Schoolgirl Rape -2

In a surprising twist the prey attempts revenge

Three days. Three days of listening to her mom's worried sighs and her brother's pathetic, unanswered texts. I knew she was locked in her room, a little mouse trembling in its walls. I'd given her time to let the memory curdle, to let the fear become a part of her DNA. But the silence was getting boring. A toy is no fun if it's left in the box. I was leaning against my locker when I saw him. Darian, looking like a kicked puppy, staring at his phone. I ambled over. "Hey, man. You look like shit." He sighed, shoving the phone in his pocket. "It's Charlize. She's... not good. Won't come out of her room. My mom's about to lose it. She's forcing her to go to school today. Said she's tired of her 'mopping'." I had to physically stop the smile from spreading across my face. Forcing her to come out. Making her walk back into the den. It was perfect. "Whoa, that's rough," I said, injecting just the right amount of fake sympathy into my voice. "Maybe it'll be good for her? Get her mind off whatever's bugging her." "Yeah, maybe," he said, unconvinced. "I just hope she's okay." I knew she wouldn't be. I spotted her in the hallway before first period. She was a ghost in a baggy hoodie, her head down, her shoulders hunched, trying to become one with the lockers. She was doing a shit job of it. I let her see me. I wanted to watch the moment of impact. Our eyes met across the sea of students. I didn't smile. I just held her gaze, letting my expression do the talking. I saw the recognition dawn in her eyes, the immediate, gut wrenching terror. She flinched like I'd slapped her and practically dove into the nearest classroom. I chuckled to myself. Oh, this was going to be fun. I let her stew all day. I knew her schedule. Volleyball practice after school. I spent my last period planning. The locker room had been fun, but public... public was a different kind of power. The final bell rang. I didn't rush. I took my time, strolling out to the parking lot and getting in my van. I didn't leave. I just sat there, waiting. I knew the gym's side entrance. I knew the path she'd take. About an hour later, I saw her. She stumbled out of the gym doors, alone, her gym bag slung over her shoulder. She looked exhausted, defeated. Practice had probably been a special kind of hell, all that running and jumping, a constant physical reminder of what I'd done to her. I waited until she was about fifty feet from the main lot, heading for the street where Darian usually picked her up. Then I started my engine. I didn't drive fast. I just cruised slowly, pulling up alongside her and stopping. The passenger window was down. "Get in," I said. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. It wasn't a request. She jumped, spinning around, her eyes wide with a fresh wave of panic. "Dex? What... what are you doing here?" "I said get in," I repeated, my eyes hard. "Don't make me get out of this car." She looked around the empty parking lot, a desperate, hunted look on her face. There was no one there. No escape. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. She walked to the van, her movements stiff and robotic, and opened the door. She slid into the passenger seat, her gym bag clutched in her lap like a shield. She smelled of sweat and cheap soap. I pulled away from the curb without another word, driving out of the school parking lot and onto the main road. She sat perfectly still, staring straight ahead, her knuckles white where she gripped the strap of her bag. "Please," she whispered, her voice raw. "Just take me home. Darian's waiting." "Darian's not your problem right now," I said, my eyes fixed on the road. "I am." I drove for a few minutes, not toward her house, but toward the edge of town, toward the old, abandoned industrial park. She noticed. "This... this isn't the way home," she said, her voice trembling. "I know," I said. I turned down a dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust behind us. I drove until I was hidden behind a derelict warehouse, cutting the engine. The sudden silence was heavy, absolute. "Wh-why are we here?" she stammered, looking around at the desolate landscape. I turned in my seat to face her. "You've been a bad girl, Charlize." Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What? I... I went to school. I went to practice." "You hid from me today," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "In the hall. You ran away from me." "I... I was scared," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I don't care if you're scared," I snarled, reaching over and grabbing a handful of her hoodie. "You don't run from me. You belong to me."

Suddenly a flash of silver erupted from her jacket sleeve, a long, thin boning knife, the kind you'd see in a butcher's shop. It sliced through the air, not at my throat, but low, aiming for the femoral artery in my thigh. Pure, murderous intent. I threw myself back against my door, the blade whipping past my leg and punching through the leather of my seat. I stared at the hilt quivering in the upholstery, then at her. It wasn't a clumsy lunge; it was a vicious, targeted attack. For a split second, I was stunned. Then, pure, unadulterated rage, cold and absolute, flooded my veins. I caught her wrist as she came at me again, the knife glinting wildly. She was screaming,"I hate you! I hate you!" Over and over in a string of hysterical, hateful words.

