Part Nine
Claiming

Scribe's POV

I'm staring into his eyes when he asks me the question again. "Are you gonna fight me?" And I think.

I think about the knife, and the gun. I think about the time I've already spent tied, the humiliation and utter vulnerability. I think about the miles of snowy wilderness outside, and the people nearby. The people who would probably listen to any screams with nothing more than curiousity, and perhaps even approval. I think about the strength I've felt as he's moved me and carried me. I'm not small, and he's shown no strain at all. I think about that chlorophorm soaked rag, still tucked away somewhere.

Most of all, I think about the look of intent concentration on his face as he slowly forced a finger up inside me, ignoring my pleas. This man isn't going to be denied. In his eyes I see a curious sort of compassion, but no mercy. He means it when he says he doesn't intend to deliberately hurt me. He also means it when he says that this is going to happen.

I think all these things in only a second, my mind in a dizzying whirl. Then I say quietly, "Well, it wouldn't do me much good, would it?"

He shakes his head slowly. "No."

I close my eyes. "I won't fight you, but I won't help you, either. Don't expect me to volunteer anything."

"Fair enough, this time."

He pulls my face toward him, bending to me, and touches his mouth to mine. His eyes are still open, he's watching me. I close my own eyes, trying to block this out. I've heard of people doing that: just going somewhere else in their mind during traumatic experiences.

I don't tense up because I don't want to react to him in any way. I want to give him nothing. I want him to have nothing more than a breathing lump of flesh, not me.

I haven't been kissed much in my life. There were the quick, hard, joking busses of family members, or the gentle pecks. There have been a few drunken pawings by total strangers in public places, complete with foul breath and whisker burn. His lips move against mine gently, slowly. Why does he have to do this? All he wants is sex and he doesn't have to kiss me for that.

This is different from those few alcohol fueled kisses that have been forced on me. They were physically nasty, smelly, rough and scratchy. This is smooth and soft. Jerry smells of mint, soap, and some spicy aftershave. It's almost like...

God, I haven't thought of this for so long. In my seventh year, there were a few shy, quick, closed mouth kisses with the boy in fourth grade who lived in the house behind mine. I was quite positive I was going to marry him some day. His hair had been black, but his lips hadn't moved like...

What am I thinking? I gasp, shocked with the path that my mind is taking, and as I gasp Jerry's tongue darts into my mouth. It's just a flicker of movement, and I gasp even more deeply. He releases my face and slides his arms around me, pulling me closer, till I'm pressed against his bare chest. He whispers. "Keep your mouth open when I kiss you again. And Scribe? If you think about biting me like you did on the plane--don't, okay?"

He kisses me again, tongue sliding in to begin a leisurely exploration. And I don't bite.

Jerry's POV

I'm finally holding her, finally kissing her. She really doesn't know anything about kissing. Well, that's unfair, isn't it? Even if she did, she wouldn't be using her skills right now. She's not interested in making me happy. To bad for her, because she can't help but make me happy.

I'm not kidding myself that she opened her mouth as an invitation. No, she's fighting with something in her mind. Doesn't mean I don't appreciate the chance, though. But remembering the rough edge of her teeth in the plane, and those trembles along her jaw, I think it's best to let her know that wouldn't be a good idea.

She tastes good, anyway. I'm going to learn how she tastes, how she smells, the texture of every inch of her, inside and outside. I spend some time stroking, licking, finding delicious hidden crevices. Then I draw her tongue into my own mouth and suck it. When she makes a little choking sound I finally let her come up for air, then I start again.

I'm starting to get hard just holding her like this and kissing her. It's been awhile since that was all it took. Lately the girls I've bedded had to go straight for the erogenous zones to get my interest up. This woman can make me hard just by breathing. So far she's living up to her word, she isn't giving me anything. That's all right. Tonight can be just for her. I'll take what I want.

I pull back a little, not letting go, and look at her. Her soft, pink mouth is a little blurred, a little kiss swollen. I touch it, running my thumb over the lush lower lip, imagining all the things we can do later. I let go of her. "Go sit on the bed."

