* DISCLAIMER * This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction involving characters created and owned by Marvel Comics Group. /Forever Young/ written and performed by Alphaville. This story contains EXPLICIT SEX (m/f, oral, anal, NONCONSENTUAL, MINDCONTROL) If ANY of the above bothers you, please do not read this story. * WRITTEN BY * Samy Merchi * ARCHIVED AT * http://mash.yok.utu.fi/corona.html * INSPIRED BY, AND DEDICATED TO * Mandy "HARLEQUIN" Lever * STARRING * Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese "M / BLACK ROOK" St Croix in ***************** * A LITTLE PAIN * ***************** * CO-STARRING * Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo "EMPATH / WHITE ROOK" de la Rocha * AND STARRING * Mario Van Peebles as Roberto "BLACK KING" Da Costa * CONTINUITY * This story takes place * in my Shadows of the Future timeline http://mash.yok.utu.fi/corona/xforce/index.html * in year +4 (four years in the future) * unspecified time during first half of the year * some weeks/months after WHO DARES WINS * some weeks/months before BLACK WEDDING * LAST WARNING * EXPLICIT SEX AHEAD NASTY, KINKY EXPLICIT SEX IN PARTS READ *ONLY* IF YOU TRULY WANT TO *** *************** * CHAPTER TWO * *************** *** I shouldn't be doing this. I lace up the front of my bustier, just tight enough that it presses my breasts together enticingly, making them bulge the slightest bit and offering the bare upper slopes to any viewer. Showing, teasing. Screaming out 'come and get them'. The reflection in the mirror on the wall shows me, Monet St Croix, in all my splendor. A black satin bustier hugging my torso, gloves -- similarly black satin -- running up my arms all the way to my biceps. From underneath a black leather miniskirt a pair of stockings run down my thighs and over my knees, disappearing into high-heel boots, also black leather. The additions to my wardrobe I had made when I became the Black Rook of the Hellfire Club might have been distasteful to me at the time, but now, well past midnight when every clothing store in the city is closed, I can only be thankful that I had acquiesced to their dress code. Underneath the skirt, I wear nothing. I'm already well moist, and as I watch myself in the mirror, I wonder if this is what Emma Frost feels like when she dresses as she does. Does she get little tingles running up her spine, thrilling her nerves and trying to seduce her to dress this way again and again and again? I can certainly understand how a lesser person like Emma could fail to resist the siren call. I will not fail. It's just this once. It's just this once, I keep telling myself as I move over to my desk, quietly sit down, and start adding the finishing touches to my make-up. Touching a bit of sinful black to my eyes, making sure the color of my blood-red lips stands out from my chocolate skin. Running a brush through my long, black, straight hair, making sure it is perfect and orderly. Then, I stand up. I walk over to the bed, and watch the man lying there, not making a sound to wake him. Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo de la Rocha. My chosen consort. Very carefully, my gloved hand reaches over to his sleeping form and brushes against his cheek. I love you, Manuel. I do, I swear to god. And I know you love me. But you love me too much. Too much to do what I need. Please forgive me. I need. I want. I yearn. I crave. Please forgive me. I leave. *** I'm back at the nightclub, sitting at the bar. I down a vodka shot, hoping to get less nervous, trying to get numb. I don't want to think. I need too much. Men look at me. They want my body. Some of them come over and hit on me. I turn them down. Some of them are intelligent enough to understand that 'no' means 'no'. One of them doesn't. He puts his hand onto my shoulder. I take his wrist in my hand and snap it like a twig. He screams and falls onto his knees onto the floor, sobbing and clutching his wrist. He won't be touching anyone without permission anytime soon. An hour passes, as does more vodka down my throat. I watch men, men watch me. It becomes painfully obvious that this is the wrong approach. The one man who dared to touch me, was too weak. They're all too weak. And why shouldn't they be? They're only human. It was a mistake to even come here in the first place. Maybe there's only one man who can help me. *** The city is already starting to wake up by the time I reach the Hellfire Club. Garbage trucks are exiting alleys, vans are stopping by newsstands and the drivers hop out to help the newsstand women get a pile