Chapter 8Control

It was a night like any other...

Funny how that works, isn't it? For most people, mundane things do not include wild sex, knives and blood. As far as I know. Nights didn't follow a set pattern, it all depended on many unpredictable circumstances, not the least of which was my own body. While the urges that roamed my body were being kept under firm control during working hours, in the evening and the nights my feral instincts roamed free. Patterns broken except those that split my life in two. Or perhaps three. Like most people, there was a difference between being at work and being at home. A fairly large difference between those, like probably more managers, with the bitchy commanding figure was left at work. But, unlike most people, there was also a big difference between going out to hunt and just staying at home. The amount of effort put into my cloak just so I could feel able to do so would have impressed professional make-up artists.

But I digress.

A night like any other on which I hunted, I thought. With wig, lenses, lipstick and many more subtleties to hide me from the world, I traversed the streets longingly. By now, I had killed several men, in situations not dissimilar from each other. Most of the kills went without any major hitches since the first. The only one that I perhaps should mention, though only in passing, is the guy that managed to knock himself out during sex. After some patience and inventive oral-control, his member was at least up to the task of pleasuring me the final moments. He probably regrets keeping his large encyclopedia above his bed. Well, he would have. But the streets where I walked were empty. I'd already been in two clubs tonight with no luck. The only men in a suitable situation were either uninteresting or idiots. And I did have some standards.

Are standards meant to be broken?

The area of the city I was in was not too poor but for some reason felt desolate. This was partly because of the stores or rather lack thereof. Empty windows of the many stores that had probably gone bankrupt at some point, greeted me. One or two still contained and sold goods during the day, as guessed by the steel just behind the glass. The streetlights were still working but the glow they gave off was almost grey, with no color, depth, nor warmth. Had I taken a wrong turn? I couldn't have been more than ten minutes walking from my car but it felt like I was in another world almost. Even the houses above the store, assuming they were occupied, felt empty and dark. Though the time of night could have played some part in that. I almost felt like a beggar, homeless and lost, walking the streets.

Being pulled into an alley.

It happened so fast that my mind didn't even register most of it until my clothes were being torn loose. A minor annoyance compared to the hand that had roughly pulled me by my arm into the dark alley, where a strong looking guy was working hard to expose my tits and legs. The alley itself wasn't special, just a small street connecting two, going behind buildings. The only visible light, above an entrance, no longer functioning and casting the walls, if possible, in a deeper shade. Beneath me a stack of wooden pallets served to support me and keep me warm, not too uncomfortable and no splinters sticking out. They had probably been used much, worn down to a nearly smooth surface that would loyally support goods. Next to me containers, occluding my sight of the street from which I'd been taken, heavy looking and firmly solid. In front of me a man feverishly working on exposing the parts of my body he wanted to ravage.

I was being raped.

Such a strange thing to comprehend. It hadn't really hurt so far, his rough hands squeezing my breasts to, probably, get me going. His voice rough but not unpleasant. Neither were his looks, broad-shouldered, in decent shape, face that would not really displease anyone. In my head a rapist would be ugly, insecure and weak or overly fat or something. It came as a surprise to me that he wasn't any of those things. Except for the fact of his unpermitted hands on my body. He spoke little, just warning me of the possible outcomes of resisting, the futility of my screams in these streets and what he was going to do to me. As he loosened his pants, his member fully standing at attention, it was obvious to me that he was not lacking in that area either. Perhaps just a little bigger than I would normally choose, but still a size that should and would please many women. So why was he doing this? Why to me?

The beauty of a thing is not the parts that go into it, but the way those parts are put together.

All of the parts present here could have been used for a fantastic evening. A not too bad looking man with (so far) impressive stamina and strength, my body desiring procreation, a location that was secluded and not fully terrible. They could have been mixed, mingled, prepared in ways that would have granted me fond memories to keep and remember. Satisfaction of various kinds with perhaps the inventiveness of us both put to the test. But instead this was the result. All those possibly perfect parts put together to create this troubled travesty of sensuality.

I was being raped.

