Nightmare of Vengeance

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

June. A society wedding on Long Island, the well-heeled, well-coifed and jewel-bedazzled were scattered across the lawn already drinking champagne, while I peered out of the five bedroom guest cottage on the Ryder family compound looking intently at all the fuss. It was all for me. A girl of twenty-one and fresh out of college. The prettiest redhead on Long Island, he called me. He could make me quiver from that sensitive place at the back of my neck all the way down to my toes. Sometimes we would be standing face to face, and he’d bring me close to him so our auras intertwined, and with his face still remote and inscrutable as it often was, he’d place his palm against my face and gently run his thumb across my cheek. My lips would tremble like a schoolgirl’s. That Jon was reserved, sometimes to the point of being cold, but that didn’t alter my desire for him. At least not at first.

I was a starry-eyed nineteen when we first met at a bar; Jon a real man, nearing thirty-five – square face, firm-set jaw and dark, impenetrable eyes. He was drinking Guinness, having probably finished his third by the time he turned and stared me in the eye. Despite his casual clothes, the turtle-neck sweater and jeans, I could tell he was rich, a rich man dressing down for a relaxing night at his favorite bar. The glitter of gold on his pinky finger, and the Patek Phillipe watch on his wrist were clues enough.

Not that I was scouting out a rich man – that was the furthest thing from my mind. Even if I was a poor college student, all I could think about in those days was getting straight A’s and applying to law school. Still, when the man drinking his Guinness took an interest in me, I couldn’t exactly be rude.

There was a smile on his lips, finally, after a lot of scary scrutiny. Most women my age would have turned up their noses and brushed him off, noting his arrogance; that is, if they hadn’t noticed the Patek Phillipe for what it was. I’d worked in a high-end jewelry store one Christmas so I knew.

He introduced himself, suddenly admiring me quite thoroughly. He even ran his hand through my fine red hair, and pulled that thing with his thumb on my cheek. I was blushing like a rose when he asked if I’d like to sit at one of the tables where we could talk.

“Well, really, I-I should go,” I found myself stumbling over my words, a strange feeling coming over me that had me curiously light-headed. “I have a lot to study.”

“Study?”

“Pre-law. Boston U.”

“Really?”

I sometimes wonder if he assumed then that he’d stumbled onto another blue blood American when he stumbled onto me, and wasn’t later disappointed that I was going to Boston University on a full ride scholarship. My father had died when I was six, and I’d been raised by my grandmother – now also dead – and a mother who worked two waitress jobs just to make ends meet. I was a late in life child for her, so by the time I met Jon Ryder at the pub, she was sixty and living on disability in a tiny New England cottage. Maybe I was an American blue blood, but I was a damn poor one, and the beer I’d ordered that night was my one weekly luxury. I gave Jon Ryder a few sketchy tidbits about my life, enough to satisfy his curiosity but not enough to dissuade him.

“How about you?” I asked. “I’m sure you’re not in school.”

His lips formed a snide but pleasant grin. “Afraid school days are over for me. I couldn’t stand the stress. I work for the family company. A boring job, but it’s what is expected.”

“So what do you do for fun?”

“Usual stuff,” he shrugged. “I sail in the summers, ski in the winter, climb a mountain here and there, and do my damnedest to pick up pretty women. I’m rather fond of redheads.” He smirked rather evilly.

He must have sensed how easily impressed I was. He would have me blushing all night with come-ons like that.

I assumed that he wanted to pick me up for the usual reasons a man picks up a woman in a bar – I was smart enough to know that. Surprisingly, however, he didn’t come on to me, not that night or on our first date or the second or even the third.

We wound up in bed on the fourth, however. I couldn’t resist, not his gorgeous loft apartment, the home cooked gourmet food he’d prepared himself, or the allure of a man almost twice my age who seemed completely secure in himself. He generated a mature energy that’s very attractive to a woman who has missed a strong father figure in her life. Although I’d have to say that anything ‘fatherly’ about his initial impact on me was strictly in my imagination.

And there was certainly nothing fatherly in the way he made love.

After dinner, while I sat on a barstool at his kitchen counter, he stared intently into my eyes. My entire body was starting to quake. In one brisk movement, Jon’s hand clasped mine and I was on my feet with him forcefully pushing me into a bare brick wall. His lips crushed against my mine, searing me with heat that fed my lust and moved all the way to my fast-beating heart and the throbbing spasms in my belly. He took me hard, right there against the wall, raising my legs in his muscled arms, and after pushing my panties aside, spearing my love hole. I was overwhelmed, but I certainly didn’t balk. By then, my juices were flowing so strongly that I could smell the heady scent of them clinging to the air around us.