of Daily Bugles out of the backs of the vans. The sun isn't going to rise for a few more hours yet, but every now and then a window lights up in one of the buildings surrounding me everywhere, informing me that yet another average person has woken up to yet another average New York day. It's not the safest hour for a woman as beautiful as me, dressed as provocatively as I am, to walk down Fifth Avenue. But I have no problems. Maybe the jackals of the human kind recognize that I am not a wounded antelope they could down, but an urban lion, queen of the concrete jungle. I am not scared. I am not worried. I can handle everything that comes my way. They know it, and they stay out of my way. Good for them. I reach the Club, and ascend the stairs to the heavy wooden double doors. My gloved hand comes out and grabs the knocker, rapping the heavy metal against the door for a few moments, in lieu of using the doorbell beside the doors. When in Rome, do as Romans do, after all. Fortunately for him, the servant takes less than a minute to arrive and open the door. Upon realizing it's me, the 18th-century-garbed man pulls the door wide open and bows to me, letting me inside. I enter, and pass through the foyer into the at-present empty main assembly hall which is used frequently as a ballroom. For a moment, I stop, and with a wave of my hand dismiss the servant who had come to open the door. Then, I ascend the stairs to the balcony overlooking the hall, and from there, disappear into the corridor leading towards the chambers of the Lords' Cardinal. *** Some moments later I'm at the door to the Black King's chambers. I wonder if he's awake or not. Whether I should knock or not. After a few moments of consideration, I rap my knuckles against the door. I've always been a proponent of simplicity and the direct route, rather than making everything unnecessarily complicated. It takes a while, and I start getting impatient. I'm about to decide that he is in too deep a sleep to wake up, and prepare to remove the orange flame-shaped plexiglass shading from around the light bulb pretending it's a torch on the corridor wall beside the door, in order to dismantle the bulb and tear a little bit off the metal base to pick the door's lock. Just as I start towards the faux-torch on the wall, the door opens and one of the servant girls in her french maid uniform looks out with a faint, "Yes...?" "Leave", I simply tell her, pointing a finger down the corridor to send her on her way. "You are no longer needed." She hesitates a moment. I narrow my eyes the slightest bit, and she almost jumps slightly. With a quick nod, and a "Yes, mam'selle", she strides off, and disappears into the darkness of the corridor. I watch after her for a few moments, and then enter the chambers, closing the door behind me. "Mary? Who is it?" his voice calls out from the study. I don't answer. Instead, I walk over, through the living room, to the door to the study, and stand there silently, in the empty doorway, my feet spread a little and my arms crossed over my chest to show my strength in the posture. He is sitting behind his desk, a tray of breakfast on it beside two low piles of papers. As I show up in the doorway, he looks up, quirking an eyebrow and putting down the dossier in his hand onto the other pile of papers. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, instead reaching for the steaming cup of coffee on the tray and bringing it to his lips. After taking a long sip, seemingly unbothered by the heat of the drink, he places the cup back down on the tray. "I only have coffee for one", he says. Roberto Da Costa is nothing if not capable of paying attention to the most irrelevant little details. Maybe that is why he is such a thriving businessman and leader. Maybe all those little details aren't so irrelevant after all. "I didn't come here to have breakfast", I reply, and walk over to the desk and around it, stopping beside his chair. I sit down onto the edge of the desk, and cross my legs, the tight miniskirt sliding up a bit as I do so. "Does Amara know?" "I don't know what you're talking about, Black Rook", he answers calmly, picking up a paper from the left-hand pile and thoughtfully eyeing it for a few moments as if my words hadn't bothered him in the least. But if they hadn't, he wouldn't have used my Hellfire rank to address me -- a way to tell me that he's in charge here, and that my thoughts don't matter. Good. I smile a bit. My hand reaches down to his lap, and feels through his pants, finding his erection hard, causing it to pulse against my