Author Topic: No Rest for the Wicked (Read 4183 times)

Badman · October 09, 2015, 06:36:14 PM

WARNING! You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. If you do not like such stories, please stop reading. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. If you do not understand the difference between reality and fantasy, read no more. Rape is a heinous crime and the penalty is many years in prison. The people who commit rape are despised everywhere. No one is being hurt, and this is pure fantasy. In addition, although persons of distinct nationalities, ethnicities, cultures or religions may be portrayed, no offence is meant to anyone.

No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter I : Arrival

Headlights pierce the darkness as the car bounces it's way along the rough and winding track. Slowing to a crawl, Mary sighs with relief as the lights sweep across the front of the cottage at last. Pulling to a stop right at the front door, she sits back from where she had hunched forward staring into the night and rubs her aching neck. The last two hours drive on bleak twisty country roads and the nagging thought that she might be going the wrong way , made her body completely tense. Even though the 'No trespassing' sign was on the gate exactly the way the agent described it.

She turns of the engine and reaches into her bag for the keys and a torch, flicking it on before turning off the headlights. As she opens the door the feel and smell of fresh night air feels refreshing as gets out and unlocks the solid wooden door. The lock felt stiff and the door groans as she has to out her shoulder to it. 'Must get some oil on that' she thinks as she hunts for the power switch above the door. Finding it she stands on tip toe and pulls it down with a satisfyingly solid click and the naked lamp above her head comes on.
'Well that's a good start'

Already feeling a bit too cool, she closes the door and locks it, leaving the key in the door. Her bags can wait in the car until morning. She is surprised to find herself crying as she turns off the torch. Deep down she knows it's a good thing, healing but she feels oddly embarrassed too. No-one would know how profound it was to her to be able to lock that door knowing that she wasn't going to be punished and abused for it. Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her sweater she steps into the room and fumbles for a light switch.

Lower than she expected which made it hard to find but the light rewards her with the sight of beautiful little sitting room dominated by a wooden staircase and large black hearth. Inhaling deeply and letting some of the tension go, she notices the smell of the place that tells her that she is somewhere unfamiliar. Over the last few months she's become used to that sense of entering new territory over and over again as she kept moving.

The website describing it as cosy and comfortable hadn't been lying but right now Mary simply wants to grab a bath and go to bed. She turns to the stairs, only pausing to turn the dial up on the thermostat by them, and heads up to the bedroom above. The steps creak under her weight and she hears little creaks and groans as the pipes start to heat up. It's somehow reassuring to feel like the cottage is waking up and welcoming her presence here having obviously been empty for so long.

SexyS · October 09, 2015, 11:54:41 PM

Love love love love love your writing style!!!

Badman · October 10, 2015, 01:08:42 AM

The stairs take a turn at the top and opens into darkness, Mary finds the switch and is surprised to find herself at one end of the bedroom with a large double bed and a huge mirrored wardrobe that makes her smile. It reminds her of one her gran had and where she and her big sister Eve, used to try to find Narnia among the soft hanging coats and jackets and that smell of mothballs and wood polish. She shakes her head remembering her sisters betrayal even if it was done with good intentions it still hurt.

Stepping onto a deep cream carpet, she stares at the stranger in the mirror, so different from that little excited and hopeful girl and even different from who she was only three months ago. Gone was her long blonde hair and now black and cropped in a short business like style. Her normally elfin face looks puffy and tired, which she especially hates without make-up. Her lips twist in a wry smile as she looks at her red baggy sweater and careworn blue jeans not something she would have been seen out in, let alone bought from a charity shop. But then that was the whole idea, to look nothing like her old self.

Her black shoes were amongst her favourites and the only things she dared to keep. To someone hearing her story of how she got here, it might seem odd, but Mary refused to give up her shoes. Like Dorothy's red shoes, they were like a promise that someday she would get back to a normal life. She smiled at that and was rewarded by the transformation of the woman in front of her from a harried sad victim who had to flee to a determined survivor about to rebuild her life. But first she needed to just stop and rest. Then she would start again.