My own shock evaporated, replaced by a fury so potent it was terrifying. I wrenched the knife from her grip with a snarl, my other hand shoving her hard against her door. Her head cracked against the glass, stunning her into silence. I tossed the blade into the front footwell where she couldn't reach it. My breathing was ragged, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked at her, crumpled and sobbing, and a cold, cruel calm settled over me. This wasn't about ownership anymore. This was about breaking her spirit completely.

"You stupid, stupid bitch," I breathed, my voice dangerously low. "Do you have any idea what you just did? Do you have any idea what you just threw away?" She just sobbed, a panicked, hiccupping sound, her eyes wide with a terror that was finally, truly genuine. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"Shut up," I growled, shaking her. "You want to know what I was planning? I was going to be nice. I was going to park here, and I was going to talk to you. I was going to explain that this didn't have to be hard. I was going to tell you that if you just behaved, if you just accepted that you're mine, I could be... gentle. I might have even taken you for ice cream after, like a real date. But you... you just had to try and stab me. You just had to turn this into something ugly."

I released her hoodie and leaned back, my eyes raking over her trembling form. "But since you wanted to make this physical, since you wanted to be a bad girl, we're going to do this my way. First, you strip. All of it."

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the zipper of her hoodie. Her movements were clumsy, her fingers numb with fear. She slowly peeled the torn fabric from her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor at her feet. Next came the sports bra, which she struggled to pull over her head, her small, pale breasts exposed to the dim light. She hesitated, her eyes pleading with me.

"Don't stop," I commanded, my voice cold. "The shorts and panties. Now."

With a choked sob, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her practice shorts and pushed them down, along with her underwear, kicking them off into the growing pile of clothes on the floor. She stood there, completely naked in the front seat of my car, her arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt at modesty. She was shivering, whether from cold or fear, I didn't know. Or care.

"Good girl," I said, my voice dripping with condescending praise. "Now it's my turn." I pulled my own shirt over my head, my muscles tensing in the dim light. I could see her eyes darting over my chest, my stomach, a fresh wave of fear washing over her. Then I leaned back against the driver's seat, a smirk playing on my lips. "But you're going to do the rest. Come here. Take my pants off."

She stared at me, horrified. "Wh-what? I... I can't..."

"You can, and you will," I said, my voice hardening. "Unless you want me to find a new use for that knife you dropped. Get over here and undo my belt."

Tears streamed down her face, but she saw the look in my eyes. She knew there was no arguing, no bargaining. With a choked sob, she shuffled over, her movements stiff and robotic. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buckle of my belt, the metal clinking softly in the silence. It took her three tries to get it open. Then she moved to the button of my jeans, her eyes squeezed shut as if she could pretend this wasn't happening. She finally managed it, her fingers brushing against the hard bulge straining against the denim. She yanked the zipper down, her movements clumsy with fear.

"Now pull them down," I ordered. She hooked her fingers into the waistband and tugged. I lifted my hips slightly to help her, and she slid my jeans and my boxers down my legs. My cock sprang free, hard and ready. She flinched back as if she'd been struck, her eyes wide with a fresh wave of panic. I kicked my jeans the rest of the way off. We were both naked now, the air thick with tension and the scent of her fear.

"Get in the back," I said, my voice flat."

She scrambled over the console, a clumsy, desperate motion that sent her stumbling into the back. I followed, my movements deliberate and predatory. The van's back was a large space dominated by a pullout couch. It smelled of old fast food and stale air, the perfect setting for what was about to happen.

She was huddled on the far edge of the couch, trying to make herself small, her back pressed against the thin, carpeted wall of the van. I didn't give her the chance to build up any more courage. I was on her in an instant, my weight pinning her down. The cheap couch springs groaned in protest. I grabbed her wrists, one in each hand, and slammed them above her head, pinning them to the thin mattress with a single one of my own. My other hand went to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a constant, heavy reminder of who was in control.

"Look at me," I commanded. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners. "I said, look at me." I applied the slightest pressure to her throat, and her eyes flew open, wide and terrified, locked on mine. "That's better. You're going to watch everything I do to you. You're going to remember this."

I lowered my head, not to kiss her, but to bite. I sank my teeth into the soft flesh where her neck met her shoulder, hard enough to make her cry out. Not a scream of defiance, but a pained, whimpering sound. I licked the mark I'd made, my tongue rough against her skin. I wanted to taste her fear. I moved down, my mouth finding her breast. I wasn't gentle. I sucked her nipple into my mouth, grazing it with my teeth, feeling it pebble against my tongue despite her terror. Her body was betraying her, a primal response she couldn't control.

