Chapter 21 Elias #2
I don’t know exactly why I do it—for a reaction, I guess, for his attention—but I reach out and grab his thighs and bring my face against the prominent bulge of his hard cock.
Then everything happens fast. Andre lets out an awful, broken cry as his body strings tight. He grabs me from the chair.
The world flips and spins. I shout in surprise and fear, flailing as I’m wrestled to the ground.
Andre is behind and above me. He has a hand on my throat.
His other starts slapping my bare ass. I cry out at every sharp sting.
Rather, I try to. My cries are choked and garbled and drowned out by Andre’s awful, primal scream of rage.
I really do have to pee, and it’s too much. I lose control. He keeps spanking me as I urinate on the floor. I don’t think he’s going to stop. I think he’s going to kill me.
But then the spanking does stop and he yanks away from me, releasing my throat. I gasp and choke and curl up on my side in the mess as it runs to the drain. I start crying and coughing.
At first, I’m only aware of myself, but then I hear Andre’s ragged breathing and heavy, pacing steps.
I expect to hear the heavy thump of the door at any second, but his footsteps stop.
His hands grip me and drag me back, out of my mess. Then his footsteps retreat toward the door and out, but I never hear it shut. I should get up, but I don’t. I can’t. When Andre returns a minute later, I haven’t moved.
He pulls me up, wrapping me in a towel. He scoops me up off the floor and carries me out.
Shivering, I huddle against his big, warm body.
I don’t see much, only a vague impression of a dark hallway then a set of stairs.
We emerge into a large open space that I dimly register as some kind of living area with old brick walls and high windows letting in dim evening light.
It surprises me. I thought it was night. I thought it was yesterday.
Andre carries me past a kitchen and into a dark bathroom.
His elbow shifts, hitting the light switch.
The space floods with warm light. He walks a few more steps then lets me down.
My knees buckle as my feet hit a plush bathmat.
I press into Andre. I cling to him. He tenses but doesn’t push me off.
He reaches past me into the shower. I hear the water come on, then Andre turns me and pushes me toward the shower.
When I step inside, he closes the glass door behind me.
I stand under the warm spray, not moving, just letting it pelt me as I watch Andre through the glass. He walks over to the wall and stands facing it. He leans forward and rests his forehead against it. His hands go on top of his head, fingers interlacing.
When Andre finally turns, putting his back to the wall and watching me, I pick up the soap and start washing myself. I keep my eyes on him through the foggy glass. I can’t see his expression. Maybe he’s not wearing one.
Andre straightens suddenly.
His head whips toward the door and he darts out of the bathroom. Startled, I drop the soap. I crank off the water and listen.
At the sound of a heavy crash, I throw open the shower door and bolt out. Naked and dripping wet, I run out of the bathroom. I drop instinctively to the ground when gunfire erupts. Men are shouting. There are crashes of furniture and more gunshots.
I’m close to the kitchen, so I dart into it and hide behind the island.
I peer over the counter to see two men fighting in the dim space of a huge living room area.
One of them is Andre. The other is a big man with long dark hair.
At the end of a brown leather couch, a body is facedown on the hardwood floor.
Andre throws his opponent against the black railing of a set of cast-iron steps leading up to some kind of loft.
The man drops to the floor but is scrambling up when Andre comes after him and tackles him to the ground.
They wrestle viciously. I can’t tell what’s happening.
Then there’s a sickening crack and the long-haired man goes limp in Andre’s hold. His head flops to the side.
Andre shoves the body away and gets up. His chest is heaving. His fists are clenched. His expression is no longer empty. His furious gaze cuts across the room to me and he comes stalking my way.
There’s my monster.
I stand up. I back away from the island. I feel electric with the adrenaline roaring through my body. My cock is completely hard.
I back up until my bare ass hits the counter behind me.
“Did you think they were going to save you from me?” my monster snarls as he reaches the edge of the kitchen.
I bolt.
Andre roars in fury and charges after me. I race across the living room, hunting for an escape. There’s a gym area in a back corner of the huge space, but it’s a dead end. I jump over a bench and race back into the open as Andre’s footsteps pound behind me.
I jump over the dead body with the broken neck and reach the cast iron staircase. My bare feet slap the steps as I take them two at a time, but Andre is right behind me. He’ll catch me before I reach the loft, and all I glimpse up there is a bed anyway.
I launch myself over the railing. I sail through the air, and it’s exhilarating. Terrifying, yes, but that’s the point. My existence has narrowed to this. Everything else, everything but me and Andre, has vanished.