Scribe's POV

It's just as well I sit down. My knees are starting to feel weak. When I sit on the edge of the mattress, he directs me to turn a little, and he sits facing me.

Then he reaches over and begins to undo the tiny buttons that close the front of my gown. He works slowly and patiently, his big hands surprisingly dextrous. When it's unbuttoned to my waist, he parts the edges, sliding the material half off my shoulders.

Now a shudder passes through me. Even in the doctor's office, I've always been decently draped, with a nurse in attendence as a chaperone. The hands that touched me were always clad in latex gloves, efficient and impersonal, even brusk at times.

Again he just looks at me. I'm horrified when I feel the skin of my nipples start to tighten, crinkling. He smiles, goddam him. "That's because you're scared. But it'll be because of me soon enough."

He touches me, cupping his hands over my breasts and just holding them there. Then he moves his hands in small circles, the palms barely brushing the sensitive tips, and my nipples peak into hard, straining points. "Damn you."

"No reason why you can't enjoy this, too, darlin'. I know how to show a woman a good time." He bends down, and licks one nipple, then the other. "You might not want me doin' it, but it feels good. Doesn't it?"

I'll cut my own throat before answering him, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He keeps licking, then progresses to suckling, transfering his attention back and forth. His mouth is always busy at one breast, while his knowing fingers caress the other.

I'm beginning to feel dizzy, overheated. I wish I could open the locked door and go plunge into the snow, the sane, freezing snow, and cool my rapidly overheating body.

"There's one thing I been wantin' to try. I read about it. I saw it on the video tapes, but all the girls I been with weren't interested."

He's moving, kneeling beside the bed, right in front of me. He takes the hem of my gown and lifts it up around my waist. Then he puts his hands on my knees and starts to push them apart. I instantly clamp them tighter. "What are you doing?"

"I know you're innocent, darlin', but you ain't ignorant. I'm gonna eat your pussy for a little while."

"No! Don't do that. Just... just screw me and get it over with." My skin is crawling at the thought.

He pinches my thigh, not brutally, but sharply enough to sting. "You don't tell me no, Scribe. Are you afraid I'm gonna bite you, or something? I'll be careful. And I want you to remember that when it's your turn. Now, are you gonna open your legs for me, or do I go get the spare towels and sheets and spread you out?"

This time when he pushes at my knees, I don't try to resist. He shoves them into a wide vee, and kneels between them. The gown has drooped just a little in front, and he lifts it away again.

Jerry's POV

I'm glad I don't have to tie her down. I like it better when they can move, and I think she'll be a mover. The way her nipples got hard so fast shows that she's a sensitive thing. It shouldn't be hard to get reactions out of her.

I could have looked at her all I wanted on the plane. Hell, I could have left her laid out on the floor, sliced the cord on her knees, spreah her legs, and climbed in the saddle. I could have had a long look when I had her panties down. I could have given her a good, hard finger fuck when I was checking her virginity. But I was holding back, teasing myself, because this is what I want.

I want her comfortable in my own bed, our bed. I want her soft and warm, safe even if she doesn't know it. I just want to be able to take my time while I take my pleasure and give her pleasure. Because I will. By god, that woman's going to cum tonight, and I'm going to be be man that does it to her. She's going to learn that even if she don't like me, even if this situration isn't what she would have chosen, that I can still make her scream, and not with pain.

And now I finally lift away the gown and get my first good look. It's not all that much different from the hair on her head: dark brown and softly curled, a little sparser, a tiny bit coarser. The hair grows denser near the center, hiding and protecting the virgin cleft.

She's put her hands over her face, as if closeing her eyes isn't enough of a barrier to keep her from seeing me look at her. I put my hand on her, laying my palm flat against her pubic mound, and she tenses. I just hold it there for a moment, feeling the soft cushion of flesh, the tickle of hair.

I stroke my fingers through the curls, ruffling them lightly, and she tenses even more. It's like she's carved out of marble. I wish there was some way that I could reassure her, but I don't think the words exist. I'll just have to show her that all I want to do is love her, and make her feel good.

I comb aside the curls, and move forward.