Freeing Lana Read online

  You bet your tight ass he is.

  Lana did her best to relax, knowing the pain she would soon feel, the pressure of his swollen dick being shoved up her ass would not be as torturous as the plastic bat, knowing it represented the truest form of worship she had prayed for him to require. Still, when his thumbs pressed hard into the muscles of her ass and then pulled apart from each other to allow, if only a bit, easier access to her darkened soul, a minute sense of anxiety reared its head. Sure, she had every intention of diving from this cliff, freefalling into the unknown depths below, but still a concern for the water’s depth was present, if only in the back of her mind.

  His finger nails took root in her skin, as he squeezed his fingers together, tightening the muscles in her ass, while further separating the outer limits of the entry point he now, beyond any doubt, intended to use. For brief moment, Lana thought he might stop long enough to ask her if it was still ok, a – please don’t make me do this –plea, and a question arose which surprised her. What would you say? Was she certain she wanted him to do ‘whatever’ he wanted? It saddened her to some degree, as her resolve remained iron clad. If he actually asked that, she probably would tell him not to, and then she would get up, get dressed and walk the fuck out.

  Really? Are you sure a part of you just doesn’t want to go back to that place, that place where you first encountered this? Really?

  No, that wasn’t it at all, and she was certain of that. She just wanted him to…

  Stop?

  No, be himself, let her be herself. But there was no more time for internal conflict, as Sergio applied the head of his dick to the stretched out opening between his thumbs and without hesitating for even a fraction of a second, shoved forward forcefully and fully, his dick, burying itself completely inside her asshole. Lightning bolts shot through her, racing from ripped skin to her brain, telling her to experience exquisite pain, before sending the electric currents traveling back down her body in rapid floods of pulsating twinges of erotic spasms.

  Fully inserted, his hands left her ass, repositioning just above her hips, pulling her back toward him while pushing her downward, further into the softness of the bed. His knees on the floor, inside her own, prevented any chance of her being able to diminish the availability of access to her. She was truly vulnerable, completely helpless, and maddeningly ecstatic. She had offered herself to him and he was accepting her gift, by giving her what she craved most, acceptance.

  Leaning forward and applying more pressure to the tops of her hips and lower back as his weight pinned her to the bed, threatened to shove her through the bed to the floor below, Sergio’s thrusts became more forceful. Her muscles were unable to relax under the strain of his weight, as they were being forced together at the exact point he was forcing them apart. It teetered on the brink of impossibility, as resistance heightened to a point of near impenetrability while being forcefully shattered with brute force.

  She rocked inside with each thrust while the rest of her was unable to move. Again and again, he thrust himself fully inside her, his balls slamming against her pussy underneath, slapping so forcefully against her sopping wet opening, she felt she might have been able to grab hold of them and hold them inside her as well.

  He was taking her to a level of pain and pleasure she hadn’t imagined he could. When he lowered his weight back to his knees, and slowly pulled himself out of her, she found she was both relieved and saddened at the same time. Dear God, she didn’t think she could have survived much more of that, but oh how she wanted to know. His hands returned to her ass, though his finger tips stopped just short of releasing her hips, holding some semblance of their grip without the downward pressure. Now, it was his palms rather than his thumbs, which dug into the thicker muscles, again spreading her ass cheeks apart, while collapsing them in the grip of his hands. He’s not done?

  No, he was not done. He pushed forward again, painfully forcing his dick completely inside her ass. A slow deliberate retreat followed, the battered rim of her ass collapsing against itself as the last of him exited, only to be assaulted again as another thrust quickly spread them apart and she felt the full length of him inside her again. The initial insertion was painful, but exhilarating, the prolonged thrusts once he was inside crossed the line into pure pleasure, but this, this was something new altogether, but somehow strangle familiar. It was…

  Like a baseball bat?

  Yea, it was like that. But the question remained, had he crossed over to the point she had hoped, to express his own pleasure at her expense, her pain, or was his pleasure being derived solely from her pain? The way Lana saw it, there was a huge difference.

  Are you allowed to draw lines in a world with no lines?

  She didn’t care. The moment was becoming lost, bickering with herself, trying to decide if she was in fact getting what she asked for, or something entirely different. His thrusts became more pronounced, as he focused most of his strength on the actual entry, in and out, again and again, no longer fully inserting inside her, but rather rushing back out in order to insert again.

  So, what of his ‘true’ self is something you don’t like at all?

  Hell of a question, unfortunately, she didn’t have the answer, not yet. She was shaken out of her thoughts when his hand grabbed her hair and jerked her head back violently. Before she knew it, he had looped his belt around her neck and was pulling it tight against her throat. The constant entry-exit technique had pretty much stopped now, however, and he had returned to full insertions, actually fucking her again, as she saw it. But the belt was so tight, and he was pulling so hard. Lana tried to concentrate on the ass fucking, knowing it was the better of the two options, but her mind was quickly finding trouble focusing on anything, even the fact she could no longer breathe. Faintly, she heard a voice behind her, seemingly calling to her from the other side of some sort of tunnel.

