chapter: Pilot: the rape
Britta felt a surge of emptiness as if her lover had pulled out abruptly during coition. He could come and go as he pleased expecting her to be available whenever he returned. His game was becoming brutal.
Is this in my favor at all? She sighed.
She pledged not to rely on him too much. But it was winter, and she needed him. The depths she craved, the darkness she desired had not been satisfied. She understood she fit somehow with him because in the beginning when he fucked her, no matter how sensitive or violent, she emerged in love, and wouldn’t have minded at all if she died of it.
Charles had touched the core of her. She believed now that she had been visited by a virtual corporeal body that overpowered her. He twisted his words inside her brain and his tongue inside her cunt with extraordinary power.
Could she ever find that with a mortal lover? She propped herself and sat up abruptly, plumping her pillow with her fist, clutching her cell phone.
Britta found Pilot’s number and recklessly hit the call button. She was relieved when he didn’t answer, and she didn’t leave a message.
Why the hell would I want to speak to some cowboy I hardly know when I have never even spoken a single word to Charles? She wondered if Charles is as tender and intimate as she imagined?
It doesn’t matter, she admitted. She knew it was far too presumptuous to aspire to his physical presence in a world outside this room, and was no more likely that she might hear his actual voice.
Her phone buzzed. Hello?
A man’s husky voice, like father’s, Good evening dear. Are you alone tonight, Cal girl?
She faked a sleepy yawn, Ummm yes, I mean no.
Mind if I come by darlin’? I’d love to see to you, he said in his silky drawl.
Britta would never feel safe compromising her boundaries. This little room was private. The only man who’d ever stepped into it was Jacques. Nevertheless, she felt an urge to be kind to Pilot. It was because of the money, damn it! And something else…the haunting image of an erudite father reasserting himself, and she becomes small again and betrays herself.
She guessed he wouldn’t have the balls to meet her in daylight. I guess we could have coffee at the cyber cafe in the morning, she offered.
Pilot gave a gruff little laugh, Sure Cal girl, that’d be just fine. How ‘bout Cowboy’s Casino instead?
He was aiming for the joint where he could have his mid-morning drink.
No. I have a full day tomorrow.
He guffawed, Ah, all right he conceded smoothly, I need to be in Hamilton to look at a mare tomorrow anyhow.
Britta had a fitful sleep but awoke to the scent of yeast and cinnamon. Jacques, god bless him, was back in the bakery today.
She would wear something slumpy and unattractive. She tromped down the stairs her long red hair flying wildly.
Jacques smiled standing there in his chef’s coat. He handed her the usual white paper bag. She came around the counter and hugged him snuggly, I’m so sorry about your uncle.
He just shrugged, I need to speak with you mon cher.
Britta nodded, Oh sure Jacques, I’ll be home by noon. If you’re not in the bakery I’ll knock on your door.
He smiled slightly and nodded. His eyes seemed lined and somber when he turned away.
She slumped into her backpack as she stepped out gripping the white bag between her teeth. She trod carefully on the thick ice. Even with her heavy boots she slipped crossing the street, and grabbed the tail end of a pickup truck parked by curb and righted herself. She ate the croissant while walking the two blocks to the cafe, licking chocolate from her fingers. She thought about Jacques and felt guilty because she didn’t stop and have their morning talk. Everything felt wrong about this morning.
Britta wanted to get to the cafe early. Buy her own coffee, and get rid of Pilot after she thanked him for the money. She felt that was all she owed him. She was all settled in at the table in front of the cafe window when he arrived.
Pilot’s beefy truck and horse trailer pulled up on the far side of the street. It took up most of four parking spaces. She watched his western boot, then his long leg hit the ground. He placed his hat on his head and slammed the door.
He entered the cafe stomping ice from his boots. His fleece lined coat made him look thick and rugged. He was tugging off his heavy calfskin gloves when he caught her eye with a sidewise grin, examining her speculatively. She could almost hear the wheels spinning when he started toward her stuffing his gloves in a pocket.
