Thread: Levirate (Google and skittish_butterfly)

Constance had managed to struggle three or four feet toward the door on hands and knees with Jacob still on top of her, but as he got her shorts down the crawling grew even harder and more awkward and it started to seem more like a futile act of defiance than an actual chance to escape him. She was breathing hard from the effort and her bare knees felt raw from how hard she had to work against the carpet to fight his strength holding her back. But even as her squirming, shuffling motions seemed to be getting her nowhere, each grasp of her hand slapping down onto the same spot of carpet she'd already reached, Jacob made it even worse. His finger felt like warm sandpaper, a gentle yet obnoxious touch right between her legs, slowly tracing the entire length of her now exposed slit before she managed to squirm her abdomen and bend herself around to slap at him, yelping with outrage. No... no! Stop... I don't belong to you! I don't belong to anyone! I belong to Rory! Don't you dare! Her words weren't thought out, enraged outbursts of desperation and revulsion as she saw the look in Jacob's eyes staring down at her exposed bottom. He stopped, but it only made it worse. Constance flinched, her slender slapping hand now weakly trying to fend off what she saw coming but no match for his greater size and leverage and strength. And cruelty. She felt his hand brushing hers aside with ease before doing as he pleased and she cried out even before the blow struck her between the legs, her mind knowing in a flash what her body hadn't even felt yet, how his open palm slapping her that hard would hurt, not just physically, but emotionally too, spiritually, like he was conquering new territory and marking it his. The blow made her whole body jerk in shock and pain, an instinctive protective gesture as her yelp of pain and the sharp crack of his palm echoed in the modest living room. The hand she'd tried to fend him off with trembled and returned to her front, trying to claw her way across the carpet again, away from his ability to hit her with impunity. Cries of no and stop just sounded like gasps and moans and still she made little progress, and then two more painful slaps right on her exposed lips made her gasp and writhe, drawing her knees up into a protective ball that still left her bottom exposed, collapsing onto her side as her lungs drew the pain in and out in short sharp little cries. The worst was that on her side, looking up at him behind her, it was as if she'd given up, no hope of crawling away like this, her body surrendered and just trying its best to weather whatever Jacob wanted to do to her. Her eyes were a little blurry as she saw the happy pictures of her and Rory over Jacob's shoulder as he leaned in and rudely yelled at her to shut up. Green eyes flinching and blinking back tears, she went quiet, just gasping softly, wrapping her arms around her legs as she curled up beneath him, staring up at his face as he lectured her on what he thought her new world was to be, the parameters of his ownership, for that was what he was talking about, religiously sanctioned ownership, not marriage. Marriage was what she had with Rory. What Jacob wanted was nothing like that, and yet her own God seemed to demand this of her. Constance felt the pain of that knowledge stabbing her right in the soul, the knowledge that her belief in God's word, her own goodness, had put her in this situation, put her in this man's hands. And it felt just like getting slapped between the legs all over again. He spoke and she heard even as she cowered on the floor, soft carpet rasping against her naked hip, her shorts and panties tangled around her ankles. Documents she'd signed, believing she was agreeing to something holy, something beautiful, only now being used for this? Lawyers and courts, Jacob spoke as if he had a legal team dedicated to making her life miserable and she could almost believe it except as slimy as lawyers were even they wouldn't stoop as low as Jacob. Would they? Give birth to his child. Constance shook her head as those words sank in, a low steady moan of the word no stuck in her throat as she stared up into the cruelty and unholy lust of his gaze. And he was smiling, which made it worse. She shook her head again and again in denial as he talked about the Elders backing him up, that she belonged to him. noooooo soft and low and guttural in her throat, like a small animal slowly realizing its caught in a trap. Nooo. I'm not property, not YOUR property! Her desperation sparked anew as he spoke of her like some pleasure object that belonged to him, property rather than person, as if he owned a collection of body parts rather than a human woman -- not that he owned a human woman either! Her sudden outburst was slapped into silence again and she whimpered her pain, body writhing on its side, the carpet digging into her bare hip as she pulled her knees up even tighter, trying to cover herself with her feet but not sure how