OS: Yesterday and Tomorrow--Repentance-Completed. - Page 10

Her face was in the shadows. Rudra looked down at himself to see that nothing covered his own lean body, he was all sinew, scarred skin and hard muscle, coarse hair dusting his powerful legs and corded thighs. His own body was naked and heated to fever pitch--and he was hard and aroused to the point of pain. The girl did not look at him. Turned away as she was, kneeling before him, head bent, her hair a curtain of evening sky across her face. She did not turn to see the powerful naked warrior who sat so dangerously close to her. She did not turn to see who's hard, calloused fingers and hot breath threaded lightning over her vulnerable back. It did not matter.


Rudra knew all that he needed to--that she was naked, and that she was his.


Rudra knew this. He was as aroused as he had ever been, palpitating with need, with the almost feral desire to force this girl onto her perfect back as he pounded into her pliant body. She would let him. She would not be able to deny him this. She would cry out in shock at his sudden intrusion, her core's muscles would clench a grip of heated liquid velvet around his most sensitive part, her long legs would wrap round his waist. She would cry and whimper under his attack, her unknown face turned into her black hair, her arms lying supine above her head. Her pose would be of a human sacrifice.


She was his sacrifice, given to him by her frightened villagers, her terrible fate a gift from her own unhappy Fate. She was his reward for being a Beast. He would reach heaven, he a monster who should be denied hell would reach paradise inside this unknown woman's trembling body. Un-resisting...she would be that, and voiceless too. Not saying no, not saying yes. Just--existing. He knew this, as he allowed his hands, shaking with the intensity of coiled desire to glide onto her back. His hands dripped with smoky-scented, perfumed oil, as he rubbed the amber drops into the luscious skin bared before him. Scented with desire. Wintergeen and ice.


Who the girl was did not matter, and for some reason, he did not want to know her name or her identity. What mattered was this throbbing, maddening desire. Nothing else. Nothing, not the clawing in his gut, the smell of cut flesh in his nostrils, the dim memory of red weals and slashed skin. Not that. Never that. Rudra shrank from that as he would from a coiled snake. Forcing his mind back into this room, to the namelessness of her. The mystery of her. Here, he had her. Here she was silent. A stranger to absorb his desire, accept his body as he snatched away her own. Take her will, take her being. Take, without asking why, without explaining why. Take him. Let him take her.


He needed her, this stranger. More than he needed the next breath to enter his panting lungs. But Rudra --he had learnt control in a crucible of fire. Like the cave dwelling ascetic who enjoyed his own penance, Rudra now held himself in, denying himself the immediate pleasure of raw sex, as he instead focused on the girl's petal-skin. She must be prepared. She must be readied for him. It was very important, that she be ready. She glistened with a sheen of reflective gold wherever his hands touched, working the oil into soft muscles and caressing along slender bone. Too slender. Rudra frowned, as he moved the black waves out of his way, and over one painfully thin shoulder. He touched her again, his hands slowing in their strokes. He could feel her ribs through her skin. He did not like this thinness, this frailty. What did it say of him, that she, this nameless she, was so thin? Why was she this weak? Her bones were fragile, old ivory under his hands. No. It hurt him to think about this. It gutted him. No.


He ran his large hands, still wet with the smoky oil down her arms, rubbing and caressing the pearl-dusted skin there. Touching the frail tendons. The hands trembled in his hold, as if she was frightened of him. He understood this. He found he did not like it and so he ignored it. His wrist was easily twice the size of the girl's creamy arms, as he leaned his large body over the girl, as she sat almost hunched down before him. He glanced at the mirror, just in front of them. He had somehow expected that mirror, and there it was. The girl's midnight hair tumbled before her, obscuring her face, but in the reflection Rudra could see himself, looming over the creamy sculptured figure. He was a dark, huge shadow surrounding the small, slight woman on his bed. He was trapping her, taking up the empty space all around her. All her ways of exit were blocked--literally--by him. She was surrounded. He wanted to roar with triumph, and, then, oddly, to weep with despair.


They were both sitting on the bed, both naked--why, then, did he feel more vulnerable than the silent girl? More exposed, more at risk, more at her mercy, than she was at his? He was the one with the strength, with the power. She was the supplicant, the sacrifice. He was the god, and the monster, both. He found he was afraid of her. Afraid of her face, her silence. He needed her to speak, to tell him she accepted, she was his, she wanted this. But what was she? Why would he need this? A girl on his bed, existing to pleasure him. Her thoughts, her needs must not matter. They had never mattered before, with the other girls who had been on his bed. Why, then, must she be the one to stay? To want to stay? Why was it imperative, more important than breathing, that she stay? Why was there the need to hold, to trap, to force himself onto her, to prevent the loss of her?? Along with shocking desire, why was he trembling with the fear of losing her? It was odd. Everything was odd in this odd room which held nothing but the bed, myriad mirrors and shadowed walls. The room shimmered with darkness, like a wavering dream-scape.