hand. "I guess she didn't finish", I smirk knowingly. "Maybe I should have come five minutes later." He grips my wrist firmly, and removes my hand from his lap. "I don't appreciate your insinuations", he says sharply, narrowing his eyes a bit. "Remember -- I *made* you Black Rook, Monet. I can just as easily *un*make you. Be careful about what you say, and to whom." "And if I don't?" I smile sweetly at him, tilting my head a bit. "I'm willing to wager that the loss of the woman you are about to marry will hurt you a lot more than me losing my position in the Inner Circle." He still holds my wrist, but I use my other hand instead, placing it onto his cheek and stroking lightly. "I'm not in love with my position. I can do with or without it. It is merely a status symbol, proof of my superiority over the masses. But you --" I grin widely. "I think you have real feelings for Amara, even if you cheat on her." "You have no proof", he replies, still an unwavering rock in spite of my veiled threat. "Besides, if you want to accuse someone of being unfaithful, I suggest you look in your own bed first." My eyes blink, and for a moment, I feel cold sweat. "What -- do you mean?" I ask with a slightly constricted throat, managing to maintain a calm expression though my smile is long gone. "I mean that men like me and de la Rocha will not stay faithful", he says as he stands up and looks down at me with a serious expression. "It is not in our nature. If you think otherwise, you are deluding yourself. Amara accepts me for who I am." He picks up his coffee, and slowly finishes all of the drink left in the cup, before putting it back down onto the tray. "Can you say the same about Empath?" "He's not like that", I snap, my nose wrinkling as a bit of anger rises within me. "He loves me." "And I love Amara", he says, picking up an orange from the tray and starting to peel it casually. "Your point?" "Take that back!" I snarl, my hand shooting out to his throat and slamming him back against the wall, causing the wooden paneling to crack as his body crashes to it. "He wouldn't do that to me!" His eyes narrow instantly as I grab him, and his hand grabs my wrist once again. This time, his chocolate-brown skin turns obsidian black in a flare of energy, and I let out a brief scream of pain before biting down on my lip as he twists my wrist, just short of breaking it, forcing me to my knees in one simple gesture. "Never attack me, Monet", he says calmly. "I am stronger than you, my powers are more versatile, and no matter *how* ruthless you think yourself to be -- I promise you, I am even more so." "He...wouldn't do that to me..." I groan while trying to fight away the pain from my wrist, arching my back slightly to try to get to a better position to lessen the pressure on the wrist. "Maybe not", he says, and just like that, releases my wrist. I let out a little gasp of relief, and lightly grasp the wrist with my unhurt hand, rubbing the aching spot lightly. "How about you?" I look up at his question a bit defensively, and feel an arrow of guilt blast through my heart. "It's none of your business, Roberto", I say, more sharply than I had intended, while slowly getting back up onto my feet, avoiding his eyes by looking down at my hurting wrist. "And my and Amara's business is yours, then?" he asks, taking my chin in his hand and lifting my face up to force me to look at him. "I don't think you're much better than me, Monet. Dressed like that, out until sunrise without de la Rocha, feeling me up --" He lets go of my chin and shrugs. "I am the *last* person to judge a person by their sexual proclivities, but don't pretend you're better than me, Monet, because you're not." I am. "I --" am. I *am*! Damn him! "I'm not like you!" I snap, and grit my teeth in frustration. "You're just like everyone else, doing what you want, filling your every desire! I'm not like that!" I have *control*! I'm better than him! Better than anyone! And yet, I *need*. But I can control it. I can. I'm not just anyone! "Aren't you?" he says, and places his hands onto my hips, pulling my body against his. I can feel his hardness press against me, and a little gasp escapes my lips as I become acutely aware of the wetness within me. "Then tell me to stop, Monet", he whispers as he starts laying light kisses onto the side of my neck. Little shivers crawl over my skin as his lips touch me again and again. I close my eyes, and bite my bottom lip hard for a moment, before pushing away from him, turning my back towards him and hugging myself in silence. "You can't, can you?" he says as he