Chapter 10: Day 3 Night. Another drunk David
The click of the lock sliding home behind me echoed like a gunshot in the sudden quiet. My back pressed hard against the cool wood of the door, lungs heaving, not just from the dash upstairs but from the raw, humiliating echo of my own climax still vibrating deep in my belly. The scent of my arousal hung thick in the small room, mixing with the stale coffee and dust. The pink lace panties and bra lay discarded on the rumpled sheets next to the glistening dildo and the humming purple massager. Evidence. Proof of the thing I’d become, the traitorous needs of this body I was trapped inside.
My reflection in the mirror above the bed was a stranger. Flushed skin, swollen lips, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and lingering shock. E-cups rising and falling rapidly above the unfamiliar curve of my waist. Long dark hair tangled around my shoulders. Ella Knox. Not Taylor. Never Taylor again. The revulsion was a familiar knot in my stomach, warring with the undeniable, slick warmth between my thighs. It felt good. Why the fuck did it have to feel good?
A heavy thud against the door made my heart lurch violently into my throat. "Taylor? Tay? Open up, yeah?" David's voice, thick and slurry, oozed through the wood. Not Mark this time. David. The quiet one. The one whose glances lingered a fraction too long lately, filled with a confusing mix of guilt and hunger that mirrored my own internal chaos. "C'mon, man... Tay?" He stumbled over the name, like he wasn't sure what to call me anymore.
Panic, cold and sharp, sliced through the post-orgasmic haze. "Go away, David." My voice came out higher than I intended, trembling. "I'm... I'm not decent." A ridiculous understatement. I was naked, covered in sweat and the sticky evidence of my own depraved exploration. My discarded male clothes – worn jeans, faded band t-shirt – mocked me from the floor.
Another thud. The doorknob rattled. "Just wanna talk," he mumbled, less convincing than before. "Saw you runnin' up... looked upset." There was a long pause, filled only by his heavy breathing and the frantic thumping of my own heart. "Please? Don't be like Mark..."
Mark. The memory of his rough hands, his drunken insistence weeks ago, the painful invasion before I’d fought him off. The violation that still made my skin crawl. David knew. He’d pulled Mark off me that night, his face pale, stammering apologies. But the look in his eyes afterwards… it wasn’t just sympathy. It was something else. Something that scared me more than Mark’s brute force because it felt… inevitable.
"David, just go!" I pleaded, backing away from the door towards the bed, grabbing desperately for the discarded t-shirt. It was pointless. Too small now, straining over my breasts. I fumbled with it, my fingers clumsy with fear.
The rattling stopped. For a second, hope flickered. Then came the soft, metallic scratch-scratch – the sound of a key sliding into the lock. My spare key. The one I kept hidden under a loose floorboard near the door for emergencies. He knew. Of course he fucking knew. We all knew each other's hiding spots.
The lock turned with a final, sickening click.
The door swung inward, hitting the wall with a soft bump. David stood there, swaying slightly, silhouetted in the dim hallway light. His glasses were slightly askew, his usually neat hair dishevelled. The sharp tang of cheap whiskey hit me, thick and cloying. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, swept the room, lingering on the rumpled bed, the discarded lingerie, the glistening toys lying openly in the lamplight, then finally landing on me, half-crouched near the bed, tangled in the t-shirt that barely covered me.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word heavy with awe and something darker. "Oh, fuck, Taylor..."
"Get out!" I shrieked, yanking the t-shirt down uselessly, trying to cover myself. "Get the fuck out, David! NOW!"
But he stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him with his foot. The lock clicked again. Trapped. His gaze was fixed on my breasts, the curve of my hips barely concealed by the thin cotton. "Saw... saw you runnin'," he slurred again, taking a stumbling step closer. "Pretty... so fucking pretty now..." He reached out a hand, unsteady, towards my face.
I flinched violently, knocking his hand away. "Don't touch me!" The fear was a live wire now, sparking through my veins. "I mean it, David! Leave!"
He ignored me. His eyes dropped lower, to the damp patch on the cotton stretched tight over my mound. His nostrils flared. "You were... playin'?" he murmured, a strange, thick note in his voice. His gaze darted to the dildo on the bed. "With that? Did it feel good? Bet it felt good..." He took another step, closing the distance. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming, mixed with the scent of his sweat and my own arousal. The conflicting smells choked me.
"David, please..." My voice cracked. Pleading. Weak. It disgusted me. Where was the fight? Where was the guy who would have punched his lights out for invading my space like this? Smothered under layers of estrogen and fear. "You don't want this... Remember? You pulled Mark off me... You know this isn't right!"