I knelt between her legs, forcing them apart with my knees. She was trembling violently, her breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. I could see the glistening pink of her pussy, exposed and vulnerable. It was an invitation I wasn't going to refuse.

I ran a finger along her slit, collecting the moisture there. It wasn't from arousal, it was from fear, a slick, salty lubricant that would make this easier. "See?" I murmured, my voice a low rumble. "Your body knows what it wants. It knows what's coming."

I positioned myself, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance. She tensed, a choked sob escaping her lips. "Please... don't..."

"Shut up," I snarled, and then I drove into her.

I buried myself to the hilt in one brutal, unforgiving thrust. A guttural scream tore from her throat, a sound of pure agony as I tore through her resistance. The tight, dry heat of her was incredible, a vice grip around my cock that sent a jolt of pure pleasure through me. I didn't give her a second to adjust. I pulled back almost all the way and slammed into her again, my hips slapping against the soft flesh of her thighs with a wet, obscene sound.

I set a punishing rhythm, fucking her with a raw, animalistic need. Each thrust was a statement of ownership, a claim being branded into her very core. The cheap couch rocked and squeaked beneath us, a pathetic soundtrack to her destruction. Her body was limp beneath me, her head turned to the side, her eyes glazed over as she dissociated, trying to escape the only way she could.

I wasn't having that. I grabbed her chin, forcing her face back to mine. "No. You don't get to leave. You're here with me. Feel this. Feel me taking you." I slammed into her again, harder this time, deliberately grinding my pelvis against her clit. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped her lips, her eyes focusing on me with dazed confusion.

I shifted my angle, hitting that spot inside her, the one that makes a woman's body betray her mind. I did it again, and again, a calculated, deliberate motion. Her back arched slightly, a soft moan replacing the sobs. Her body was a battlefield, and I was winning. I could feel the tension building in her, a tightening in her core that she was fighting with every fiber of her being.

"Come for me," I growled, my voice thick with exertion and triumph. "I want you to come on my cock. I want you to know that even when you hate me, even when you're terrified, your body still belongs to me."

She shook her head, a frantic, silent denial. But her body was saying yes. Her hips began to move in a shallow, unconscious rhythm, meeting my thrusts. I could feel her inner walls fluttering, clenching around me. I reached down between us, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing it in tight, merciless circles.

That broke her. A strangled cry ripped from her throat as her orgasm crashed over her, violent and unwilling. Her body convulsed, her back arching off the mattress as wave after wave of unwanted pleasure washed through her. The sight of it, the feel of her pussy clamping down on me like a fist, was all it took.

With a loud, guttural groan, I came, pumping my seed deep inside her. I held myself there, buried to the hilt, as the last spasms of her release subsided. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest, a frantic, trapped bird. I slowly pulled out, watching as a trickle of my cum and her blood leaked from her, staining the already filthy mattress.

I rolled off her, my breathing ragged. The van was silent except for our harsh gasps for air and the sound of her quiet, broken sobs. I lay there for a moment, a profound sense of satisfaction settling over me. She was broken. Utterly and completely.

I looked over at her. She was curled into a fetal position, her arms wrapped around her stomach, her body shaking with silent tears. She wouldn't look at me. She was a shell of the defiant girl who had tried to stab me just minutes ago.

I reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. Her eyes were vacant, empty. "You're mine now," I said, my voice quiet but absolute. "You will never, ever try something like that again. Do you understand?"

She just stared at me, her expression blank. I shook her head, a little harder this time. "Do you understand?"

A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Good," I said, releasing her. "Get dressed," I said, my voice cold and dismissive. "And don't ever forget who you belong to."

She didn't move. She just lay there, a broken doll on the pullout couch that was the centerpiece of my customized van, her body a canvas of bruises and bite marks. I watched her in the dim light filtering through the dusty windshield, a flicker of annoyance stirring in my gut. I'd given an order.

"I said get dressed," I repeated, my voice dropping a few degrees. "Or I'll drag you out of this van just like you are and leave you for the coyotes."

That got a reaction. A shudder wracked her small frame. With a monumental effort that seemed to drain the last of her strength, she pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her movements were slow, agonizing. She was broken. I had shattered her completely.

I was about to start the engine, to leave this dust choked wasteland behind me, when I saw them.

Headlights.

They weren't on the main road. They were cutting across the field, bouncing over the uneven terrain, coming straight for the abandoned warehouse where I was parked. My blood ran cold. No one came out here. Ever. I killed the engine, plunging us back into a tense, suffocating silence.

