Thread: Scaremonger (Mr Quixotic & Lait)

Think you can say no to me, bitch? Cole Douglas spat the words out to the woman underneath him, hips pinned to the bedroom dresser by the much greater weight of his body, curled his fingers in her dark, wavy tresses, and ripped her head up so that she could look at her bruised, battered and bleeding face in the mirror. His own normally green eyes, currently black with rage and hate, held hers in the glass. The twenty-three year old couldn't even articulate exactly what had set him off. Had it been the confident smirk, or the way she'd attempted to push past him? The reaction to his jocular comment about her ass when he'd left the room which he and his buddies had retired to for a smoke, only to run into her in the Hallway? The fact that he felt as if he were being ignored or mocked? That she wasn't interested? The liquor? The drugs? A combination of all? He didn't know, but what was fresh in his mind was how quickly any smirk had been wiped off her face by the crack of his knuckles against her cheek his High-School championship ring catching her lip and ripping it open so that blood dripped down her chin then the satisfying 'oomphh' as his fist rammed into her side, and he heard what sounded like a rib cracking. I'm going to fuck you, slut, he'd yelled - the music downstairs pumping loudly enough so that the party-goers dancing and drinking wouldn't be able to hear his voice. Or her screams. A boot followed his punch, which had forced her to knees, then he'd half-dragged, and half-thrown her into the bedroom. Clumps of hair and spots of bright red blood littered the hallway carpet. Cole Douglas wasn't used to being rejected. The muscular and athletic, six-foot three inch dark-haired male could have any woman he desired. Though it had been five years prior, before College, he remained famous in the coastal town of Eden. Quarterback of the first, and only, team to bring back the Regional High School Championship. Girls still held him in awe, and spread their legs willingly. Apparently, all except one. Who did this bitch think she was, not even giving him the time of day? Cole had kicked the door shut, dragged the woman's head up, and backhanded her. Once, twice, three times, each harder than the one that preceded it his knuckles opening up the tear on her lip, and blackening her eyes. Then he'd drawn back his fist, and punched her, fucking whore, straight in the face carefui to pull it at the last minute so that he didn't knock her unconscious. That'd be no fun. Blood sprayed from her nose as if shot from a fire-hose, and coated his skin and clothing in its sticky warmth. Next, a knee slammed into her gut. An erection strained the fabric of his jeans as Cole panted with exertion and glanced at his buddies. It may have been because they were scared of him, but that probably wasnt it. It may have been the group dynamic, or the effects of alcohol and weed, or simply because they knew he could get away with it. Whatever the reason, not one of the three other young men in the room attempted to stop him, or expressed a shred of sympathy for the battered girl on the floor. Cole was going to rape her, and they'd enjoy watching, then walk away scot-free. That's how it worked when your friend was the son of the town Sheriff one who had a reputation to protect, and designs on the Mayorship. There were no consequences. Fuck the bitch Wreck her Cole Give it to the slut Cole grinned at their approval, You heard them, bitch, then jerked her up off the floor with all of his strength, gripped an arm, twisted it, hooked her ankle with a leg, and threw her face down on the dresser. Adrenaline coursed through the man's veins, and whether she'd resisted or managed to fight back and cause any wounds of her own was of no import. He had her where he wanted her, and any sounds of pain which slipped from her mouth, or expressions of terror on her face, were completely ignored as his body covered hers, fingers were planted on the back of her head, and the woman's cheek pressed into the wood. The nails of his free hand raked skin, leaving scratches and drawing blood, as he tore the clothing from her body the girl's panties quickly shredded, and around her ankles. Think you can say no to me, bitch? The sound of his zipper being drawn down was unmistakable. Don't look so fucking good now, do you? Cole's voice rose and he rammed a knee into her thigh to spread her legs then, quick as a snake, he grabbed hold of her arms and roughly jerked them behind her. The pop as something tore was audible, even over the hoots, laughter and encouragement of his friends, however Cole didn't pause. Immediately her arms were locked, he lifted her entire body shoved her face into the mirror with enough velocity to shatter the glass, and slammed every last inch of his thick, engorged cock into the woman's dry, unprepared cunt. This wasn't a movie, book, or some other mommy-porn fiction, where the woman secretly craved the rough treatment, and became slick with arousal. No, this was real-life, and it was going to hurt. Cole didn't give a shit, he wanted to cause pain the uptight whore needed to be taught a lesson. His moans were not ones of pleasure, but caused by effort and rage, as he buried himself balls-deep, and began to thrust. Each movement wrenched her shoulders and slammed her hips harshly against the dresser as his pulsing manhood invaded her pussy, and ravaged it almost splitting her in half with the force. The entire time, as he fucked her, his friends jeered and taunted. Hurt the bitch. Fuck the whore. Go on, give it to her. You like that cock, bitch. You want mine when he's done? It wasn't sex. Just pure, unadulterated rape.