Rudra focused on the slender neck, wrapping both his hands around her delicate nape with its light dusting of tendrils. So soft. So small. So tender. He licked against the pulse just under one small ear. He tried domination. It was his pulse, he decided. His to play with, to bite, to touch. So he licked at it, again and again, feeling it beat against his tongue, throbbing with her lifeblood. She shifted, restless, her breathing quickened. He nipped at her ear, a warning. Do not move. Don't resist. If he squeezed his hands right now, he could end her life in 47 seconds. He knew this, he had been trained for it. Some part of him registered that he had come very close to ending her life. He dismissed this thought. A buzzing fly, this thought. To distract himself, he touched his lips to a mole at the very base of her neck, rubbing his mustache against it, licking the skin, flicking his tongue again and again against that tiny point of skin. Using the skills he had at his disposal, skills of bed play and practiced seduction. All that carnal knowledge obtained through years must come to him, must help him now.


He wanted to make the girl shiver with want. It suddenly became very important, that she want him, want this. That she want his hardness inside her soft body, that she want his strength, to overpower her pitiful defenses. If she did not, and he forced...No. He did not force. He was a monster. He took. He rested his hard chest, his parched torso against the coolness of her back. Skin to skin. Contact. The girl gasped, the first loud sound she had made as he ministered to her here, in this shadowy room. He tightened his hold instinctively around her throat-- and she shuddered at the pressure on her neck. Fool! He should have swallowed that gasp, thrust his tongue into her mouth, absorbed that soft noise into his being! He was behind her, he should have been on top of her, covering her, he should have dived into her, absorbing her into his pores, so she became him, a part to his whole!


His hands slipped beyond her shoulders, down her collar bone, seeking a sure path to the soft breasts he had glimpsed for wavering, heart stopping seconds in the mirror. He would make her want. She whimpered, softly. She did not resist. Rudra had known she would not. But she had not resisted because he would not listen, hadn't she? He wanted to scream out the throat shredding roar of pain inside his mouth--pain that he felt, at the shameful knowledge he possessed about her helplessness, and about his control. He knew that she would not be able to stop him. She knew it too.


Focus. Focus on the girl. Make her want. These breasts of hers were his. His to tenderly cup in his hands, his to ferociously suckle, to rub and fondle and touch. His to worship, to force the breathy moans and the harsh panting screams of need out of her. His name on her lips, his lips over her own. His body onto hers, warming her cold skin with his burning fire. Wrenching out of her that insane need for him, a mindless desire mirroring his need--his rabid need for her.


His. His. His. Nothing was hers, not her mind, her body, her desires. His.


He would stroke those beautiful feminine tributes to the Earth goddess, touch tender pink nipples, cause her cascading gasps, her liquid moans. And he could do this. He knew this. Whoever this girl was, she would not say NO. He had never heard her say NO, and if he had heard it, it had not mattered.


He mattered. And because he did, he had cut her, had bled her, had starved her, broken her. He had destroyed her. Because her NO had not mattered, if he had even heard it, it had not been heard. These whispered words came from absolutely nowhere, invading his mind. They were a thin hiss of steaming vitriol that forced and curled their way through his obsession, his lust and desire. The words landed in his heart. He could not touch her. He could not.


Rudra reared back, falling against the sheets, the ruby red sheets no longer cool and inviting. They were clammy with his sweat, drenched with her tears. Damply, the sheets clung against his shaking body.

He raised his hands before his eyes. The smoky oil smelt different now, with a mineral sour tang, more like spilt iron. A scent the warrior in Rudra knew, the smoky essence of gunpowder and death.

The oil changed color to bitter scarlet, the texture moving from the soft slipperiness of a sensual liquid to the thicker viscosity of spilled fresh blood.


He had smeared this blood onto her, rubbing it into the skin of the girl who he could not see. In an eerie response to his voiceless scream, his un-uttered shriek of pain and fear and shock, the girl turned. And Rudra stared into the glassy eyes and the parchment white face of Parvati Vader.


He opened his mouth, to vent his anguish, to roar his denial and pain and misery to the heavens. Again and again he tried to scream, as she watched him, kneeling before him, her remote eyes focused on his face. His voice would not come out, his mouth stretched open without sound as he tried to scream. Suddenly, an arm grabbed his own, the tensile grip moving him beyond the grip of Parvati's eyes, and finally, finally he found his voice. His final scream shattered the nightmare into splinters of obsidian. Rudra Pratap Ranawat bolted up on his office couch, almost toppling Aman--who had grabbed Rudra's arm to shake him awake. Rescuing Rudra as he lay trapped inside his nightmare, screaming his lungs out on his office room couch.

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