walks up behind me, and nuzzles the back of my head, while one of his hands lifts the hem of my skirt up slightly and starts feeling my inner thigh, exploring me and sending a little moan from my throat as I crave the touch to move higher. His hand finds the dampness on my skin as it moves up my thigh and I can feel the amusement in his voice as he whispers, "Impressive" into my ear. Then, his fingers find my sex, and my whole body goes rigid at his touch, my breath catching in my throat. A few heartbeats pass, and then a fingertip presses against my clitoris. I cry out sharply as my body spasms once strongly against his. "No!" I shout, and push away from him before the pleasure becomes too much to bear. I flee to the other side of the desk from him, and breathe quickly, too quickly, and try to calm myself down. I'm not like this. I need. I crave. No, I don't. I do. I don't. I do, but I can control. No. Yes. No. Yes. My mouth is dry. My eyes, wide. So many sensations, feelings, tearing at me. I'm Monet St Croix. Not just anyone. I won't give in. I won't. I won't descend to everyone else's level... "Feels good, doesn't it?" he says as he circles the desk and comes over to me. I back down as he approaches, trying to not look at the bulge in his pants, instead fixing my eyes onto his calm, confident ones, and trying to look every bit as self-assured as he seems. "I don't want it", I whisper hoarsely, just as I bump into the corner behind me, having nowhere else left to back down to. My breathing keeps getting faster and more shallow as he approaches, and then stops only a few inches from me. Touch me. I need. I crave. Please. Don't. He watches me for a few moments, and then shrugs. "All right", he says and I blink in confusion. "Far be it from Roberto Da Costa to force himself upon a woman." No! Damn him! Curse him and his moral code! Those lips, I want to grab him and kiss him until we pass out from exhaustion. I want to throw him on the floor and ride him hard until I orgasm screaming. I want my body to spasm in climax until I pass out from exhaustion. I want, I want, I want. I *crave* -- he can't do this to me! "I knew it", I whisper, and force a little sneer onto my face. My body is still trembling ever so slightly in need, but I manage to look confident, as I start towards the door out of the study. "You're too weak to silence me. Let's see how weak Amara will be when she hears about the maid --" His hand grabs my shoulder, and slams me against the wooden paneling of the wall. He presses his body against mine, pinning me between him and the wall. Narrowing his eyes, he takes my chin in his hand. "You will not tell Amara", he says sharply. "You can't stop me", I smile and slide my hand down his abdomen into his pants, taking his hard erection in my hand and stroking it very slowly and gently for a few moments. "Let's see if we can get this thing to stay a bit more faithful from now on." "This is none of your business", he says, and grabs my throat roughly, lifting me up by it and choking me slightly. "Stay out of our business, Monet, and I will forget this little incident." Then, he throws me down onto the floor and heads back towards his desk. "Now leave." I won't. I won't go until I get what I came here for. My face draws to a slightly angry expression at the opening he gives me to leave. If he won't give me what I need, I'll have to *take* it. "Coward", I hiss and he stops dead in his tracks. "Too afraid to do what needs to be done." With that, I grab his ankle, and with a quick yank, he thuds down to the floor beside me. "And what 'needs to be done', Monet?" he growls as he comes atop me, placing his hands onto my cheeks, his thumbs under my jaw. "You want me to kill you so you can't talk?" His hold tightens slightly and I grit my teeth as I draw a sharp hiss of breath. "It isn't worth it. Like I said, Amara accepts who I am. I am merely trying to be discreet so as to not hurt her needlessly. I won't lose her, no matter what you do. And you're a valuable pawn. I have no desire to kill you." 