Page 11 of Penance

She moves with a grace that’s almost otherworldly, her bare feet padding softly on the carpet as she steps up to her bedside table and reaches up, pulling the hair band from the end of her braid and shaking her head.

Her chestnut waves shake loose, cascading over her delicate, petite shoulders like a chocolate waterfall, and I long to sink my hands into it.

Soon.

Very soon.

I can see the steady pulse in a vein that runs along the side of her throat, throbbing. It calls to me. I want to wrap my fingers around her neck and squeeze until the breath leaves her, and her eyes roll up to soulless whites.

Mercy turns her back to me, her attention turning to her altar, and the crucifix that lives above it. The curve of her neck is exposed, vulnerable. It’s a sight that sends a surge of adrenaline through me, a predator’s instinct honed to a razor’s edge.

Now , I tell myself. Show her. Teach her.

In one swift movement, I step out of the closet, my footsteps soft and deliberate. The carpet muffles my steps, allowing me to close the distance between us with an eerie quietness that shakes even me. She remains blissfully unaware, her humming a soft, innocent melody that fills the air.

I almost feel bad for her.

Almost.

And then, my hands are on her.

One of my arms snakes around her neck, the other one finding her waist and smashing her against my chest.

Her shock is palpable, a sharp intake of breath that cuts through the air like a hot knife. The apple slips from her fingers, falling to the carpet with a muffled thump.

“Hey!” she gasps, her voice a breathless whisper. “What are you—?”

“Shh, little lamb,” I murmur, my voice a low growl in her ear. I try my hardest to keep my voice soft, deeper than its normal tone. I don’t want her to know it’s me. “Stay quiet. If you scream, I will kill you.”

She trembles in my grasp, a delicate bird caught in the jaws of the wolf. I can feel her fear pulsing from her in waves, like the breath of a living thing.

“Please,” she whimpers. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

“Quiet,” I whisper.

Mercy’s breath comes in quick, shallow gasps, her chest heaving against my arm as I pin her against me. I can feel her heart racing, a frantic rhythm that taps into her sternum.

“Please,” she whispers. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t tell anyone. Just… just leave, and we can forget this ever happened.”

I laugh, a low sound that echoes in the room.

“Forget?” I snort. “Oh, little lamb, you won’t ever forget this. I promise you that.”

She struggles against me, but not hard enough. I watch as her delicate hands try to pry my arms away, her nails digging into my forearms in a vain attempt to escape.

It’s cute, I’ll give her that, but she won’t get away from me.

I’m stronger, faster.

Angrier.

With a swift, practiced motion, I spin her around, slamming her back into her mattress and holding her there. Her eyes widen in terror as I reach into my pocket, pulling out a zip tie. Realization blooms like wildflowers across her gorgeous face.

She’s really scared now.

She bucks against me, a wild animal fighting for its life, but I’m not worried. I’ve hunted bigger game than her and won.

“Hold still, Mercy,” I tell her. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the switchblade and hit the button that makes the blade slip free with a click of finality that has her eyes widening. She falls still.

I’m serious, and she knows it.

I loop the zip tie around her wrists, tightening it with a sharp tug. She’s stuck now, bound and at my mercy.

The irony of the thought makes me smile.

Her breath hitches, a sob catching in her throat.

This is for her own good , I tell myself. She needs to understand, needs to see the truth. She needs to know what it feels like .

I can feel her trembling, her body shaking between me and the mattress. I want to reach out, to comfort her, but I know better. She’s not ready for that yet, but she will be. In time, she’ll understand. She’ll see that this was all necessary.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers, her voice cracked, and tears streaming down her cheeks.

I lean in, pressing my chest against her, feeling her heart beating through my skin as I reach up and press the blade of my knife against her throat. She swallows hard, and her throat touches the sharp edge just enough to show her it’s real. She freezes.

“Because I can.”

She’s sobbing now, her breath pulling in in deep, hollow gasps, her flesh sucking in along her throat as she fights for every scrap of oxygen. The tears slide down her cheeks in deep, raging rivers, slipping down the line of her jaw and gathering in the hollow of her throat.

I cock my head, studying her, watching the fear transform her into something even more beautiful. It’s intoxicating.

Yet, at the same time, I feel nothing.

No pity.

No remorse.

Only a cold, unfeeling emptiness.

I’ve broken her, shattered her illusions of safety and control. Now, it’s time to remake her, to mold her into something new.

Something mine.

I’m already rock hard as I reach down and unbutton my pants. She doesn’t panic until she hears the scream of the zipper, but then she’s thrashing, twisting and pulling as she fights to get away from me.