she could possibly stop him. There was no one to hear her cries. He believed he was entitled to whatever he wanted so there was no talking him out of this. And he was just... too... damned... strong. The last slap, the one to silence her last objections to this insanity, had been even harder, and she was sure she could feel bright red pain slaring hot between her legs, not sure she'd be able to walk out of here even if he did let her get up and go. He put his weight on her, pressing her down into the carpet, harder than Rory had that first night, and his hands let go, correctly confident there was no way for her to escape as he reached for his belt. Constance shook her head even more frightened by the sight of that, whimpering no and mumbling in pain from the slaps she'd already absorbed, not at all certain why he was taking his belt off but utterly unable to concoct an explanation in her head that was acceptable, that didn't bring the tears brimming in her eyes just short of running down her cheeks. He moved the belt up her body. She felt it graze her top hip, leather against bare skin as she lay curled on her side beneath him. Then across her shirt, bumping one nipple through her shirt and light bra before reaching her neck. Constance started to panic and one hand left her legs to push at his arm, shaking her head again, mumbling no, but this time a tone more pleading than defiant. Jacob, don't do this... Using his name, trying to remind him they were two humans, both God creations. Think of Rory, what would he say, plea... Her words were cut off as the belt circled her throat, trapping red hair between leather and bare neck, pulled tight with his arm and all but choking her into silence as he rose above her, dragging her up to hands and knees as she gasped and choked, one hand scrabbling at the belt around her neck, the other holding her up on the carpet along with her knees like a shaky tripod. Before Constance could try to struggle to her feet he pulled on it, pulling her against him, pulling her up awkwardly to her feet as her shorts and panties around her ankles made it feel almost impossible, and yet to avoid the choking pull of the belt around her throat she managed it, her half bare body pressed against him, feeling his slacks against her bare thighs and pelvis. He spoke of fucking her, crudely, like he was talking to a whore, and the belt around her throat kept her from even shaking her head, to busy trying to get her fingers between the belt and her neck, her other hand pushing at his bicep to no avail as he started walking and dragging her down the hall, her bare feet briefly feeling the cool kitchen tiles as he passed through, and then scrambling after him, tangled in her shorts so taking small steps, stumbling down the wooden hall, passing the door to Rory's office she hadn't been able to open for three months, toward the bathroom and bedroom at the end of the hall. He kept whispering cruel words of what he would do to her, and the only response she could hear from herself was the gasping effort to breath and keep up with him as she stumbled along with her shorts pulled down. He was going to fuck her. My God no no no, but he was going to do it wasn't he? And she had stopped taking her pills months ago. Did it even matter, given where he said he was going to do it to her? But she knew she couldn't get pregnant, not from a monster like him. They were from two different species and she probably couldn't even conceive from his seed it was so alien to her body, but even if it was physically possible, she couldn't. It would be a repudiation of her marriage to Rory and their love. It would ruin her spirit. And it would make him happy, which she never ever wanted. She would make Jacob miserable if it was the last thing she ever did. And she wouldn't get pregnant, not for him, not for anyone. If she didn't get pregnant for Rory, then she would never get pregnant. He opened the door to the bedroom and she saw the master bed with the comforters and pillows, right under the window with the view of sunset and the moon she'd shared with Rory, the placid landscapes on the walls, her nightstand with lotions and her novel beside the alarm clock, so familiar, yet from a world she could no longer reach, Rory's own nightstand still exactly as he'd left hit. The carpet matched the living room, and the room was done in off white, with a printed comforter to match. She'd left the walk in closet open, showing the spill of her clothes as she'd not been careful this morning, not expecting guests and not having the energy to keep things as neat as she would have for Rory. But she didn't care, none of her usual embarrassment at the thought of anyone coming into her house without it being clean. Because Jacob wasn't a person, he was a monster. She pushed against him again, punching weakly against his arm as her revulsion rose again, her face red as she gasped for air but focusing on trying to hurt him more than futilely struggling against the belt around her throat.