The radiator under the window was already starting to radiate warmth as she closed the curtains on the impenetrable dark outside and lifted her sweater over her head. As warm and cheap as it had been, it was a little tight around the chest and sleeves so taking it off was nice. Although she had told herself at the time she found it that it was a sensible choice, now she realises she liked flaunting her double D breasts as simple way to distract from the mock sympathy of strangers when they saw her haunted eyes and shabby car.

Folding it neatly on a chair, she turned to the only door from the room and pulled the cord for the light in the bathroom. A mixture of white porcelain sink and modern pink bath looked odd but reassuringly normal. Whoever owned and may have lived here before had obviously spent their money on small comforts. Miraculously there was a pile of large fluffy white towels and even a matching bathrobe on a shelves over a long low radiator. The small room was already quite warm so she turns and kicks off her shoes in the bedroom before closing the bathroom door to run her bath.

Badman · October 10, 2015, 10:23:37 AM

The bath isn't exactly sparkling clean but Mary is too tired to care so she just flushes the dust and a few spider corpses away before putting the plug in. There is a fresh bar of soap still in its wrapper and glass jar that looks like some sort of bath salts. As warm steam starts to rise from the tub she tries the salt but it's caked solid in the jar so she slides her nail in the wrapper of the soap and opens it. A cheap mildly scented store brand it will have to do. She has no intention to go back to her car until the sun is up.

Unbuckling her belt, fiddling with the button before she unzips her faded jeans and steps out of them. Sliding them near the door with her foot, she reaches back and unhooks her flesh toned bra. Still grateful that she had the foresight to take her best underwear, she drops it neatly on jeans and hooks her thumbs either side of her matching panties and slides them down to her knees and steps out of them.

With the bath only half full, she gives the water a quick swish with her hand and turns on the cold tap a little. She opens the jar of salts and scoops some water into it, sloshing it round to get at least some of it out. It smells faintly of lavender and turns the water cloudy. Out of habit she goes to the mirror above the sink to look at her face and as she clears the condensation with her hand she catches a movement behind her.

Shocked, she swears and spins round ready to fight or run out the door. But there is certainly no-one there, she rubs her eyes and shakes her head with a little laugh and mutters "As jumpy as long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs". She can almost hear her granny's voice as she remembers her wry sense of humour. What Mary fails to notice is what isn't there, the hole in the condensation in the shape of a figure. A figure watching her.

Badman · October 11, 2015, 06:54:23 AM

Chapter II Awakening

There was darkness and thought. Drifting and dreaming. Form time to time it would sense others, mostly like itself. Cold grey formless things anchored in some way to this place. Every so often, like a swimmer broaching the surface for air, it would pull it's form back into awareness of the surroundings. In those more lucid moments it would remember itself. Himself. There was a seed or a germ of knowing there around which the gossamer thin smoke would coalesce into something more solid. And always this happened when the bright ones came. Whether alone or in groups of two or three they never stayed.

In the grey and grim world around him they shone with light and from that light he would feel a warmth and sweetness that seems to help him remember himself and his form. And so he would follow them and watch them bathing in their presence and watching as the others started to drift nearer, at least a few trailed in their wake like echoes. Once or twice he felt the desire to reach out, to touch the light but always them light would pulse, like a warning or an alarm. And when that happened they often moved away quickly, so he learned to stay close but not too close.

And so he drifted between the nether and the real like a tide or the seasons where years passed and the greyness around him grew. But each time the shining ones came he felt himself become a little bit more. More real, more his true self and more awake. He even watched in mute awe as sometimes the shining ones joined to become one and for a few moments blazed brighter. Those moments he and the others were drawn like moths to flame. That burst of light seemed to fill them up and draw even more. And deep inside he knew that form well, the two lights merging. Like a familiar tune that he couldn't remember the words to.

