting in parking lots, and had waited through this, too. But before I could wonder what all his endless patience might mean for me, Jeremy took me back again. And so it was that much clearer they were nowhere near finished with me.
Jeremy lay the gun near my head. It stayed lifeless there, leaving this little streak of blood on the sheet. I felt lifeless, too. A short moment of sweetness in this before Jeremy pushed me down and then was pushing into me. Trying to get his dick into my ass. My body went from dead to too alive all in a quick rush of soreness. And unwilling or unable or both, I knew I couldn’t take him. There just wasn’t room in me for this.
He wouldn’t stop trying though. Not for the longest time and by now I’d given in to just crying. This occurring somewhere inside me while on the outside I didn’t feel any tears or cries or movement, just the limping, unmanaged jerks of my body. Of it reacting to things. I couldn’t be sure if I felt anything at all.
And then maybe I wasn’t wholly there for a time because what I felt next was the other man’s arms around me. Him behind me and me leaning against him. I felt his hands in my T-shirt, heard him in my ear, saying in a voice I’d never heard, “You’re going to like me. You’ll see.”
And I wondered whether I was alone with him until I opened my eyes and saw Jeremy still there, loafing on the bed. He still had the gun. Was fucking me with it in a way I could only watch. I had no other way to know it was happening.
My head lolled back against this other one, which seemed to please him. I felt the stubble of his beard scratching my cheek and his hands still fooling with my breasts. Of all of it, I seemed to have the most trouble with this.
I tried to rest. I felt so tired. I closed my eyes again but still it took me some time to get away. To stop feeling the one behind me, him fondling me.
I must have at some point managed it, though, because a slicing across my belly and an instant numbing there startled me back awake. I opened my eyes to see Jeremy lapping a little coke off my stomach. I could feel this little damp place left by his tongue. From the look of things, the look of me, he’d been doing this a while. All across my belly these little hash marks from his knife. This last one maybe just went deep enough to impress me. Went deep enough that the coke spilled into it, making this pinkish clump.
He noticed me. Licked a bit from his knife and then scooped more on to it. Held the knife to my face and told me to have some. “You need to wake up,” he said.
I jerked my head away but the one behind me stopped that, held me still until I snorted some. Jeremy cleaned the blade on my cheek. Then he wiped it on my shirt, which they’d cut off me apparently. It lay near me in pieces.
Jeremy snorted lines off my belly, then smeared what was left into those little scratches. He closed his knife and instead of feeling glad for this I felt suddenly scared because he was getting up to leave, to go join Burt in the other room. This would leave me alone with the last one.
Jeremy closed the door most of the way when he left. I could hear him and Burt talking but I didn’t think it was about me. This last guy came around from behind me and I fell back until first the bed and then the wall stopped me. My head hitting the wall woke me more than the coke had.
He was sitting on my chest. He had his hand behind my neck and was lifting my head toward his lap. He pressed my face against him for a while. Rubbed himself against me until I could feel him getting hard through the soft cloth of his pants.
He took his dick out and rubbed it along my face and the softness of this and his pants meant it hurt more when his zipper scratched my cheek.
This all seemed nearly friendly so when he began yelling, it caught me short. I didn’t know what I’d done. Had trouble making out the things he was saying. They seemed to come from his throat all clumped together, and so I’d only get little bits until he screamed, “Open your fucking mouth.”
Then his fingers were opening it for me, prying me open. And once he got his dick inside, he fucked my mouth hard enough that my head kept hitting the wall. I slid down to try and stop this. To stop the pounding back of my skull, not to get away from him. But my moving made him slip out.
Then he got rough. He pulled his belt from his pants and doubled it over, smacked me across the face. And I could hear the sound of this and him still shouting; shouting, “Oh, you’ll do them, huh? And not me.”
And it going on this way in a rant about me thinking him not good enough, and I was wanting to tell him that wasn’t it at all. That I was just very tired. That if he’d let me rest, just for a while, I’d do whatever it was he wanted.
I was beyond speaking, though. Had lost this ability way before his belt pulped my lips.
He left off the smacking, finally. Looped the belt around my neck just as Ingrid’s husband had. He tried to tie my hands with it, but his girth wasn’t big enough and so the belt wasn’t long enough and this angered him too. He yanked me up by it before he let go and got off the bed.
He sorted through all those clothes still in a heap on the floor. Came back with a belt from a robe, one Ingrid had borrowed while she was here. This cord was sure long enough, and made of a stretchy, scratchy synthetic that made his job easier and mine harder. Harder still when he hog-tied me with it.
I’d never been in exactly this position before. And when he turned me on my back I had to scramble for space in my throat – this cord clutching it and tightening and never seeming to give way no matter how I arranged myself.
I pulled my legs up under me, or my feet really. Kept them close together underneath me but my legs wide open before him. Held myself up with my thighs, the muscles in them waking up angry, forcing me to feel that part of my body again.
None of this worked. My wrists were down too close to my ankles and all the slack was in the wrong place. And this tugging around my neck wouldn’t stop, didn’t really stop even when I got my hands up under my shoulder blades. I kept trying to lift myself up, get myself off the cord. But I wasn’t doing well at this, and he was pressing down on my legs, and then pressing them further apart until I had to give way and wait him out.
I couldn’t not feel how he fucked me. Felt it more for all the feeling that had come back to my legs. I felt everything – the cutting in my wrists and ankles, my throat closed off, and the only good thing about this was it kept me from crying out loud. This feeling like some kind of victory until I realized it served him for me to be quiet.
He kept pounding at me until I went numb despite all the things stacked against it, though maybe it was just my blood wasn’t moving. That it couldn’t get past the cord anymore.
When he pulled out, I tried to turn on my side, turn away, but he was over me again, jerking off on my chest and my face until finally he went away. I curled up inside-out of how I wanted to be. My arms and legs behind me instead of tucked up in front of me. I was retching and trying to spit but my throat stayed too raw. I turned my head into the sheets to wipe his come off me. I kept turning my head into the sheets.
And, too, I listened. Heard them all moving around and talking, all these bustling noises, which I wanted to mean they were leaving.
But before they did, they came back to me. Burt said, “Just one more thing, sweetheart.” And I’d hated his calling me this all along, but hated it most now when I’d just begun to let myself think of Beth.