You started without me. I was hoping to take you up to the log restaurant for a real honest to goodness rancher’s breakfast. His lips curled, but his smile didn’t come. He looked older in the bright morning light, but his ruggedness enhanced his good looks. His eyes were a pale khaki with spots of amber.
She smiled, holding up her mug, Thanks, but I already ate, and pointed to the chair across from her, please sit.
He ordered a coffee, black. Pulled out the cushioned metal chair and sat down hard. His left hand was flat on the table. His gold band glinted in the sunshine. He dragged his hand down to his lap when he saw her glance at it.
Britta, my dear, it shore is a pleasure to see you, sweetheart.
Pilot, I just wanted a chance to thank for what you did Saturday night, then I really need to run.
Ah shit, it was nothin’ he said, trying to touch her hand.
No, it wasn’t nothing, I was able to frame my photographs for the gallery show. It meant a lot to me.
He reached out with his right hand and patted hers. His eyes moved over her face, You’re a real beautiful girl, Britta. And I’m glad you got some use out of my casino winnings. Most girls woulda spent it on jewelry or put it all back in the slots, that’s for sure.
Me, I’m just an old rancher; don’t know what a gal from California wants. You just tell me, girl. Anything you want, I can make it happen.
I like to pay my own way, thanks anyway.
He scratched his chin, leaning back, I do admire me a woman who stands on her own two feet.
He sighed an exasperated nod and threw some cash on the table. Let’s get out of here.
Britta grabbed her backpack off the chair, sorry Pilot I have an appointment at the gallery right now.
He screeched back his chair and stood, Ah c’mon, at least let me drive you back to wherever you’re going, it’s damn cold out there! He took hold of her arm, pulling her toward him.
I guess you could let me out at the gallery, the manager is waiting for me, she lied.
He was hunkering into his jacket and gloves while Britta did the same. He plucked his hat off the rack and held the door open. Britta followed him out to the sidewalk.
Seeing the Cowboy sauntering over to his massive truck, Britta had a moment of inspiration. She pulled her camera out of her pack, Say cheese.
He took a stance, posing like a proud horseman against his prized wheels. She knew the photo would fit into her Hamilton portfolio for the show at the gallery.
She climbed into the passenger side of the giant cab with the help of his strong hand on her elbow. He jumped in, got the engine roaring and took off around the corner then turned left onto the highway.
Wait! Where are you going?
Dang it girl, you made me forget about the mare. She’s just down the road here.
She pressed her feet down hard on the floor, as if she could stop the truck.
About a half mile out of town he turned right down a dirt road. They rumbled up to a barn with a corral full of horses. Pilot jumped out and came around to help her step down, like a gentleman would. Britta inhaled the sweet scent of the horses when they came trotting up to greet them.
Pilot steered her toward the door of the trailer. I want you to get a look at where my thoroughbreds ride. He slid the door open to an immaculate room with modern furnishings, a sofa, and full kitchen that backed up to the cab.
This is for horses?
He laughed hard. Naw girl, this is for us! Our horses ride behind in their own heated living room. This here is the luxury model. When I take the animals up North I’ve got my own hotel in tow. C’mon up little lady, see for yerself. He closed the door behind them, and switched on a light.
Oh, wow, I see. Listen, Pilot, where’s that mare you’re picking up?
He stepped forward grasping her upper arm, You’re my little filly for today, Cal girl!
She backed toward the door, her green eyes disbelieving. She tried to shake his big hand from her arm. No! I’m not…stop kidding me!
His eyes were dripping lust. She knew it as well as she’d known anything in her life, his bulging eyes, that turned on lethal need on father’s face. She took another big step backward hitting the door hard. She turned and tried the handle but it wasn’t budging.
He stood there smiling, undisturbed.
Damn it, Pilot, let me out now!
