Chapter Two-3
551 Words
His pace became faster, harder. His hands tightened even more. She could barely stand the pressure upon her fragile body. He was a soldier; he was strong. He came silently, the tension in his frame the only sign as he poured himself into her.
He pulled away, stood, put himself back into his pants. As he looked down at her, his face was a mask of disgust.
“You’re just another w***e,” he told her, spurning her with his heavy boot. “Get up.”
She did, painfully. She ached all over. He picked up his knife, slid it into his boot, then reached for his rifle. “Walk.”
“Like this?” she looked at the imposing woods. “But...”
“Walk.”
He followed her, herding. She was driven out of the protective forest into his encampment. How could she have been so foolish to come so close to them? What could she have been thinking?
The men looked up, and she pulled away at their voracious expressions. He pushed her forward.
“Hey, Mac, what’s this?” one of them called.
Her soldier smiled. “A little something I found in the woods.”
Embarrassed by their scrutiny, Tempest looked down. There was blood on her thighs, and she was already beginning to show the marks of his brutal fingers. Mac pushed her and she fell to her hands and knees.
They surrounded her. She couldn’t stand their nearness. A strange hand touched her breast, roughly. And she knew what they planned for her.
Mac stood over her, and he laughed. And laughed.
Tempest wept.
She found herself coming out of the dream slowly, returning to consciousness. She was vaguely aware of the Matrons disconnecting the Senior, who looked quite pleased with himself. He handed his soaking semen guard to one of the women, who took it without expression.
Tempest sat up, removed her own electrodes. She couldn’t look at him. Vestiges of the shame and outrage still remained. He approached her, doddering, touched her with a mottled, wrinkled hand.
“I was a soldier once,” he said in his wavering, harsh voice. “I always wanted to come upon an enemy like you.”
“Yes, sir,” she answered, still unable to meet his gaze.
“I’ll be back,” he told her, then he and the Matrons were gone.
She shuddered. He had many violent dreams in the past, but none as vicious as this one. From his promise of return, she gathered that he enjoyed himself.
Her legs were trembling. She wasn’t ready to stand yet. She heard the door open, but didn’t acknowledge Madame.
“Well done.”
“Thank you, Madame.”
“I think that you have redeemed yourself.”
She whispered, “I am glad of that, Madame.”
Madame patted her on the arm, a surprisingly affectionate gesture. “That was an exciting dream. You must be tired. You are allowed to rest for the evening.”
Madame left, and Tempest lay upon the bed. This was where she slept, ate and spent all of her time. Her room was her brothel; she gave herself in her own bed.
She couldn’t sleep. Her mind was full of the two dreams she had been subjected to this evening. It was too brutal, too much to bear.
Her body protested. After such brutalization, she actually felt exhausted and sore. Even though this only took place in her mind, the tensions and hormones running through her were real. She was left with a hollow, aching sensation throughout.
It was nothing she hadn’t experienced before. She lay there, looking up at the ceiling, knowing that it would all occur again tomorrow.
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