'Then teach me a lesson!', I want to shout out, but instead, I roll us around, coming atop him, my expression still angry. I press my hips roughly down against his, letting him feel the heat and wetness between my legs through his pants against his erection. I can feel him throb as I press against him, and his breath quickens slightly. Again, we roll around, this time initiated by him as he regains control. "I think you're just jealous of the maid", he hisses into my ear, before biting down onto my neck roughly. I cry out as a little pain courses through my body, but only causes my breathing to quicken and the heat between my legs to grow. I want to wrap my arms and legs around him and pull him into me, but I'm in control. I won't. I won't rut like an animal. I don't want this. I don't. I need, but I can control myself. My blood rushes in my throbbing ears, but even through the rush that seems almost deafening, I can hear him undo his pants. I try to stop my thighs from spreading slightly, but they seem to have a will of their own. My head swims in dizziness, my lungs are breathing too quickly to manage to extract the oxygen my body needs. I can tell him to stop -- tell him to stop in just a few moments -- "ARRRGH!" I shout as he fills me with his shaft, just the inthrust sending me into my first climax in years, the first powerful spasm wracking my body before he is even fully sheathed in me. My eyes go black for an eyeblink as the furious spasms interfere with my circulation and almost make me pass out. Sweat breaks all over my skin, and I sniffle amidst my cries of pleasure, as tears run wildly down my cheeks. My heart is wracked with agony every single moment of the orgasm, as I know I should push him off me and try to stop the sensations, stop all of this, but it feels so good I *can't* -- I've failed. As the orgasm starts to finally pass, and my head starts to clear, I sniffle quietly. I had managed so long -- so *long* -- without losing the battle, letting my desires control me...and here I am now, with a man inside me, and I *let* him enter me... I should've stopped him, should've said 'no'... Shudders run through my body as he gives rough pushes against me, finding his pleasure in my tight sex. I feel every part of my body tingle, from my scalp to my toes. It feels so good -- "No." "What?" he grunts into my ear, his thrusts gradually growing a bit heavier. "I don't want this", I whisper, my hands brushing the tears away from my eyes and cheeks. "Get off me, Roberto -- please?" "You're *kidding*", he gasps, and gives a few quick thrusts against me that make my stomach muscles clench and a warm heat radiate to every corner of my body. "Stop -- *now* --?" I feel another orgasm starting to build within me, and I quickly put my hands to his chest, and push him off me completely, feeling him slide out of me as I wriggle out from underneath him. "I can't --" I say with a slightly raspy voice, my throat dry and raw from the shouting I did during my orgasm. And I feel so empty. God, it's like that one orgasm had only enflamed my need further, not diminished it. All I can think of is how empty I feel inside, and how much I need him back within me, thrusting, pushing, filling me hard and fast and -- A shudder runs through my body. I notice my fingers are between my legs, and I'm touching myself. So is he, having his erection in hand and stroking it slowly while watching me with an incredulous look. If I could only tell him to -- If he would just -- I bite my lip, and hesitate a moment. Then, I lock my eyes with his, and in that moment, sneak into his mind with my telepathic abilities. It turns out to be an immense mistake. His surface thoughts are so strongly dominated my his need for me that it shoots a powerful tingle through me and a muffled cry escapes my body's lips, as my mind continues to sift through his in that one frozen eyeblink of time. So much control. So much rigid self-discipline. It amazes me how similar we are in that. But he doesn't use that to bar himself from sex. He uses it for completely different things. Such as maintaining his macho concept of 'honor'. The main reason why he repeatedly insists on stopping if I tell him to. Then, I find something else in his mind, and I pause. Then I manipulate it. Throw a switch in his mind. I retreat from his mind a few moments later, and pray I didn't make a huge mistake. Back in the world of flesh, the eyes of my body come back to focus, still watching into his, only a fraction of a second having passed. His eyes flare a bright red as he watches me, and I feel a bit of nervousness creep into me, my heart starting to thump a bit quicker as I push myself back against the wall of the study as if trying to inch away from him. "You're not going anywhere", he says in a voice that hits my ears like a whipcrack, my breathing quickening as he stands up, towering over my form for a moment before his hand reaches down, grabs my throat, and yanks me up. "You've invaded my privacy. Threatened me. Annoyed me. Teased and taunted me. It's time to pay the price", he hisses as his muscular body presses