He grasped her by her hair, come on little Britta, you’re goin’ nowhere , cuz yore gonna get broke now.
He dragged her down to the trailer hanging on to her hair while she twisted and clawed at his hands. She clung to his hand to prevent him tearing her hair out.
He slid a door open with one hand and pushed her inside. He shut the door behind them. The space was approximately fifteen feet long with hooks on the walls, harnesses, and ropes hanging from them ominously. She warned herself not to fight because whenever she fought father, and she always did, she suffered more. She took herself into the meditations of childhood now. This would not be Charles, whom she loved, or a friendly fuck like Jacques, or Steve. This would be a rape and a very dangerous one.
She remained stoic when he held her down against the wall with the flat of his hand against her shoulder. He wrapped her hair around a hook on the wall above her head and tied a long piece of leather from the bridle around it. She couldn’t move her head without great pain.
When she reached up trying to untie her hair he caught her hands one at a time and held them. She kicked, catching him in the calf with her heavy boot.
Oooooh, I like a gal who fights.
Ha ha, you fucker, not funny, let me go!
He pulled a flask from his pocket, tipped it up, swallowing the entire contents in one long gulp. I’ll let ya go if ya just give me a little pleasure first. He was rolling his eyes, licking his lips like a sick puppy.
He unzipped her jacket and let it slide to the floor. Then tied another bit of leather around each of her wrists and held her arms out at waist level and wound the strips to the long bar that ran the length of the wall. He bent down, wrapping his forearm around her knees. Using another strap he hogtied her ankles around her boots and tethered the strap to the wall, then he stood up admiring his work.
Come on Pilot, you don’t need to do this, I’ll be good, honestly.
You ungrateful little bitch, I’ll give ya what you deserve, teach ya a lesson…what you need is a good fuckin’!
Britta let out an involuntary scream, her voice rattled and raspy…Someone help me!
He hit her face hard with his fist. She felt blood springing up insider her nose, a stream was draining down her throat and onto her lips. It tasted metallic and salty.
He put his hand over her mouth, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and stepped in closely, his whiskey scented breath in her face. I don’t want to gag you because I want to kiss those rosie lips, so shut up. Nobody can hear you anyhow.
He mopped up the blood, and tied the handkerchief around her mouth loosely. He said, holding her chin between his thumb and finger, If you behave, you stubborn filly, I’ll get rid of it.
She tried to nod, her eyes beseeching his, but her head was too taut against the wall. He pulled the kerchief down and let it hang around her neck.
He tried to remove her wool turtleneck, but her hands were tied. Exasperated, he strutted out to the living area and came back in pulling a large hunting knife from a sheath. She screamed again. He slapped her across her left cheek with his heavy wrist, and grasped her chin hard. Shut the fuck up!
He used the knife to slice open her wool sweater, tossing the pieces onto the floor. He stood up, arching his back, removed his jacket and stretched. He was angry now. Britta didn’t want him angry.
The hunting knife lay on the floor like a promise and a threat. She was more afraid of the blade than of him raping her. She would let him have his way if it saved her life.
Britta couldn’t control her shivering. Her light T-shirt didn’t provide much warmth, and her head was aching from the tautness of her hair. She began to cry.
He searched her eyes. I’m gonna turn some heat on in here so we can get naked. He grinned raising his eyebrows, like “won’t that be fun?”. He left her and walked into the living quarters, shutting the door behind him.
After a while, Britta felt the warm air. She was grateful. When he returned she begged him to untie her hair.
She guessed it turned him on, knowing she was in pain and immediately wished she hadn’t said it. She tried to imagine this as a virtual submission like with Charles. She didn’t believe Charles would ever want her to be in real or virtual pain because he was into pleasure, hers, and his.
Britta believed Pilot was not above harming her. Some men can’t abide the word no from a woman. It makes them crazy violent. Psychology was her only friend right now. She challenged herself to beat Pilot at his own game.