From time to time he tried to follow the bright ones as they left this place, it seemed only natural to want to stay in that light and become even more. And at first it seemed a simple thing as he could drift without hindrance through the grey space where they followed set patterns as if limited or guided in some way. And as they moved away from the place where he and the others dwell it would push him back, the place that was not here. The place where the bright ones came from and returned to. It repelled his kind, the shadows and grey ones. There was no place but here.

vile8r · October 11, 2015, 11:55:03 PM

Wow! This is really good! I like your writing and I'm glad we have you on the site now! Look forward to much more.

Badman · October 12, 2015, 04:43:58 PM

As he drifted from wakefulness to not, the times between the bright ones leaving and the dullness returning, he experimented and explored. In a way it was a way to hold back that creeping numbness and also he instinctively felt that this learning was important. That somehow there was a shape or link between his form, the brightness and the outside. A secret he was meant to discover. This is what drove him to push at every edge, at every boundary and find out more. And as his curiosity grew so did his influence. He found that he could push, this was the only sense of it he had, on things around him.

The more he practised the more he grew better at it. And he soon discovered that the control of this push was a lot more effective and controlled at the edge of his form, where his being coalesced from not to is. There he could sense not just his pushing out being sharper and more focused but the pushing back that came too. It was a tricky dance as pushing led to him fading faster too. It was a frustrating fact that the more he learned the quicker he slipped back to the formless dreamer. The key was the bright ones, the ones who came and left again. So he was ever vigilant even when mostly formless and began to see patterns.

The first was obvious and others like him would lurk near the point where they appeared and left. Yet in that place he knew that the light was less for him. As if feeding at a trough with others gave him less than his share, so he looked for other places less used places. And that was when he he discovered the other place. So easy to miss, a little bubble in the form of greyness a sense of shape and place but far less and not part of the place he now knew was home. This was a little home and seemingly over looked by his like. Yet it was a hollow thing, no bright ones ever went there. Which was curious in a way and so he returned over and over.

Then came the fateful day he discovered a bright one there. Trembling with what could only be a form of excitement he followed them as they moved through the little home. They didn't seem to stop in one place for long and were soon gone. But he knew two more things now. One that bright ones did come to the the little home too and that he alone had been there to sense them. And so more and more he lurked around the little home, conserving and hiding from the others. It was a strange time. His form dissolved but he remained far more alert than ever. Patient and ready.

Badman · October 14, 2015, 07:47:50 PM

Chapter III: Asleep

Michaela felt a distinct chill in the air as she got into the bath but soon forgot it as she slipped into the warm water letting her aching muscles melt in the warmth. She slides all the way down until only her face, breasts and knees are above the cloudy bath waters surface. She give her hair a quick scrub, more to wet it than clean it, her shampoo is down in the car. it feels so good just to stop, to not have to be anywhere or do anything. She lets out a longer shuddering sigh of relief, not fully aware up until then how much tension she had been holding in. From the drive in the dark on unfamiliar roads in an unfamiliar car with the fear that all her plans were useless that somehow that shit of an ex-boyfriend would find her again.

Now she was allowing herself the tiny glimmer of hope that she was free of him and his sick games, she would start on her new life. It was both scary and exciting to her. She is scared because she has cut herself off from all her family and friends back home and moved to this new country with a new name and no friends or help and very little money. She is excited because at last she might be able to fulfil her potential as an artist and performer, both things that she had to give up to please him. Where once her future seemed to bleak cage with him as her keeper, she has escaped and is free to run and roam. She has almost forgotten what that feels like, to be the one who makes the decisions for herself. Until this very moment everything was to please him, not anger him and then flee from him. Now she can relax.

Watching the shifting shimmering brightness, her spectral companion also bathes. Bathes in the light that radiates from her and he grows more alert. He senses that if he approaches too close no matter the desire or need that calls to him, that the bright one would flee. Flee this place and take the light with her as all the others have done before. So he observes and absorbs the light feeling himself grow more. More alert, more coherent and more thoughtful. It's like his sense of identity and thoughts are crystallising into an identity. It's a subtle shift but in it there is a sense of reversal. That the fading, the inevitable dissolution of what he was is being reversed. That decay and oblivion are not the only future he has. There is something more. Out of his reach, like a familiar face whose name won't quite come.