My feet hit the floor. My knees bend to take the impact. My hands briefly skim the floor, then I spring up. The difficulty is my stiff cock, bobbing, swinging, hurting, but even that thrills me.
Andre’s heavier weight and louder boots slam to the floor as he follows me over the railing.
For a moment, I feel unstoppable. I’m so light and free. I feel completely wild. I’m thoughtless with it—and that’s how he catches me. Because the prey flees, but the predator plans.
As I make another lap, I think that I’ve led him around the apartment.
I think I’m well ahead when I plant my foot on the coffee table and spring to the couch.
I’m already launching myself over the back of it when I realize that my monster has outsmarted me.
He’s there, waiting, and it’s too late for me to change course.
I scream as he snatches me from flight.
My momentum is too much even for his heavier body. We crash to the floor. I’m jarred by the impact, though Andre takes most of it.
I flail as he wrestles me down. I shriek and buck against him.
I claw at the floor with a different kind of freedom, a darker freedom, than I felt in my flight.
I can fight him, resist, keep trying, and it will still happen.
I feel that dark promise in the weight of his body behind mine and hard ridge of his cock against my ass.
He gets me in a fierce hold. It’s one-handed because his other is working at his zipper.
I’m free enough that I could hit and scratch, but I’m not that kind of prey.
I only want to struggle—and I do, terrified and thrilled by his power over me, terrified and thrilled that he’s going to fuck me here on the floor, three feet from the pool of blood spreading from the body of the first man who died here tonight.
The face is turned away from me, a dead hand limp in the blood.
I yell when Andre shoves my legs apart. He reaches between them and grabs my swollen balls, tugging them back in clear threat. It freezes me. It makes my dick twitch and leak even as my heart gallops.
Keeping hold of my balls, Andre draws back from me and rises to his knees, tugging me up to mine. Face on the floor, I start whimpering as I realize there’s no lube.
But then I hear a familiar crinkle and tearing sound, followed by the sloppy squelch of Andre slicking his cock. My heart soars—with relief, yes, but also with elation. He’s had lube with him this whole time. He knew he was going to fuck me at some point.
His slick cockhead pushes between my cheeks and presses against my hole.
Slow but relentless, he penetrates me. I grunt and cry out and claw at the floor as he forces my body to open, to take him.
When he’s all the way inside, he leans over me.
He reaches around my hip and grabs my hard cock in his slick grip.
His other hand reaches up to cover my mouth.
I tremble in his hold as my body adjusts. I gasp against his hand. My breath puffs harshly through my nose. All the while, I’m staring at the dead man and the pool of blood, and my cock is throbbing in Andre’s hand.
“You like that?” he snarls. “You like that these men died for you? Or do you like that I killed them for you?”
His hand remains over my mouth. He doesn’t want an answer. I couldn’t give him one anyway. I’m not thinking right now. I don’t even know if I’m human. I don’t really want to be. I just want to feel every primal second of this.
I think Andre knows that. I think he wants that too because he doesn’t speak again. He just starts fucking me with a hot, ruthless bestiality.
Everything is too intense, my body too primed.
It doesn’t take long for me to come. I clench on Andre’s cock as I orgasm, spilling on the floor, on myself, on him.
And he just just keeps fucking me. He gets rough.
He twists and contorts me until it hurts.
His hand is off my mouth now. He lets me moan and cry as he breaks me open.
It’s another level of freedom. It’s the freedom to open a locked part of myself that very rarely gets released. It’s such a deep, dark part of me that it’s painful and strange to feel it, but it’s beautiful too.
My second orgasm is so hard and deep that it feels like I’m dying.
Andre smashes my head to the floor and grips me tightly as he roars and starts flooding me with his hot cum.
He grunts roughly and strains as his cock kicks inside me, deepening my orgasm even further, milking me even when I think I have nothing left.
I moan and gasp and convulse under him. I’m not even sure if I’m still coming or not.
Andre pitches forward, catching himself on one hand. I brace myself because I know what’s going to happen—and it does.
Andre pulls out of me. As he draws back and gets to his feet, I curl in on myself.
I hear his zipper. I hear him making harsh sounds that he keeps cutting off. I hear him walk away.
I don’t know if I fall asleep or just into a doze, but I rouse when a dull light glows somewhere behind me. It’s a cellphone screen, I think, and it shows because night has fallen and the apartment is dark.
I thought Andre had left, but he didn’t. He’s still here.
In the silence, I hear the faint sound of ringing. He’s calling someone.
The faint ringing stops. Someone has answered.
Several long seconds pass before Andre says in a quiet, rough voice, “I need help.”