“Ever the obstinate one”, as father always said. He called her stubborn when she didn’t let him diddle her. Usually she ran from him. She was able many times to escape father just by picking up the phone, or running across the street to grandmother’s house for refuge. Nobody knew what she went through, and they still don’t want to hear it.
Pilot ignored her plea and stomped into the other room again, closing the door. Britta needed to hang her head, to rest it, but it would tear out of her head if she dared to relax. She closed her eyes, the blood still draining down her throat.
Britta’s eyes opened when Pilot returned wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants. His feet were bare. I had a hot shower. Wished you could of joined me, Cal girl. He kissed her lips. Promise to untie your hair if you don’t bite my tongue, little wild thang?
She stared into his crazed eyes, Un huh, she agreed. He looked more vulnerable when he peeled his shirt off. His arms were muscled, his furry chest broad, his waist tight and conditioned except for a slight paunch. His shaggy gray hair was still damp from the shower and smelled of fresh grass.
Britta hadn’t bathed since last night’s sex with Charles. She guessed it didn’t matter a bit to Pilot. She laughed to herself, knowing it didn’t matter to Charles either. She felt giddy. She was that frightened.
What are you snickering at?
Nothing, just hoping to have my head free soon. She stuck out her tongue. He laughed out loud. He leaned in with both hands on the wall next to her head and tried to push his tongue in her mouth. She allowed him, eyes closed.
Open them eyes! he demanded. She obeyed.
That’s better, now I’m gonna lick you all over, baby girl. She almost protested because of his promise to release her hair. But she held her tongue.
He stepped back eyeing her body from top to bottom. His erection was poking through his sweats stiffly. He took hold of it through the cloth. You’re gonna beg me to ride this before the day is over.
Britta smiled. I believe you. I want it in my mouth.
Her words inflamed him. He approached her rubbing his hard cock up against her groin. She moaned. He was contemplating how he’d get his erect cock into her mouth. His only option was to untie her. She sensed him change his mind. He settled on sticking it up her cunt.
He lifted her soft cotton tee, and peeled it above her breasts, fondled her nipples one at a time, chewing, and sucking. She made pleasurable sounds when he bit one nipple and pinched the other between his fingertips.
Oh baby girl, I love your boobies. He nurtured himself. His bites were fierce. By the time he stepped back his hard-on was massive. He dropped his pants and stood admiring Britta while he stroked himself.
Salivating now, he stepped up and yanked her leggings down, exposing her bare legs and sex. He moved forward trying to force his cock between her thighs. He was holding his engorged member in his fist trying to part her vaginal lips, murmuring, I wanna get it nice an’ juicy. He was frustrated because her legs were tied up too high and he couldn’t plunge himself into her. He stood back and ordered Britta to spread her legs. She couldn’t.
God damn it! I need those legs spread! He paced around in a drunken, muddled trance.
He left the room and came back with a pint of whiskey. He sipped it, then put his mouth over Britta’s spitting it into her mouth. Wanna get drunk with me, little kitty? She swallowed it to please him.
He downed the rest, then came at her fiercely. I’m gonna untie your feet so we can fuck. If I untie your hair will ya behave yerself and not kick me? Pilot was obviously used to horses, not women. Britta bet he knew how to break them alright.
She licked her lips, tasting dried blood. He took that for a yes. But first, he fell to his knees and crawled up to her, pushing his thick fingers into her semi wet pussy. She began to flow, a thick liquid dripping into his fingers and down her thighs. She was imagining he was Charles, his fingers, his sex, his possession of her.
Ah fuck! Damn girl…oh fuck! Pilot was mesmerized in his drunken reverie licking between her legs, his cravings growing wilder. He scrambled across the floor, found his knife and cut the ties from her hair.
Thank you, she weeped. The top of her head was on fire, and her nose and eyes were throbbing. He cut the ties around her boots so her legs were free too, but her hands were still tied to the rail.