One thought, clear and distinct reverberates around his sense of self. "She saw me" the moment he saw her inner light flash as she caught sight of his insubstantial shape in the condensation. It was a moment of reaction he has seen before when he or his brethren crowd too close there was a sense reaction. That the bright ones knew they were not alone, not in any direct way but they were aware enough to flee. Which was strange to him as he only felt the twin drives of hunger and curiosity when he got close to them.

Badman · October 26, 2015, 02:21:10 PM

Michaela loved the feel of the warm water, like her bones were melting and all of the knots in her aching body were slowly dissolving. She took time to wash her legs and for a moment wonders why they seem younger or maybe more healthy. And then tears well once again as it strikes her, there are no bruises not even the faint blush where they were. How long has it been since she could even contemplate going out with bare legs. Too long. And this is what her friends and family never saw and never could comprehend. The relentless daily abuse from Steve was mostly hidden. Predators like him learn pretty quickly how to hide their casual assaults, the kicks and punches that hurt the longest and are easiest to cover. But worst of all was when she started to flinch from any touch and lost the simple healing escape of a friends quick hug or an arm around the shoulder.

And so she created her own prison from the inside as a defence against the attacks from the outside. Until one day by chance she watched a documentary on domestic violence and the methods used to intimidate and isolate the victims. And in that chilling moment she saw her own story and her world collapsed. Reality blew apart all the lies she had told herself and others, the lies she told him to appease him and the lies she told others to deflect attention. But the worst lies of all were she told herself, in the quiet after her cries to whimpers and her tears to sniffles. The lie that she deserved it, it was her fault that he was upset. That the moments of tenderness would outweighed the hours of hurt. That nothing better was to come, that all her dreams were hopeless and this was her life.

From that minute forward everything had led to this. She gives a huge shuddering sob and lies back to immerse her face and give it a quick scrub to wash away the tears. As she just lies there eyes closed and breathe held it feels like she is reborn. Though the memories will always be there ready to trip her, they can no longer hold her back.That each step she takes is not just leaving the nightmare behind but bringing her closer to herself and her new life. With gasp she sits up and water sloshes about as she gulps air in and wipes her hair and water from her face. She smiles as she feels the tiredness sweeping over her. It is good to feel the tiredness is a welcome guest and not an escape from life.

As Michaela stands up, water rushing off her naked body, she uses her hands to swipe away the excess before fishing for the chain to the plug and giving it a quick tug. There is a glug and she hears water running away through the unseen pipes as she grabs a towel. Methodically she works on her hair and head then down her shoulders languishing in the feel of the soft warm fabric. It might not smell that fresh but neither is it too bad. As she indulges in rubbing every part of her breasts and buttocks dry, she jumps at the sudden sucking noise as the bath is near drained. Stepping out onto the not so warm vinyl floor, she dries her legs and feet one at time on the side of the tub. And though her skin rises in goosebumps at the chill in the air, the warmth inside her feels great.

With a practised hand, she makes a turban of a smaller towel on her head and uses the largest towel as a robe from armpit to knee. She smiles as she leaves the bathroom in a mess, clothes where she dropped them, another small change for her with no fear of punishment. She turns out the light and shuts the door behind her as she spots the bedside lamp and bends to switch it on before turning off the over head light. Throwing back the cover of the duvet she lands with a bounce before taking off the turban towel and giving her hair another rub. Then after carefully covering the pillow with the towel she flicks her feet under the covers and leans over to turn out the lamp. As soon as her head hits the pillow she goes to sleep. A deep and dreamless sleep.