He flinched slightly at Mark's name, a flicker of something – shame? – crossing his features. But it vanished almost instantly, drowned out by the alcohol and the sight before him. "Not like Mark," he mumbled, stepping closer still, his breathing ragged. "I wouldn't... wouldn't hurt you, Tay. Not like him." His hand shot out, surprisingly fast, grabbing my wrist. His grip was strong, clammy. "Just... just wanna see... wanna know what it feels like... for you..." His other hand reached for my covered breast.
"No!" I twisted, trying to pull free, but his grip tightened, yanking me off balance. I stumbled forward, falling against his chest. His hard, unyielding chest. The scent of him – whiskey, male sweat, cheap detergent – enveloped me. Panic screamed through my head, but my body... my treacherous fucking body... reacted. A warm flush spread across my skin. My nipples tightened painfully against the thin shirt. Betrayal. Pure physiological betrayal.
He groaned, a low rumble in his chest, his free hand roughly grabbing my ass through the shirt, pulling me hard against him. I felt it then – the rigid outline of his erection pressing insistently against my lower belly through his jeans. Horror warred with a sickening jolt of heat deep inside. No. No, no, no!
"David, stop!" I gasped, pushing against his chest with my free hand. "You're drunk! You're not thinking!"
"I'm thinkin' plenty," he grunted, his voice rough. His hand left my ass, fumbling at his belt buckle. The metallic clink was obscenely loud. "Thinkin' about how fuckin' hot you are... how much I shouldn't... but I can't stop..." His eyes were glazed, fixed on my breasts again. "Please, Tay... just... just let me..."
He didn't wait for permission. With surprising strength fueled by drunken desperation, he spun me around, slamming my front against the closed door. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. Before I could react, his body pressed against my back, pinning me hard. His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my scream. His other hand, the belt buckle undone, yanked my borrowed t-shirt up roughly around my waist, exposing my bare ass and the slickness he knew was there.
The cool air on my exposed skin was a shock. The vulnerability was absolute. Trapped. Pinned. Exposed. His harsh breath panted against my ear. "Shhh... shhh... just stay still... gonna feel so good..."
I tried to thrash, to kick back, but he pressed harder, grinding his erection against my ass cheek. The rough denim scraped my skin. His hand left my mouth to fumble with his zipper. I sucked in a desperate breath to scream, but then his fingers slid down between my legs, finding my wetness with shocking ease.
"Fuck," he groaned again, his voice thick with awe and lust. He rubbed his fingers through my folds, gathering the slickness. "So wet... already... for me?" He pressed two fingers inside me, deep and sudden.
I cried out, a strangled sound against the door. Revulsion churned in my gut. This was violation. Rape. But my cunt... that traitorous hole... gripped his invading fingers eagerly, clenching around them. Heat radiated outwards, a wave of unwanted sensation that made my knees tremble. No! Hate this! Hate him! Hate this body! But the physical feedback loop was undeniable. My hips gave an involuntary little jerk, pushing back against his hand. Shame burned hotter than the unwanted pleasure.
He chuckled, a low, dark sound against my neck. "Knew it... knew you wanted it... deep down..." He withdrew his fingers, slick and shining. I heard the rustle of denim being shoved down, the rustle of a foil packet? I couldn't see. Then I felt it – the broad, hot pressure of his cockhead pressing against my entrance. Blunt and demanding.
"David, don't!" I sobbed, tears finally spilling over. "Please don't fuck me! Please!"
"Shhh," he breathed, his voice tight with strain. "Gotta... gotta know..." He pushed.
The stretch was sharp, immediate. My body resisted for a split second, tight from my earlier solo session, then yielded. He wasn't gentle. He was drunk, desperate, driven by months of suppressed guilt and lust. He drove forward in one hard, brutal thrust that shoved me harder against the door. My cry was cut off by the impact.
"FUCK!" he grunted, burying himself to the hilt inside me in one go. He felt enormous, stretching me wide, filling me completely. The sheer, violating intrusion was overwhelming. Pain lanced through me, sharp and bright, followed immediately by a deep, shocking throb of sensation. My inner muscles clenched instinctively around the invading hardness. It wasn't pleasure. Not exactly. It was a violent, overwhelming fullness, a brutal occupation of my most intimate space. But my body... this alien, traitorous body... responded to the sheer presence of it. Heat flared deep in my core, radiating outwards. Wetness gushed around his cock.
