Page 13 of Dark Time

Yet, it still felt warm and silky, real even. He was beside of me, so I knew it wasn’t him, and there wasn’t some mysterious ass fucking bandit behind me, so it must have been a plug or a dildo. I knew it was a plug when my puckered entrance closed around a much smaller end. He’d buried the plug inside of me.

Oh my.

Was he going to fuck me now? Was that what he had planned. I waited, mute, blind, and deaf, for whatever Dylan had planned next. I waited, and then I felt him move. He left me there for quite a while before he came back with dry hands. He must have washed them, because they weren’t as oily now. Most of the oil had absorbed into my skin, so I could tell when he touched my ass that his hands were clean.

He sat in the position he’d been in before and spread my legs. Totally cut off from the world, his invasive use of my body seemed almost clinical, but at the same time, his touch excited me. My eyes moved behind the blindfold, but this one cut off all light, so I couldn’t even see shadows.

What was coming next? I was at the point of misbehaving, but a light slap to my ass calmed me down. It also did delightful things to the plug in my ass. How did he always know when I was at that point? Could he feel my tension?

After the slap on my ass, his hands moved between my legs, and I felt something clamp tightly onto my clitoris. My legs went tense. Oh no. Not that again. Fuck…

I moaned as suction mixed with vibration suddenly, and I nearly lost my mind. His hands came up underneath me, and two of the same contraptions were clamped down over my nipples before he turned me to my stomach. A round pillow was slid between my lower abdomen and the mat to tilt my hips up, and my face pressed deeper into the mat.

“Fuck,” I muttered around the ball, but he didn’t respond.

The suction increased on my clit, as did the vibration around it, and my hips started to move. For a moment, I wondered if Dylan was filming this, but that wasn’t in our contract so I knew he wouldn’t. He wanted a good angle of my physical reaction to all of this.

When a dildo probed at my vaginal opening, I nearly cried. Yeah, he was going to take this pretty far tonight. This wasn’t just a way to get me off, it was going to be many, many orgasms. He was going to make me come over and over again, until I couldn’t even lift my head. My clit would vibrate for days after, and my nipples would too.

Not to mention how much it wore me out.

Dylan began to move the dildo inside of me, that combined with the pressure in my ass, and the contraptions all over me, and I was off like a rocket. My body tensed and I came hard, as Dylan watched me. He slapped my ass as the first wave began to ebb, and that sent me off again. He did it again, harder, and then even harder, and I came all over again. I came so many times I lost count. I came so many times I felt almost hysterical and began to cry.

I couldn’t even sob out my exhaustion, my “doneness”, by the time he pulled everything out and off of me. When he took me to the shower, all I could do was hiccup and let him wash me. I didn't know what he might have gained from the experience, because he didn’t actually fuck me. He just made me come. He hadn’t got off at all.

I was very confused and feeling upset, but I was too tired, too drained to say anything. I’d do it tomorrow, I decided. Tomorrow, I’d tell him to tone it down a notch or two. That was too much for me.

He cleaned me from head to toe, and even dried my hair with the hair dryer, before he took me into what I’d come to think of as our bedroom. He put a pair of soft pajamas on me, and then put me under the duvet on our bed. He left me for a moment and came back with a glass of apple juice.

I drank it and thanked him before I turned over and faced away from him. I just wanted to sleep, to get rid of this exhaustion. Dylan curled in behind me, but he wasn’t quiet. Not at all.

Dylan

“My childhood wasn’t very nice,” I heard him say behind me. I stayed still, afraid that if I moved, he’d stop talking. “You know that already, don’t you, my sweet little darling?”

I shifted my head just enough to let him know I was listening. I did not want to interrupt what might prove to be a flood of revelations. I’d known something was on his mind. I’d even suspected that part of his life was part of it, but I wouldn’t push him. Dylan wasn’t the kind who would respond to that very well.

“My mother was schizophrenic, from what I can gather. I don’t know a whole lot about her condition really. She wasn’t very trustful of doctors, and psychiatrists and psychologists were just quacks, as far as she was concerned. She knew she had problems, she knew she should take medicines, but that wasn’t good enough for her. In her mind, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her.”

He took a breath, and I turned around to comfort him. My hand splayed over his flat stomach, but it wasn’t to entice; it was to let him know he wasn’t alone.

His next breath was a little shaky, but he got it in and continued.

“She…” he paused, and I could feel the way his jaw worked as he fought to find a way to make it all make sense to me. “She’d deliberately got pregnant with me to trap my father. He had a good job, he was handsome, and she wanted to have a nice life. So she got pregnant on purpose.”

I wanted to say, but that never works out well, or that wasn’t your fault, but I held back. I just stroked his stomach with the flat of my fingers and waited for him to get it all out. I’d seen the newspaper clippings and websites dedicated to murderers and their crimes that had featured the story. This wasn’t news to me, but Dylan’s side of it was, and I didn’t want to stop that for anything.

“My father, a steady worker, a kind man, and dedicated to his family, was patient with her. He didn’t care that she’d trapped him. He wanted a family, and he loved her. He hadn’t seen her really crazy side yet, but he would. As her pregnancy progressed and her hormones stormed around inside her body, she went bat-shit crazy. At one point she tried to stab herself, and me, but he managed to stop her.”

Again, he paused, gathered his thoughts, and then carried on. “They were both alone. Her father had never been around, and her mom was murdered when my mother was fifteen. Dad’s parents died in a car accident, and that’s what had initially held them together. They wanted what they’d never actually had, a real family.”

This time, he leaned over to the nightstand and took a drink from the glass of water there. “It’s coming out all messy. I’m sorry about that, but I haven’t talked about this since I was a teenager. It’s all jumbled around in my head. The main point is my dad tried so hard to make her happy, he did everything he could have possibly done, but he wouldn’t demand she be committed, even when he should have. He couldn’t let her go to one of those places, especially when he saw documentaries about how terrible those places had been.”

I made a noise, not a word, just a noise, and moved so that I could look up at him, but my hand was still on his stomach. I felt like that hand was an anchor between us. It kept us both calm, and I didn’t want to move it.

“For years, he dealt with the scenes she’d cause. He’d hold her when she wanted to run, he’d lock himself in their bedroom with her when she wanted to slice her wrists, or swallow a bunch of aspirin. He’d chase her down when she wandered out into the woods with nothing on in the middle of winter. He’d talk to her so softly, and he’d tell her he loved her, over and over, that it didn’t matter, that nothing mattered but her and me.”

What it must have been like for him, as he witnessed all this, squeezed my heart so hard I felt as if I’d forgotten how to breathe. A kid, with those big gray eyes of his and that mop of dark hair, just sitting there watching his mother go more and more mad, as his father did what he thought was best to protect her.