  “Is this what you want, you fucking whore? Is this what you want?”

  For the first time, she became scared. She tried to struggle, pulling at the belt with her hands, but he quickly pulled her wrists together and held them behind her back with one hand, his other still pulling on the belt. Her mind drifted to the other time, the last night with that psych fucker, she had been scared that night too. But she had managed to fight through it, convincing herself it wasn’t real, that instead of getting fucked by that crazy fucker, she was getting fucked by…

  This crazy fucker?

  Fuck! Had she pushed him too far? Was he punishing her for insisting he do this? She had no clue, all she knew was that she was in trouble again, only this time, she didn’t think Ol’ Tink was going to come crashing through the door, gun blazing.

  “You like it like this, whore! You want me to rape you, to kill you! Don’t you?!”

  This was it. She knew it was; she was going to die right here, like this. But the realization had a much different effect than she thought. It didn’t cause her to panic, to fear what came next. She settled into the realization that the moment was simply what it was; she had asked him to be himself, to use her for whatever he wanted, and this was what he wanted, to kill her while he fucked her. She had begged him to be himself, and now he was. She stopped struggling; both physically and in her head, surrendering herself to the notion that in her death, she would become the ultimate sacrifice for his pleasure, become what she truly was. She felt a sense of warming peace wash over her, and then the blackness set in completely, and she felt nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “So what was it then?”

  Lana looked at the floor, searching for the answer she couldn’t find within herself. She had no idea. For the most part it was momentous, spiritual even, a delicate dance of decadence, but something else had been present as well, something darker even that the beast she had come to recognize within herself.

  “I’m not sure,’ she finally said, looking back at Tink. “I mean it was great. Shit, he got up early and left for work this morning, I think so he wo
uldn’t have to look at me. That’s what we strive for right, the kind of sex which we can’t even talk about afterward?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, laughing slightly, but the look was back on his face, the one from before, the one which kept asking if she was ok. She didn’t like that look; she appreciated it but she didn’t like it. “But in my line of work, I’ve noticed some of the real monsters, the really bad ones, had trouble even looking at pictures of their victims.”

  “So what are you saying?”

  “Nothing really, but let’s be honest with each other here. Now, I’m not the one to go around criticizing anyone’s kink, whether it is kinkier than mine or not, and while everything you told me sounds feasible in world or another, there is one thing which doesn’t.”

  “The anger?”

  “Yea, the anger. The way you described it, it sounded more like a gesture of belittling you, showing you that you weren’t thinking clear…that you were, to use his own words, just a whore.”

  “Do you think I’m a whore?”

  She was looking at the floor again; she didn’t want to see the truth in his eyes if he lied to her. Sure, she had no trouble accepting the fact that she really no longer had any moral compass, except the one which pointed to the bedroom, and by definition, perhaps she was a whore, but what was behind using the word? Could there ever be a use for it, which didn’t depict judgment? She had no trouble accepting the fact she was a bitch too, she could be the queen bitch when she wanted to, but pity the motherfucker who called her one.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it? Hell, I’m not even going to say it matters whether or not you think you’re a whore, because that isn’t the issue either, now is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Your real question, if I understand correctly, is why he called you that. Is that right?”

  “Yea, that’s it,” she resigned, knowing the problem wasn’t solved just yet, “but I can’t ask him.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not sure if I want to know the answer.”

  Was it a test, a ‘reality check,’ or what? She didn’t know. Was he trying to show her she was being silly, that she might need a bit more therapy, that her ordeal had affected her in a negative manner worse than anyone may have thought? Or did he really think she was a whore? She tried to tell herself maybe he was just new to that kind of freedom and didn’t know how to handle it, that perhaps, he might have even scared himself with everything, how far he took it, and if that was the case, wouldn’t judging him for it make her a hypocrite of sorts? What was the next move? She had no idea.

  “Then perhaps the real question is why not; what are you afraid of most?”

  That he won’t use the mask, perhaps?

  No, she would be more concerned about why he would use the mask as opposed to why not? It was not more than two days earlier that she had wanted him to use the mask more than anything, but now she wasn’t so sure. What was she afraid of? That was the question, and she realized that she was probably more afraid of the answer.

  “That’s the problem; I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The talk with Tink had helped her put some things into perspective, but at the same time it had her head full of more questions than answers again. Her path to self realization had been rocky recently, and she knew it wasn’t over, not yet. Too much energy had been spent analyzing everyone around her, while ignoring the tougher questions within. Sergio wasn’t the problem, and hell, if she wanted to be perfectly honest with herself, neither was Daniel. But at the same time, she was coming to understand that neither were they her salvation.

