I can’t decipher what his words mean. I know, one hundred percent, not a doubt in my mind that Mason is not into kids, male or female and yet Raymond is speaking with such conviction I briefly wonder if there’s something in his past and then I dismiss his inference and remember his threats to those guilty of what he’s being accused of.
My thoughts scramble as a searing pain spreads across my behind and I realise that I am being hit hard, punished.
I hear my own voice calling out, “No, no, no, please.”
I am willing him to stop, the punishment, but more than that I am pleading that he stops at this. Frantic that my physical castigation is the only lashing I’m on the receiving end of. As suddenly as it started my punishment ends, leaving me with a throbbing and sore behind I’m sure will carry bruises for several days. Slowly, I turn and see Raymond standing with my phone in his hand having picked it up from the table. He is looking through it then drops it before stamping on it until it smashes.
Insecurity and hesitancy fill me as I wonder what I should do now. My phone is broken and my panic alarm is too far away, in my bag. Should I get to my feet or remain in my current semi-prone position? I recall that in the past I always had to wait to be told to adjust my clothing and right now I’m that frightened girl.
A look of contempt spreads across his face as he stares down at me. “Like anyone would believe calls of rape from you. Still lying there begging for more.”
Immediately, I feel the old sense of shame washing over me, the knowledge, no matter how irrational that this is my fault and that I contribute to this. More than that, that I make Raymond do these things and still I wait for his permission to move, to cover myself.
“You are a whore, always were.” He moves closer again.
“Please,” I whimper and hate myself almost as much as I hate Raymond, maybe more.
“You should never have left me. I loved you, cared for you, protected you. I thought you were special. You could have been my number one.” I feel sick that he rates hiswives.That even as he was married to my mother, he would have moved me ahead of her in the pecking order.
I can’t deny that seeing her get a little payback is appealing but if the price for that is to be with him then the price is too high.
“Olivia, what we had was exceptional and heaven sent. Don’t you see that the Lord sent you to me, as a gift?”
He is clearly fucking crazy, crazier than even I would have given him credit for.
“Raymond.” It’s my intention to reason with him. “The police will be looking for you, you know that, just run or they will find you.”
I don’t want him to escape justice but right now I want him out of my flat and away from me, far, far away.
He looks at me with suspicion now. “How do you know about the police? Did you talk to them?”
I hope to everything I hold dear that I can pull off lying to his face now as he stares down at me.
“No, of course not. It was on the news, earlier.” I’m unsure if it was or not but hope he hasn’t got some kind access to news alerts.
He stares for a while then switches back to his earlier topic of me.
“Even as you cried, your body knew better and contradicted you. Do you remember how it felt when you gave me your pleasure?” He is demanding a reply with his compelling eyes. My only response is yet another nod and there is no doubt who I hate most now, me. “Tell me how it felt.”
“I can’t.” My voice is barely an audible whisper as I recall my pleasure never being his. There was never any pleasure in what happened between us, not for me.
Raymond is on his knees at my hip. “Tell me,” he repeats and then when I fail to reply he is grabbing a handful of my hair with one hand, tugging on it painfully while he raises the other over my behind, preparing to strike if I do not comply with his demand. “I said, Tell. Me. How. It. Felt.”
I refuse to reply. I know what he wants. He wants me to say that I liked it, enjoyed it, that I felt pleasure at his touch and although my body responded in the most basic of ways there really was no pleasure in it for me beyond a visceral reaction. The pain that registers as his hand lands across the still smarting welts and handprints is not enough for me to submit to his wish. No amount of physical pain will be enough to provoke the admission he wants from me. Several blows rain down, then as I begin to zone out, I feel his fingers slipping under the leg of my pants.
“If you won’t tell me then I suppose we’ll need to just let your actions speak for you.”
I can feel bile rising in my throat. I am actually going to vomit, being in this position again. A position I vowed never to revisit and yet here I am, bent over, freshly spanked and having my most intimate folds manipulated by the most despicable man in the whole world. A man allegedly of God who is the closest thing on Earth to the devil himself, pure evil. However, I am determined not to give him this, not anymore. He can subject me to as much pain, suffering and stimulation as he wants but I will not allow him to have mypleasurebecause it is Mason’s. Mason’s and my own. Not his, it was never his.
The sound of my sobs are getting louder which only serves to spur him on.
“I know some genius digital photo editors.” There’s a threat in his voice. “Maybe your new boyfriend could share a cell with Conrad or God forbid, me. I will fuck him over one way or another Olivia, but you first.” His words confirm Mason’s innocence as he begins to pull harder at my clothing and I zone out with a smile.
There are voices. Suddenly Raymond is no longer there. He’s running away and Mase is with me. Maybe I have blacked out completely or perhaps Raymond has killed me, and this is whatever there is after death.
“Get me a fucking blanket,” Mase screams as his scent engulfs me, convincing me this is real, that he has come to my rescue. I feel something covering me from the waist down. “I’ve got you baby, it’s okay,” he reassures me, lifting me into his lap.
The pressure of sitting on my freshly earned bruises and welts cause me to cry out.