against mine, pinning me against the wall. "No", I whimper softly, kissing his ear and pleading gently even while my heart thrills with electric sensations from the feel of his sculpted statuesque body, an incredible departure from Manuel's more average one. "Please don't?" "The time for pleas is over, Monet", he hisses as his hands slide to my thighs, lifting them up to straddle his hips as his pulsing erection nudges against my labia and then rams hard into me, bringing a loud groan from both our lips, muffled when his lips press against mine and kiss me harshly. I try to move my head, pull away from the kiss, but his mouth follows me, holding the contact while I whimper and squirm against him as he throbs within me. Finally, he breaks the kiss, his lips sliding down to the side of my neck, licking and giving little hard bites, every touch of his teeth sending little shivers up my spine, my eyes rolling back as I try to weakly push him off me. "Roberto, please --!" I plead, placing my hands onto his chest and trying to push him off. A flare of black energy crackles around him as he turns into his coal-black solar-powered form, stronger than even my prodigious muscles. "You've sown the wind, Monet", he growls as he starts pumping against me, pulling back and then roughly slamming back into me, again and again and again and stroking so wonderfully and every push making my back arch minutely. "Now reap the whirlwind!" "Roberto, no!" I cry out as I feel the makings of a little climax stir up somewhere around my lower abdomen. A sob flows from my throat, my eyes starting to moisten up again as if I was so wet inside that my soaking sex wasn't enough outlet for all the heat within me. "Don't! Let me go!" I shout, my hands pushing against his chest but in vain, my body starting to squirm as the orgasm forces its way closer, my thighs involuntarily tensing and clenching around his hips as the edges of my vision start darkening. "NNNNGHHHH!" I moan loudly, gritting my teeth as my body arches spastically, powerful shudders shooting through me as every neuron in my body fires up, a golden bright glow burning up every single synapse in my nervous system that's lit up like a christmas tree with pleasure and bliss. He doesn't stop as I orgasm, his erection still pumping hard and fast into me and making me pant like a dog dying of thirst on a hot summer day, another orgasm building up before the former has even properly subsided. "NO!" I cry out as his shaft rubs against my clitoris on the instroke, blanking my mind as another climax tears through me, my body arching furiously, my fingers digging into his back. My consciousness hovers somewhere on the dark banks of the Lethe, poised to black out and forget everything, as he yanks me off the wall and lays me down onto the floor, letting his weight fall atop me. A weak shout comes from my lungs as the push penetrates me deep, stabbing all the way to my core as I quiver around and underneath him. "Please..." I sob, my tear-drenched cheeks tightening in strain as little spasms course through my body. The response hits me like a piledriver, as his hips begin ramming against mine, my eyes snapping wide open and a strangled cry coming from my throat as my body strains against his, my fingers clawing his back. I feel his shirt rip to shreds and my nails gouge little gashes into his chocolate skin, warm blood starting to leak out of him. He hisses, and retaliates by only forcing himself into me all the faster, all the rougher. I start crying uncontrollably, screaming, sobbing, whimpering, gasping, moaning, shivering and arching against him, my legs tightening around his waist spastically, time and time again as he forces me into one orgasm after another without giving me the option to decline. My throat is hoarse, it feels like a red hot cheese grater had been ripped out through it. Somewhere in a dank corner of the tar pit my superior mind has devolved into, I can vaguely sense him turning me onto my stomach, by now all my incredible strength ebbed away by the exhaustion of one orgasm after another and having left me too weak to resist as he violates me from behind, taking me as he pleases without a thought spared to my feelings, my desires. Low rumbling grunts issue from his throat, one following another to the same rhythm of his ferocious pushes into me. They remind me of when I was seven, and father had taken me into a zoo. In front of the lion cage had I stopped, and never wanted to leave. The way they roared, growled, rumbled and glared -- no one could deny that they were masters