Badman · February 25, 2016, 07:19:38 PM

Chapter IV: Absorption

The darkness in the bedroom is no obstacle to the burgeoning senses of the shade as he watches her sleeping. Warmth and life radiate from her form and deep within memories arise to meet the shapes he sees. Memories that bring back a hint of touch and taste, gossamer names and sounds. Faces and scents. Both enlivening and terrifying. For as the echoes of his former self return so does the terror. The terror of absolute oblivion. Of death. Of the ultimate sleep.
Suddenly, the darkness is overwhelming and he moves closer to the light and warmth and the darkness recedes. Without knowing how, his essence reaches out towards her as her light seems drawn to him. Within his form, the light dissolves into the inky darkness as she shivers in her sleep and she instinctively pulls the bed covers tight around her. Mesmerized by the light trickling towards him, he edges closer and is greeted by a sense of her. A tiny taste of her.
And within him more memories arise. Of pain and humiliation. But they are not his, they are hers and yet they resonate. Deep inside a spark ignites within him, a desire to absorb the essence of those memories and more. Like some elixir of life, they sing to him as more of her light passes to him. Within words begin to echo, other voices and other times. “Monster”,” Life sentence”, “Evil and sadistic” …. Words thrown at him with venom and hatred.
As light leaves her, so does his darkness enter her. Tendrils of darkness web the glow on her skin through the covers and she moans in her sleep. Her head tosses side to side as she mutters and moans, and ripples and waves of light pulse across her. Tremors start to shake her body as more and more tendrils of darkness grip her. Unable to wake, her movements become bigger and quicker, twitching and jerking to escape the bonds that pull the light from her.
Thrilled he reaches out longing to touch her quivering flesh as she thrashes helplessly in his presence. Wave after wave of light pulse over him and fill him with the scent of her fear and loathing. Her victimization at the hands of her former lover magnified in her nightmare as it is overwhelming him with desire and he reaches too far. There is a flash of electricity and static sparks and arcs flash over the bedding and bed frame as he is pushed back and she screams awake.
Terrified and confused, her eyes filled with the afterglow of the static flash that jolted her awake, she fumbles for the bedside light with shaking hands. Objects clatter and her breathing is a ragged panting as she imagines he has found her, that all her desperate measures have failed. Finally, as she is about to climb out of bed and try to find her way to the bathroom, her finger finds a switch and the room is flooded with light.
From the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees a figure moving in the corner in the shadows and her heart skips a beat as she yells out involuntarily. As she turns her head to look at the shape it seems to dissolve into the shadows and she watches warily even as she tells herself there is nothing there. Heart racing, Michaela shivers as her bare chest heaves, covered in a sheen of sweat, and she feels almost ill with a sudden sense of weakness. She grabs the still damp towel from the pillow and wrap’s it round her shoulder like a shawl.
As she calms down, she tells herself it was just a nightmare, that the phantoms she glimpsed was just a residue of her reliving some of the most awful times of her life. Yet still she can’t shake either the weakness or the chill. She picks up her phone and checks the time, it’s 3am. Thinking her weakness might be lack of food, she toys with getting some of her provisions from the car but decides against it as she’d have to get dressed and go outside in the dark. So still feeling very wobbly she grabs her clothes and gets half-dressed before sliding back into bed with a glass of water to drink.
Propping herself up in bed, with the light still on, she slowly drifts back off to sleep as exhaustion overtakes her. Long after her eyes have closed and her breathing has fallen into a deep even rhythm, the shadow in the corner drifts across the floor and down the stairs into the darkness below. In his own state of shock, the spirit tries to absorb all of the new ideas and sensations coursing through its form. Two words in particular echo round and round in orbit about him. “Eric Danzig”. Then like a whisper that cuts through him like a knife “The Belgian Ripper”.

shannyfries · February 27, 2016, 04:09:57 PM

This is really good. Hope you write more soon.

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Author Topic: No Rest for the Wicked (Read 4183 times)

Badman

No Rest for the Wicked

SexyS

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Badman

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Badman

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Badman

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vile8r

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Badman

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Badman

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Badman

No Rest for the Wicked

Badman

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shannyfries

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