Lana's Awakening Read online

  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.

  She sat across from him at the table, trading a glass of iced tea for the cigarette he held in front of him, and as he took a long, slow drink from the glass, his eyes were watching her. She inhaled deeply, like a drunk taking his first drink of the day. Of course, it could just be a matter of her succumbing to the addictive properties of the nicotine, but he doubted it. No, she needed that cigarette. Whatever she had been dealing with before he arrived had upset her to the point she needed something to calm the nerves just a bit. He found himself surprised she hadn’t offered him a drink of something a bit stronger. There was no hiding the fact, no matter how bravely she was trying, that she could use a stiff drink.

  Or perhaps a stiff…

  Shut up. This wasn’t the time and he knew it. Still, though his only thoughts had been about her rescue in the moment that day, the images of her naked body on the floor in Daniel’s bedroom haunted him frequently. Over time, he had been able to ‘clean up’ the images in his head, removing the blood and bruises, leaving only her naked body on display for him to enjoy.

  “This is good tea,” he offered after enough time had elapsed for the nicotine to soothe her embarrassment some. Of course, he had used the short pause to rid his own mind of the things they wouldn’t talk about as well.

  “Thanks. You off today?”

  “Hell, I’m always a little off.”

  The smile he had first seen when she opened the door returned now and he knew they would get through this now without further awkwardness. The chess match would fade away, replaced by the safer, simpler game of catch, casually tossing clichéd remarks back and forth until he would eventually excuse himself. Same game, different day. It had become an art form between them; the routine practiced enough to become second nature.

  “How’s Sergio?”

  “He’s good.”

  The smile that once beamed when she talked about him seemed a bit more forced, and as he pulled the pack of smokes from his coat pocket, he watched her lower her head slightly, avoiding his eyes. There it was. Apparently, something wasn’t overly pleasant in Pleasantville. Nothing too severe, he reasoned, but not quite right, nonetheless. He lit another of the cigarettes and offered it to her.

  “A refill?”

  “Why not,” she said, putting out the one she had ‘power smoked’ with one hand and taking the newest one with the other. He lit another for himself and again let the uneasiness retreat back to the safety of the World of Unspoken Truths. Someday, they would talk about this, he was convinced of that, but it wouldn’t be today.

  They talked for the better half of an hour, again not really saying anything, but rather filling space in the quietness which threatened to release thoughts of some significance. It was a dance, one he found he was actually enjoying, the harmless dance done to faster, less intimate songs. It was harmless in the eyes of the chaperones, but he knew some form of tension was building, some unspoken agreement they would meet at another time, in another place. When he had first recognized it, it had scared him a bit. He wasn’t a predator, not like Daniel; he couldn’t take advantage of the weakness she had undoubtedly developed after all the craziness. But still he returned to check on her; still he knew someday, they would dance to a different song.

  Tinkerton folded the ashtray over itself and returned it to his pocket, the butts to be discarded later, as Lana got up and retrieved the can of air freshener. That’s right; cover your tracks, little one. The smile, unnoticed by her as she went about the business or removing the smell of cigarettes from the room, came up without intent. After she let him out the door, she would often leave the door open, allowing air drawn in through the kitchen window she would also open, to push the smoke out of the house as well. By the time Sergio came home, there would be nothing left of the day’s deception.

  They traded more pleasantries as she led him to the door, the same automatic exchanges done across the world: take care, call me if you need anything, come back soon, etc. It was cute, but necessary for the time being. When they reached the door, he turned and welcomed the hug she always offered before opening the door. It w
as a little tighter this time, and he believed she held a bit longer as well. It had been a good visit, one he now believed she had needed as much as he had, if not more. Then he left the small house and allowed her to return to her own thoughts, as he walked into the ones he knew were coming, those of her, naked on the floor. Maybe she would think of him too, maybe not.

  Yea, and maybe monkeys will fly out of your ass.

  Shut up.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sergio Marsili stepped out of the meeting room content that it had gone well. The employees at the Wholesale Warehouse had been doing great lately, the numbers proved that beyond doubt, and he had wanted to tell them so. He had told them about the company dinner he had planned as a way to show his, and the company’s appreciation. Spouses, or significant others were invited as well to enjoy the catered steak dinner. An open bar would be available as well, though he had jokingly made it clear that he would hate to have to fire someone for acting the ass. They had received the message and for the most part, the overall tone had said they liked the idea. Sure, like anything else, there were a few who didn’t try too hard to hide their displeasure, but that was to be expected. He had been asked if their presence was mandatory, to which he had laughed. No, of course not, it was just intended to be a big, even if too big, ‘thank you,’ nothing more. That seemed to appease the naysayers, if not convince them to attend, but then he was pretty sure he removed any remaining disapproval when he told them that bonuses would be handed out during the dinner.

  They really had been doing a great job; the overall morale in the store had skyrocketed relatively quickly, a trend he attributed as much to the removal of Ronas he did to anything he had done since taking the reins. The big bosses in Chicago had given him all of the credit, reminding him of what they had told him when he had been given the position: there were no bad teams, only bad leaders. They apparently felt the opposite was also true, and had rewarded him with a very large bonus. When he had asked if it would be against any company policy if he used some of the money, they had just smiled. One of them asked to see the check, the one in his name for $25,000, for a moment. He wondered if he had made a mistake, but quickly knew he had hit one out of the park.