  So, by that logic, neither is Tink?

  Yea, neither was Tink. He had definitely proven to be wiser than she had given him credit for, as much a poet as a warrior, but in the end, she knew she would have to be her own hero, and the demons she battled were the ones inside her. True submission, she had come to convince herself, was about strength, not weakness. But it wasn’t a physical strength, she was learning. She could take a dick with the best of them, that wasn’t it, but she couldn’t figure why she was still questioning herself. What was it Johnny Depp said in one of those damn pirate movies? “The problem isn’t the problem; the problem is how you deal with the problem.” Was that right? She thought so, but did it really matter at this point, was she really going to assign the role of her personal guru to Captain Jack Sparrow?

  A quick pirate sex fantasy was quickly brushed aside, after a casual glance of course, and she tried to get back to the question at hand. What was she afraid of? And of course, what if it had nothing to do with sex at all, would that change the answers? She was starting to see why most notable philosophers seemed insane to those around them; they just might be crazy if they had to deal with the same questions she found herself facing.

  One of the toughest, she had to ask herself did however involve Sergio. What if he had been ‘being himself’ all along, and what she had insisted he turn into, was just something she had created?

  “What if I’m the monster?”

  She surprised herself that she had said it out loud, the sound of her own voice in the empty house, eerily unsettling. Still, the question lingered in the air above her, staring her in the face, accusing, judging. In an attempt to free herself from the judgment of others, to erase any boundaries , any lines, had she actually tried to become their judge, placing them within the boundaries of the world she had deemed ‘without boundaries’? Maybe Daniel had fucked her up more than she had thought. Maybe the thing he awakened inside of her had not been a free spirit at all, but a…

  …a monster?

  A monster. Lana glanced at the clock on the wall in the kitchen. It would be at least another hour and a half before Sergio got home, assuming he would be coming home at all. What was she afraid of? She intended to find out. She locked the front door and headed into the bedroom. She retrieved the mask from under the dresser and climbed onto the bed, propping herself up against the wall at the head of the bed. Then, hesitating only briefly, she pulled the black material over her head for the first time since she had made it.

  “What am I afraid of?” she said from the darkness inside the mask.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Well, this is something new.”

  Sergio’s voice shook her out of her thoughts. Shit, he had seen her with the mask over her head. Time had gotten away from her and he had come in without her knowing it. She pulled the mask off of her head quickly, scrambling to her feet as she tossed it onto the dresser. But the look of disgust she expected wasn’t there, not even close. He looked a bit curious, but he was smiling at her.

  “You ok?”

  It was quite a shift in their normal conversations, her asking him this question, but she was concerned about him, especially after the night before. She never wanted to hurt him, and she knew all too well, he knew where she got the idea for the mask. He chuckled lightly at her question, seemingly seeing the sincerity it held within it.

  “I’m good,” he answered. “Want a drink?”

  “Several.”

  His smiled broadened as he took her hand and led her into the kitchen. His touch was soft; gentle. Lana felt a calming reassurance in his touch, the smile on his face. They were going to be ok, no matter where things ended up. She did love him, more than she might have realized before this moment, and the last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.

  “Have a seat,” he told her as they passed the table, “I’ll get them.”

  She slid into the chair and watched him as he got the glasses. She expected him to pull the bourbon out of the cabinet next to the one with the glasses, but he surprised her by getting the wine instead. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, though he seemed to enjoy it with certain meals she cooked. He pulled the cork, and after placing a glass in front of her, started to pour.

  “Say when.”

  “After a couple of these?”

  He laughed as he pulled his chair
around the corner of the table and sat beside her, not right up against her, but close enough to touch. He filled his own glass before setting the bottle between them on the table. He tilted his glass toward her, and she met it halfway with her own, a wordless toast to something, anything. Perhaps everything. There was a strange understanding between them in this moment, but it was unclear just exactly what it might be. Whatever it was, she knew they would get through it, happy, if not completely unscathed.

  “You can get your smokes if you like,” he said, catching her a bit off guard. Apparently, her cleaning attempts after Tink’s visits weren’t as good as she had thought. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he had known. But it really didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t have a pack, she rarely did, and for the most part, she didn’t want one.

  “Nah, thinking about giving them up anyway.”

  “Yea, shit’ll kill ya.”

  They shared another laugh at this, both of them knowing the real conversation was still hanging just over their heads, just out of reach, out of sight. Neither dared to look up, but at the same time, it seemed neither of them was going to step out from underneath it either. When it did fall, one of them, if not both, was going to get hurt, and neither wanted to be the one to pull the lever. But it had to be done. After he poured them another glass of wine each, Lana knew it was going to have to be her. She wanted to start with ‘forgive me for what I am about to do,’ but inside, she guessed he already knew that too.

  “Seriously, Serg, you ok?” she finally managed, already knowing the answer, but unable to start it any other way.