Forgiven Part 1

[Kate]

copyright martykate©July 1989
All rights reserved

Forgiven

M/F, non & consensual, sex

Lena woke from a dream where she had been drowning in a pool of cold water. She seemed to have difficulty coming to consciousness, although the fog in her head was slowly clearing. She reached over to check her clock and see what time it was, and realized to her horror that it wasn’t her clock she was looking at.

She sat up too quickly, dizzy, and lay down again until it went away. She sat up slowly this time and looked around the room realizing where she was—where she hadn’t been in a long time.

“PAUL”, she pounded on the bed, “Paul, damn you, you asshole, where are you?” No answer, but she could hear water running—into a tub, not a shower. Where was he? How did she get here, anyway? He had a lot of explaining to do. Waking up in bed of an ex you’d left a year and a half ago, especially not knowing how you got there, is more than a bit of a shock.

“You motherfucker!!” Still no answer, but she realized to her horror that she wasn’t wearing any clothes. She wrapped the sheet tightly around herself, and looked quickly for something she could be ready to throw.

“Tsk, tsk, such language for a lady, but you’ve always prided yourself on not being one, haven’t you Lena?” He stood in the doorway, maddeningly attractive as he’d always been. The eyes were dark brown; instead of black; the skin ivory instead of copper gold; and the hair a dark brown that stopped just short of being black. A Native American with enough white in him to give him that luxurious van dyke she had once loved to run her fingers through—once. Forget those Adonises with their golden hair and blue eyes—Native American men had always made her feel weak in the knees.

“What am I doing here? And how, pray tell, did I get in your bed—which I have deliberately avoided for over a year as you recall. I know I wasn’t planning to come home with you. I was talking to Johnny Two Bears, Paul. He went to play pool, and sent me over a drink. And now I wake up here.” She propped the pillow up and leaned against the wall. “I’m really anxious to hear your answer.”

He smiled. That smile that had made her melt the first time she saw him. The same smile that was pissing her off. “Lenny, Lenny, Lenny,” he said, using his pet name for her, the only person she’d ever allowed to call her that. “Johnny Two Bears is an ass. I bought you that drink. Since I couldn’t get you to come here willingly, I had to use other means.”

“Oh, I wonder why? And what do you mean by ‘other means’?” she asked suspiciously. She’d learned not to trust him at the end of their relationship. She’d thrown him out for cheating, for loving his local bar more than her. Vowing he was out of her life for good and meant to keep things that way.

“Well,” he hesitated, “Well, I tried out this drug on you..”

She cut him off, “You what? You tried the date rape drug on me? What did you do, fuck me while I was unconscious?”

“That wouldn’t have been any fun, Lenny. I prefer to have you awake—you’re a lot more fun that way.” He grinned, flashing his white teeth.

“I’m leaving,” she started to sit up, then remembered she was missing her clothes.

“I’m sure you won’t want to leave without your clothes on—at least I don’t think so. And I don’t think you’ll find you clothes any time soon.” He took a step towards her, and then ducked as his alarm clock smashed against the wall.

“You broke my clock. You broke my damn clock.” He strode over to the bed and grabbed her arm. “Now what am I going to use to wake up on Monday.”

“Buy another damned clock, ass…,” but she didn’t finish the sentence. He pulled her out of the sheets and flipped her over his knees. He grabbed her wrists and trapped her legs with one of his to avoid injury because her slight frame belied her strength. He’d seen her kick a drunken heckler in the back, and send him face first to the floor. All of the Indians in the bar had applauded, and that was when he decided he’d buy the feisty little white woman a drink.

His hand smacked her bottom—hard. And then a more than a few more times before he released her, the last a the hardest for good measure. If she gave him trouble, which he hoped she would, he’d give her a longer paddling. Never too long, never leaving bruises, but leaving her ass—that delectable ass, along with the rest of her—red, but not injured. He’d left no permanent marks on her—ever. But he’d leave her ass sore enough to cause her discomfort for a while.

[sarah thorne]

I notice this is something you wrote almost 20 years ago? How neat.

I like this. I actually love n/c fantasy stories and this is a nice start. I'll be following this.

sarah