He forced my legs open, my pubic area exposed once his hand had ripped my panties to shreds. I was trying to resist, but not with my legs. The handbag was out of my reach as his large hand pressed my wrist down on the wood. My body was aroused, but that was little surprise, the moist between my legs was often present during the hunt even before I found a prey. He grunted happily with that fact, the head of his member at least having less trouble of sliding inside of me. Clumsiness made it worse. I tried to move my hips so that it would align better with his dick, he probably didn't even notice. But the worst thing for me was that I couldn't reach what I needed to make this any good for me. The friction wasn't enough, there was no build-up, no expose of eroticism. Just stupid senseless stabbing in a fixed, fast rhythm. I was powerless without my knife!

Resisting, offering to sit on top, anything to allow me some form of control back over the situation. But, his gaze was fixed on our coupling, just moving his hips relentlessly back and forth to force himself over the edge. He slapped my face once, displeased by my lack of horror, something that definitely did not surprise me. This was all about control after all. So he wanted a victim, I'd give him one. Fueled by the rage of my own inability to finish this as it should, I called him names, cursed, tried to fight more with my legs. It worked, apparently. He grinned below his fierce gaze, thrusting even harder. My hips were mostly numb, used to better treatment they cared little for the tomfoolery of this intruder. More thrusts, tension in his body, gaze going up, eyes shifting. I knew what was coming.

Him.

He emptied himself deep into me, thrusting a final few times, raising his hand threateningly to keep me down. I tried to look scared while my mind was in full gear to finish this my way. While I was still half-naked (the front half mostly exposed), as soon as he released me to get up and leave, I reached for him while I tried to retrieve the knife from my bag. Just as my hand grabbed the pocket of his jacket, he turned and slapped me hard just before taking a run. The fabric between my fingers stayed for a moment, ripping open the seams and exposing whatever laid behind, vaguely I heard something hit the ground synchronised with his footsteps. He dove into the light of the street, running faster than I would be able to in this condition. First things first. With all my strength I pushed as much of the filthy seed he'd filled me with out of my body. It was evidence, of sorts, that I collected on the cloth that would have been wrapped around the knife on a different night. My clothes were a mess, torn and not worth it to repair, but they would do to cover me while I made my way home. It wasn't a brilliant idea to go out like this and try to get any serious responses, obviously.

Next to my cool mind, a raging fire of revenge burned.

This could not end like this. It was possible, but not a good idea, to just go to the police with this. Justice would have had to be served another way, my way. There was only one option for me; to find, fuck and finish him. That was easier said than done though, he didn't exactly stay around for crumpets and tea and proper introductions. Instead I was hoping to notice something here that would help me locate him. A short search of the ground rewarded me with many irrelevant things and one possible victory. A lighter with the name of a restaurant or café slightly worn but readable. Contrary to the rest of the other things on the ground, this was dry, not that dirty which would imply that it hadn't been here long. Its shape and material, plastic, also matched the sound I heard earlier. This was it, would it be enough?

A deep breath, control, calm. The name of the place was clear, even if I didn't know where it was it was easily looked up. It was entirely feasible that the guy had no direct connection with the place, that it was just where he got it, but I had to go on something. And it had been in his pocket for quite a few days, considering the state of the thing. However, it was far from empty and functional. The single flame in the dark alley as I tried it out, was a perfect representation of my current state of mind. He probably didn't smoke. It was not uncommon for men to carry lighters to pick up women, as few things worked better than offering a flame at a needed time, if you didn't mind the taste of ash when kissing. The flame vanished as I let go of the button, there was little sense in thinking about it now.

Ravaged and ragged, I headed back to the car. Now, the emptiness of the streets was quite welcome as it provided a lack of interest that my somewhat exposed body might have caused. My eyes stayed open though, looking around for any place carrying the name on the lighter. Nothing, I was seething inside. The ride home was less pleasant than I originally anticipated, unfulfilled, hurt, raging. My body, slightly cold, literally quivered with anger, vibrated with fury. I would have my revenge, no matter what it took, I would finish it.

Somehow.