He forced her legs apart. That’s better California, now we’re ready!
He unzipped her boots, and removed them, pulling her leggings away. She was standing in front of him nearly naked except for her knee high socks and her tee that was stuffed up around her underarms. He got on his knees and pulled both of her legs over his shoulders, supporting her weight. He planted his head between her thighs. He sipped and cooed and swallowed her sweet fluids hungrily. She helped him by pushing her hips forward, allowing his tongue to forge deeply.
Britta didn’t feel excited sexually, even though he was very good at it. She needed to keep his enthusiasm in force so she could stay focused. She encouraged his fill of her cunt, granting him all the necessary moans and groans in hope that he would get drunker and she might have a chance to flee.
He sat back on his haunches, wiping liquid from his mouth, and stroking his erection. He climbed up and forced it into her with great vigor, holding her legs around his hips. She yelped. He was big. All she could think of was to satiate him so he would let her go. She slammed against his blows. She was thinking, “Cum you bastard!”
Nothing seemed to phase Pilot. He pounded her for a long while, just getting harder and harder. He tried to twist her torso around to get to her ass. He found his knife again and ordered her, Don’t move!
When he cut the leather ties from her wrists he pulled her down to the floor. She lay there rubbing her wrists. Her arms were asleep. She rested while Pilot retrieved a cushion and a blanket. He watched her carefully. She didn’t dare move with the knife in his hand.
He barked, Lie down on your stomach! Over the cushion! She climbed over obediently. He folded the blanket and knelt on it for his own comfort, and wrapped his large hands around her hips. He pulled her forward so his tip was pressing against her anus.
She began to beg, please, use lubrication, or you’ll hurt me. She knew she could sue him for kidnapping and rape already, but this was frightening. When she did anal with Charles he was always careful to handle her cautiously. He was kind in consideration that the only real experience she’d had involving anal sex was with her husband who made her bleed badly.
Britta began to weep softly. No, please no!
God damn it! Listen girl, I don’t mean to hurt you. I just can’t help myself. If you don’t let me do this I’ll have to cut you, He glanced at the knife. Terror moved through her.
Pilot sighed loudly, got up and left the room.
Britta grabbed the knife and slid it under the cushion. She held it tightly in her right hand.
When Pilot returned he had a jar of petroleum jelly. He knelt down again and began massaging it over her butt hole pumping a finger in and out. Jesus Christ, what an ass! Gettin’ on my knees now, he warned.
He pulled her hips toward him slowly this time, letting his knob nudge her little by little. She felt his crown slip inside her. He was doing real good not forcing it, but after a while he couldn’t help himself. His breathing was getting deeper and more desperate.
Britta was terrified. She slipped up on her knees carefully, still grasping the knife. She was trying to take control of their motion to insure he wouldn’t go berserk. He was crying out now, crazed and loopy from the friction. She pulled lightly and squeezed, dropping back gently just like Charles taught her. She understood why he loved this so much and was grateful for the diversion.
Pilot yelled out, exploding his semen on her backside, he fell back and rolled. He was howling, catching his breath when Britta brought the knife to his face.
Don’t fucking move! He tried to snatch the blade but she lashed out and cut his wrist deep. He whimpered and rolled away. Britta found her jacket on the floor. She stood and got dressed fumbling with her leggings, getting her boots on. Pilot was grabbing at her feet, dripping blood over the wooden floor. You lil bitch. I’ll get you for this. He looked afraid and she was sure he was more afraid now than she was.
She held out the knife, jabbing it toward him, letting him experience how serious she was as she backed into the front of the trailer, slammed the sliding door and pushed the bar through it, locking him in. She put Pilot’s cell phone in her pocket, grabbed her backpack, but couldn’t figure out how to open the damn side door. She realize she could get into the cab, climbed up and grabbed the keys out of the ignition, and slid out the driver’s door. She threw the knife into the pasture and ran bloody hard all the way to the highway.