He didn't move for a moment, just held himself buried deep, breathing harshly against my neck, his body trembling slightly. I could feel the frantic pounding of his heart against my back. "Oh god... oh fuck..." he moaned, his voice cracking. "Tay... so fucking tight... so hot..." He shifted his hips experimentally, grinding deep.
A choked gasp escaped me. The movement scraped sensitive inner flesh, a raw friction that was both agonizing and intensely... stimulating. My cunt pulsed around him, squeezing the thick shaft embedded inside me. The conflicting sensations were torture. The mental revulsion screamed GET OUT!, while the physical nerve endings screamed MORE! Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent now.
Then he started to move. Short, hard, shallow thrusts at first, pulling back just an inch before slamming back in, keeping himself buried deep. Each impact jolted me against the door. Each withdrawal made my inner walls cling desperately, trying to hold onto the invader. Each brutal re-entry sent jolts of sharp sensation mixed with deep, unwanted throbs deep inside me. His hand slid around my hip, fingers finding my clit, still swollen and sensitive from the vibrator.
I arched involuntarily, a broken cry tearing from my throat as his rough fingertip circled the hypersensitive nub. It was too much. The brutal fucking, the clever fingers. My body, already amped up from my earlier orgasm, was a hair-trigger. Pleasure, fierce and undeniable, began to coil, tightening low in my belly, warring with the pain and the soul-deep disgust. I tried to fight it, tried to focus on the violation, on David – my friend – raping me against my own bedroom door. But the sensations were too powerful, too primal. My hips began to rock back minutely against his thrusts, meeting his brutal pace with a rhythm I couldn’t control. My cunt gripped his cock like a greedy fist.
"Oh yeah... fuck yeah... take it..." David panted, his thrusts growing longer, harder, driving deeper with each slam. His fingers worked my clit faster, rougher. "Gonna make you come... gonna feel that sweet cunt squeeze my cock..."
The crude words, the sheer physical assault... it was breaking me. The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, a violent, shattering explosion that ripped through me. My body locked, back arching hard against him as a guttural cry escaped my lips, muffled against the door. My cunt convulsed wildly around his thrusting cock, pulsing, milking him uncontrollably. The orgasm was brutal, overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that drowned out everything – the pain, the fear, even the revulsion – for a few blinding seconds. It felt like my soul was being torn out through my cunt.
David roared, a sound of pure animal triumph. My violent climax triggered his own. He slammed into me one final, brutal time, holding himself impossibly deep as he emptied himself inside me. I felt the thick, hot spurts deep within, the pulsing of his cock against my spasming walls. The feeling of being filled, claimed, violated to completion was the final, sickening twist of the knife.
He collapsed against me, his weight crushing me against the door, his breath hot and ragged on my neck. His softening cock slipped out of me with a wet, obscene sound. I felt the hot trickle of his come immediately start to leak down the inside of my thighs. The smell of sex and sweat and spilled whiskey was suffocating.
He stayed there, slumped against me, for what felt like an eternity. Then, slowly, he pushed himself back. His hands fumbled at his jeans, pulling them up. He didn't look at me. He couldn't meet my eyes. The drunken lust had drained away, leaving behind a stark, horrified vacancy.
"Tay..." he started, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I... fuck... I..."
I didn't turn around. I stayed pressed against the door, shaking violently, the wood cool against my flushed cheek. The warm wetness between my legs felt like acid. The phantom echoes of pleasure still pulsed through my core, a sickening counterpoint to the crushing shame and violation. I stared straight ahead at a poster on my own wall, a band I used to love. It meant nothing. Nothing meant anything anymore.
He didn't finish whatever pathetic apology he was trying to form. I heard the soft click of the door unlocking. Then the shuffle of his feet, the creak of the door opening. He paused. A long, heavy silence filled the room, thick with unspeakable things. Then the door clicked shut softly behind him. He was gone.
The silence he left behind was deafening. I slid down the door, the rough wood scraping my back, collapsing into a heap on the floor. The cold laminate pressed against my bare skin. I wrapped my arms around my knees, pulling them tight to my chest, burying my face. The tremors wouldn't stop. My thighs were sticky. My cunt felt raw, used, still throbbing with the ghost of unwanted pleasure. I could still smell him on me. Taste tears and salt and betrayal.
Across the room, the mirror reflected a broken girl huddled on the floor. Long dark hair hid her face. Her new body, the one that had just betrayed her so utterly, looked small and vulnerable. Ella Knox. A vessel. An object. Used. And, the worst part, used in a way that a secret, shameful part of this alien body had responded to. The revulsion was back, a black tide rising inside me, threatening to drown me. It felt good