Has she forgotten that I have a knife to her throat?

Maybe she just doesn’t care, her determination to stay pure fighting against any survival instincts she has left.

“No!” she screams, her voice ripping from her throat and echoing around the empty apartment. “Don’t! Don’t hurt me! DON’T!”

I strike like a cobra, the back of my hand whipping across her face and silencing her in one rough slap. She whines, but then falls quiet. I can see a line of blood dripping from the corner of her mouth, and now I’m angry.

I didn’t want to hurt her. Not like that.

Goddamn her.

She fucking made me do this.

God.

Fucking.

Damn her.

“I said be quiet,” I spit. My back teeth grind together so hard I worry I’ll crack them off at the gums.

Reaching down, I push her long skirt up until it bunches around her waist, leaving her tights and her panties exposed. I pluck at her tights and tear them open, giving me access to what I want.

Pulling her panties to the side breaks down the final barrier, and with one hard buck of my hips, I’m inside her.

She whimpers, turning her face away from me and closing her eyes. Her bound wrists push against me as she tries to force me away. I push against her, forcing her open with the head of my cock, carving my name into her pussy as I push harder.

She can fight me all she wants.

She’s not strong enough to fight me off.

Finally, I’m sunk to the hilt, and I sigh as she wraps around me. She’s so fucking tight.

So fucking mine .

I’ve fucked a lot of girls, trying to get my mind off of her, but none of them felt as good as she does.

None of them felt right, like she does.

None of them felt like they were made for me like she does.

I pull out just a little bit, and then roll my hips against her, grinding the head of my cock against the spot inside her that makes her squirm, even in her sleep.

Should I make her cum?

I have before. She convulsed and twitched for me, but she wasn’t awake to remember it.

Should I let her feel it now?

No, I don’t think so.

Now wasn’t the time to show her how good it could feel. Tonight was the night I would break her. Bleed her. I would breed her, if I hadn’t done that already.

So I pull back my hips again and drill into her, hard, until her cervix kisses the head of my cock and her head rolls back, her bound hands shaking.

Poor baby.

Poor, scared little church mouse. My cock is too big, too much for a scared little virgin like her.

I fuck myself into her, rolling against her and pushing until she starts to whisper, her lips moving softly, and her words coming in silent puffs of air.

Is she… praying?

I pull back again and slam into her hard, slapping my hips into her until she whines, and her mouth drops open in a silent scream.

There we go.

That’s it.

Forget about God, baby. Pray to me instead.

“Good girl,” I tell her, and she whimpers again.

Maybe she hates the sound of my voice. Maybe she loves it. I may never know.

I pull back and push into her again, harder still, until the sound of our hips colliding screams around the room. I don’t miss it when she moans, just a little bit, and then I feel her thighs tighten around me and her pussy quivers against the base of my cock.

Is she… enjoying this?

Reaching down with one hand, I frame her perfect pussy with two parted fingers and then slide my thumb between her slick lips, following the line up until the pad of my thumb finds the swollen bud of her clit and she shudders against me.

She is. She’s fucking drenched.

She likes this.

Even if she will never admit it—not to me or anyone else—I can tell.

I roll my thumb across her clit, stroking it softly, just enough that she arches against me as I continue to fuck her.

She’s going to cum for me.

She’s going to cum on my cock while I rape her—and there was no mistaking that that’s what this is.

I’m raping Mercy Clarke, and she was fucking getting off on it, the sick fucking bitch.

I continue to stroke her, to play with her and tease her until she moans again, and the way her walls clench tells me she won’t be much longer. My strokes become softer, shallower, grinding against the spot inside her that will make my little bird sing for me.

Then she does.

She throws her head back, her shoulders rolling and her back arching, and a flood of warmth splashes across the base of my cock.

Her pussy clamps down on me, and I can’t hold it in any longer.

I slam myself into her as hard as I can, rolling her up until her pelvis tilts and her hips roll, and I nearly bend her in half and empty my balls inside her.

I can feel it, pump after pump splattering into her pussy, coating her walls with my DNA, and all the evidence she would ever need if she wanted to throw my ass in jail.

But I’m not worried.

She will never tell.

Mercy is my good little girl.

When I stumble back, my cock slips out of her, and I look down and see our combined juices leaking out of her, dripping down the curve of her ass and darkening the perfectly pressed bedspread beneath her.

Chuckling, I push my cock back into my pants and stumble out of the room, falling against the wall more than once as I hurry down the hallway and then rip open the front door and let myself out.

Now, I go upstairs, shower, and get in bed, and wait for her to come to me.

And she will.

I know she will.