Blood Mountain

Mercy couldn’t believe she had taken control like that. Grabbed his hands and teased him with the tongue on the lips bit. It was corny and almost stupid, but it worked.

Tracy Runner had been one of those girls who seemed always to be at the peripheral of every conversation, though this was not because she was an outsider; on the contrary, she was accepted into every group of girls either because of envy or intimidation. She had a full head of blonde hair, a lithe body with perky breasts and an ass that bespoke hours on the Stairmaster. Everyone said she could be a model and, of course, she said she had done a lot of modeling but wanted something more challenging. Like most girls who were hot and knew it, she could also be a real bitch. She would walk into Mercy’s dorm room and interrupt a conversation to tell Mercy and whoever else was in there that they weren’t going to get any boys sitting around reading. “You could clean up really well,” she said to Mercy. “Then it’s all a tease. Lick your lips, push out your chest, bend over. Sounds stupid but it works. Boys don’t want you--they want the illusion of being with a goddess. Or a whore.” When Tracy walked on to bother other girls, Mercy’s friend remarked that Tracy was a bitch and Mercy agreed, but her advice burrowed into Mercy’s head.

And now it had worked. She laid down on the floor of the tent, which was really just laying on a piece of nylon set over hard, bumpy ground, and ran her fingers through her hair while twisting her hips and arching her chest. Like a Victoria’s Secret model sprawled on a bed in a black babydoll with matching panties.

She felt sort of stupid and ridiculous and the ground was already starting to bother her with its jagged pokes, but a kind of intoxication had seized her and would not let up. Her body flushed with warmth and she wanted this guy to touch her all over, to kiss her everywhere. She wanted to feel his hardness and then, finally, feel that stiffness inside her.

This was stupid and foolish like a teenage girl out of her mind with horniness but Mercy was a college graduate. A virgin college graduate. She didn’t need to wait for someone serious, for potential husband material. She had tried that approach and yet here she was anyway.

She was going to make Tracy Runner proud.

When Victor entered the tent, Mercy could smell the day’s sweat on him. It made her body tingle, the thought of his sweaty skin against her flesh. She wanted to grab him, yank off his pants and taste him, knowing he would be sweaty and even stink.

He whipped off his belt in one fluid motion and she imagined him slapping it across her ass, telling her that he was going to give it all to her, every single inch.

The cynical voice of caution that usually reigned in her brain was still yapping that she was being stupid, imagining ridiculous things, fantasies fit for a whore, and that if she didn’t stop now she would always regret this, might even get hurt. Mercy pushed that yapping voice as far back in her mind as she could and reached for Victor. Besides, her father was nearby if needed.

Her hands found the edges of his jeans and slipped underneath.

When she had him in her hands his whole body quivered and he groaned deeply and she thought he was going to ejaculate already, just shoot his stuff all over her chest and that filled her with even more lust. Could she really be driving a man so crazy that he would lose control like that? Joel had never been like this, so eager.

No, he had commented on her stale-smelling clothes and clammy hands.

Like Dylan who thought she was just a kid, pecked her on the check and left.

She could have lost her virginity at some frat party, if she had wanted, but she had held out for something better. Such a joke. She never meant to save herself for marriage, just someone decent.

You think this guy’s decent? He was talking about the end of the world, remember?

It didn’t matter. She wanted this. She did. Maybe Victor would still be the weird guy hiding in the corner of Rune Books or maybe he would bring her flowers, take her places. Maybe she was a whore to him or maybe this was the crazy start to a passionate love affair.

Victor thrust himself back and forth inside her hands and grew bigger and bigger and she wondered if maybe that cynical voice wasn’t on to something, if maybe this thing would hurt her, rip her up, leave her bleeding. That was a silly fear, of course. It was bound to hurt when she had never had so much as a trio of fingers inside her before but women had sex every day and of that number, how many were left bleeding and injured?

More than you think, that cynical voice said.

His mouth dropped over hers and she tried to embrace it but his tongue dove between her lips and probed toward her throat. A tickle started in the back of her throat and she knew she was going gag and that would ruin the moment. As for gagging, what if he wanted to put his thing in her mouth? If he was this violent with his tongue, he might be brutal with his thing, fucking her mouth and not caring as she choked and gagged and her eyes turned red and bulged with the pain.

Then you seize his balls, that cynical voice said, morphing into the voice of the protector. You tear into them, pierce them, rip them right off his body.

She touched them now, delicately as if they might crumble under the slightest touch. They were small and hard, pressed tightly against his body. He groaned more urgently and his tongue aggravated something inside her mouth and she was coughing violently, pushing him off her.

He let her get air and her whole body rocked with the coughs. She turned on her side and coughed harder, eyes watering, and hoped this sensation would pass. Let that be a warning to you, the voice admonished. When you try to be the whore, you end up hurt.

She wasn’t hurt, though, not exactly. Not yet.

His hands found her breasts and gripped them harder and she would have cried out if not for her choking. She batted his hands away and they went immediately to her jeans. She grabbed them as another fit of coughs seized her. He had her jeans undone and his fingers rampaging for her crotch and she tried to pull them back but his hands were too strong.

The first fingers that entered her sent convulsions through her. The sensation of penetration surprised her like something she would never quite be ready for but it also thrilled her and wasn’t her wetness a sign that she really wanted this? Maybe he was aggressive but that was kind of hot, wasn’t it?

She tried to tell him to slow down, that she would go all the way, but she was still coughing and now her jeans were down past her knees and he was spreading her thighs and ripping off her underwear.

“Please,” she managed between coughs.

“My pleasure,” Victor said in a gruff, panting voice.

Before she could protest that she hadn’t meant please fuck me, but please slow down, he yanked her on her back again and was on top of her and then, oh, jesus not yet I’m not ready, his penis was at her and she tried to clench those muscles (Kegel muscles, she thought) but she was so damn wet and his thing slid inside her and at first it was okay, nothing really, not much different than meaty fingers, but then holy shit the pain was intense and consuming as if his dick were as large as her whole body and she couldn’t breathe and she thought she would die right here with some guy’s dick inside her in a tent on a stupid mountain while her father was fifty yards away.

He pumped and thrust at her like some mindless beast and every movement was a stab of pain that clenched her lungs. Her wetness dried in her pain and that only made the pain worse. He grunted and groaned right over her face. Specks of spittle flew from his mouth onto hers.

This is what you get, that voice said.

But then it was the voice of the protector, screaming at her to fight back. Bite his face, rip his fucking lip off. Scream. For God’s sake, scream!

Not the protector. It was Mom.

Scream, dammit, SCREAM!

Somehow she found the air and did scream. It felt glorious to shout like that as if the scream were a release valve on an overheating boiler and now she would be okay, she wouldn’t explode, he would stop and apologize and she would check for blood and go hug daddy.

Victor punched her in the face instead.

THIRTY-FIVE

It was just like a stupid bitch to ruin a good moment. But she wasn’t going to get away that easily. Not a chance. His fist bounced off her nose and he felt her head smack against the hard ground. She coughed and gagged