We created quite a stir in his apartment during that first rude f*****g. I was worn out when he finally stopped banging into me, and with a single lunge forward pinned to the brick as he shot his load. For a long while, until we both caught our breath, we remained fused together like f*****g flies, pinned to the wall. That outrageous coupling might have been enough for one night, but we quickly revived, our passions were too enormous to express with just one brusque f**k. Once the s*x began, there was no need for more talk, no need for explanations or discussion; we’d done plenty of that on our first three dates and were way beyond that now. By the forth date we knew we were compatible enough for s*x – lots of hard and robust s*x – in fact, at least four times more before I finally left his apartment later the following day.

The last time was in the afternoon just as the sun was beginning to edge its way toward the horizon. The light in the apartment took on a soft amber glow, giving Jon’s bedroom a sensuous almost unearthy appearance. My consciousness was saturated from so much s*x – all we’d done for the last eighteen hours was f**k, eat a bit and doze when we were sleepy. And even though I knew that I needed to take a break, go home and hit the books, I could barely budge from the enveloping warmth of my lover’s arms.

The affair seemed like an easy way to spend my time, and was certainly an easy escape from the rigors of my daily grind. But ‘easy’ with Jon Ryder wouldn’t last long. I had no idea where the man would take me sexually, although I should have had a clue when he made his first imperious demand.

We were naked on the bed when he told me wanted to take my ass – something that for the first time in hours made me balk.

“Oh, I don’t think I can go another round,” I sweetly answered, even as my heart skipped anxious beats at the thought of what he proposed. “I’m pretty wasted and my p***y is awfully sore,” I added, hoping he’d forget about more s*x. For good measure I pulled from his arms and off the bed.

“So if your p***y is so sore, then your ass will certainly suffice.” He looked up at me sincerely, the glow in his eyes seemed to have darkened with the changing phases of the sun, “And since using your ass is what I’m after in the first place—”

“Oh, how about my mouth instead?” I tried again. “I’m pretty good at giving head.” Since I’d practiced my fellatio several times on his hefty seven inches, he already knew that for a fact.

“I’d rather have your ass,” he countered, dismissively, then he pulled himself to sitting and reached for my hand.

It wasn’t hard to figure that this was a man who usually got his way. As he gripped my fingers, I knew I would surrender even when my fears were rising fast. His eyes locked on mine, and without my having any further say, he pulled me into his arms so I was sitting in his lap. Reaching around to my bottom he began to gently press his fingers in my backdoor.

“Ooo, that’s tight,” I grimaced.

“Right,” he readily agreed with an evil sneer – again enough to make my dark passions ignite. “Exactly what makes it so much fun!” He covered my mouth with demanding kisses. Then for a while he changed the position of his hand and fingered my p***y while making out with me in the same fierce way he had the past two days. I was beginning to think he’d changed his mind about the anal s*x, but with my body all revved up again, he pulled his fingers from my p***y, drawing out the copious juices, and swathed my tenacious sphincter, prodding more forcefully this time, until it finally started to give.

I gasped anxiously, “Really, hon, I don’t think I can.”

“Shuuusssh,” he covered my lips with a finger. “I know you can.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you can’t say you didn’t try,” he glibly admonished. Holding onto my chin in a patronizing way, he forced all my attention on him.

A moment later, I was flipped over and propped up ass high, with my knees sinking into the mattress. Settling in behind me, Jon’s fingers continued their deep probing until, in his estimation, I was relaxed enough to enter. It hadn’t taken him but seconds and his c**k was firm again with the head of it prodding my backdoor with as much ferocity as he’d earlier taken my p***y.

In light of my constant reluctance, he moved slowly, all the while teasing my clit below and whispering words of encouragement. Though his first more forceful thrusts proved painful, after a time, my virgin back entrance began to give enough to take him comfortably. I gasped hard when he finally lunged forward with a decisiveness that suggested the manner in which he planned to take pleasure inside this forbidden territory.

I wanted to be repulsed, but I couldn’t muster even a vague protest against his plan. A wholly submissive feeling had enveloped me completely, and strong sensations were beginning to stir deep within. As he began to move in earnest, I could hear myself crying out, not so much from pain but from the newfound pleasure that rose up so unexpectedly. Before I realized what was happening, he’d begun to ram me hard, using my ass even more ruthlessly than he earlier used my v****a. There was far more to the taking of my ass than just his c**k enjoying another pleasurable moment of climax. His brutal use of my body established his dominance over me, while at the same time diminishing me into little more than his lowly property.

The effect was alarming, although I can’t describe the emotions that surfaced in the awkward hour. I knew only that something profound was taking place inside me, something profound enough for me to enjoy on a very primitive level – even if it defied every idea I had of myself as a woman.

Jon came like he came all the other times we made love, with a hearty groan and a solid thrusting until the last drops of his c*m were finally deposited inside my ass. I moaned beneath him, my body with a surprising suddenness surrendering to a wave of dark pleasure that was as emotionally satisfying as it was physically releasing.

He pulled away from me, collapsing to the bed, sighing.

“You can go now,” he said. With the tone of his voice so surprisingly cold, it sounded oddly as if he were dismissing me.