"Get up," I hissed, my voice a low, urgent whisper. The plan had changed. Hiding in the open was no longer an option. "Now. In the cupboard."

Her eyes, wide with a new, sharper terror, darted towards the small, custom-built storage cupboard I'd installed under the countertop. It was cramped, meant for camping gear, not people. "I... I can't," she whimpered, clutching the torn clothes to her chest.

"NOW!" I snarled, grabbing her arm and yanking her to her feet. I didn't have time for this. I shoved her towards the cupboard, her bare feet slapping on the thin carpet. "Get in. Don't make a sound." I bundled her inside, her limbs tangled, and slammed the louvered door shut, plunging her into darkness. I could hear her muffled sobs from within, a sound I'd usually enjoy, but now it was just a liability. I quickly followed, flattening myself into the narrow space between the driver's seat and the custom cabinetry, a sliver of shadow in the dim interior.

The headlights grew brighter, sweeping across the dusty windows of the warehouse. The vehicle pulled up behind my van, its engine cutting out. I heard a door open. A single door. Light footsteps crunched on the gravel outside.

I cursed under my breath. I was trapped. The dirt road was too narrow for me to turn around. My mind raced, looking for an escape route. There was none.

Then I heard a voice. A voice I knew. A voice that made my blood boil.

"Dex? What the hell...?"

My blood ran cold. Darian. He'd recognized my van instantly. Of course, he had. He'd spent half his high school summers crashing on that pullout couch. He knew the custom stereo, the mismatched curtains, the dent in the passenger side door from that camping trip last summer. He knew this van as well as I did.

"Dex, I know you're in there," Darian's voice was dangerously calm now, closer. He was right outside. "Open the door. What are you doing out here? Where's Charlize?"

He was confused. Good. Confusion was a weapon. I stayed silent, my breathing shallow. I could hear his footsteps crunching around the van, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, sweeping across the windows. I ducked lower, my breath held tight in my chest. The beam passed over the spot where I was hiding, and I felt a surge of adrenaline.

"Dex, man, this isn't funny," Darian said, his voice right outside the side door. He tried the handle. It was locked. "Charlize's phone pinged out here. If you're fucking with me, I swear to God..."

He was putting the pieces together, but slowly. He couldn't imagine the whole picture. He couldn't imagine me doing what I had just done. He still thought of me as his best friend.

I stayed silent, a predator in the dark. I could hear his frustration growing. I could hear him pacing back and forth. I could hear him trying the other doors. All locked. He was trapped out there, and I was trapped in here. It was a standoff.

And then I heard it. A small, muffled sound from the cupboard. A sob. A whimper. A sound of pure, unadulterated terror.

And then, she did the one thing I never thought she'd do.

She screamed.

It wasn't a scream of pain or terror. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated defiance. A battle cry.

"HELP ME!" she shrieked, her voice hoarse but clear, piercing the night air, muffled by the wood of the cupboard but still unmistakable. "HE'S HURTING ME! DARIAN, HELP ME!"

The flashlight beam froze. For a second, there was only silence. The confusion in Darian's voice was gone, replaced by a cold, hard rage that I had never heard before.

"Dex," he said, his voice a low growl. "Open the door. Now."

I heard his footsteps retreat, crunching quickly back towards his truck. A moment later, I heard his truck door open, and then the distinct, metallic *clank* of something heavy being lifted from the rack. My blood ran cold. I knew that sound. It was the sound of his dad's old Remington 870, the one he kept in a gun rack behind the seat.

He came back, his footsteps slower, more deliberate. The anger in him was a palpable thing, a force of nature.

"Dex," Darian's voice was a strained whisper, but it was different now. It wasn't scared. It was cold. Hard. "You have three seconds to open that door and let my sister go. Or I'm coming in.

I froze. My hand on the door handle. My mind racing. He had a shotgun. He had the upper hand. And I was trapped in a metal box with a girl I had just brutalized, now hiding in a cupboard.

"One," Darian said, his voice steady.

I looked at the cupboard door. I could practically feel Charlize's terror radiating through the wood. She knew what was coming. She knew her brother wasn't bluffing.

"Two," Darian said.

I had to make a choice. I could open the door and face him, or I could wait for him to come in. Either way, I was fucked.

"Three," Darian said.

I didn't open the door. I just stood there, my hand on the handle, my heart pounding in my chest. Then the world exploded in a shower of wood and metal and deafening noise.

To be continued.....