of all they surveyed, dominating everything with their sheer presence, able to take whatever they wanted without being challenged. He pulls out. I'm limp putty in his rough hands as they hold my hips firmly, preventing me from slumping completely down to the floor. I don't care anymore, I don't have the physical or mental strength to do anything but yield and moan with every touch and gesture of his. Then, my eyes widen as I feel the head of his erection press against my anus. I gasp, tighten, and suddenly feel my muscles strengthen with an adrenaline rush. I buck, strain, squirm and try to move this way and that to escape, but he's too strong. His hands hold my hips in place, and he mercilessly drives himself into me, roaring in his dominant pleasure as a jolt of pain reminiscent of the loss of my virginity flashes through me. My mind becomes a whirlpool of different colors. Pain, pleasure, shame, relief, different sensations burning my nerve endings and my mind to the darkest corners of my subconscious. Every last iota of energy reserves left in my body is expended in a stellar detonation, a supernova exploding in my every cell. I feel the floor crunch and crumble as my fingers spasm. And then, there's nothing. *** What happened? My eyes flutter open. I'm lying on a floor. A memoryflash of my father and lions blinks through my mind. The room doesn't look familiar. I move a bit, and wince as a little pain radiates from between my legs. A groan reaches my ears, and my head snaps around to glance over my shoulder and see Roberto Da Costa slowly rising to his feet behind me, doing up his pants. Everything comes flooding back into my head and my cheeks ignite in a red hot blaze. What have I done? What have I *done*? Swallowing, I lower my eyes to the floor and curse myself for a few silent moments. I feel my cheeks still moist with tears, and I feel more tears slowly rising within me. I stand up, still avoiding looking in his direction, and find my legs shaky underneath me, not to mention a little pain slowly pulsing between them. I feel the urge to hide my face in my hands, but that wouldn't be worthy of me. Monet St Croix hides from no one. My cheeks still burning, I straighten out my skirt, pulling it back down to cover me up. With a deep breath, I straighten my posture to what it should be, and turn towards the door, walking away and ignoring the semen slowly running down my thigh. He calls my name once, calmly. I don't stop, don't turn back, don't even so much as look at him. I walk away with equal calm and silence, trying to appear as close to my usual self as I can. *** He forced me. Really. I didn't do it. I'm not a weak person, not an animal. I'm Monet St Croix, and I deny orgasm. They are for lesser people who can't live without devolving themselves to a bestial level and gorging themselves on pleasure. *I* am *refined*. Cultured. Civilized. I don't eat until I can eat no more. I don't have sex until I orgasm. He forced me. Forced the orgasms down my proverbial throat and gave me no choice. I am not to blame. I am not responsible. The water fills my ears with white noise as it drums onto my skin. Caresses and strokes my weary, aching muscles, slowly helping me relax. I lean my forehead against the steamed-up glass wall of the shower booth as I just let the water wash all over me, rinse away all the filth and run it down the drain along with all my guilt. An hour later, I'm still in the shower. I've gradually turned the temperature of the water up all the way, and it's burning every last trace of tonight away with the scalding heat that few other people could endure for a few seconds, let alone minutes upon minutes upon minutes. Finally, I turn the shower off, and slide open the glass door, stepping out. The steam is thick and billowing in the bathroom, almost a fog obscuring from view anything more than a few feet away. I grab a towel from the wall and dry off every last bit of myself before putting it away and instead ensheathing myself in my red silk bathrobe. I leave the bathroom, and walk over to the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. I don't look at Manuel. My fingers play nervously with the sash of the robe, twisting and twining it around them in complex patterns. Hesitantly, I slip the robe off, put it over the back of a chair, and slip into bed to lie beside the soundly sleeping Manuel. He doesn't even stir as my weight rocks the bed slightly. My back is turned to him as I force my eyes closed and rest my head on the pillow, hugging myself quietly and curling up in a fetal position. ***