 |
|
|
Author: LolaLane
Title: Signature
They drove in silence. Jayne gazed blankly out the window, picking her
short nails, and Cary concentrated on the black road, on the black
moment they were both really staring at. He cleared his throat and cast
a couple of nervous glances at Jayne. “How are you going to tell him?”
he asked, looking away from her. She immediately fingered the skin
beneath her left ear, and cleared her throat. “I-I’m not,” she
whispered, “I mean I can’t. Not this. You don’t understand.” “You have
to tell him,” he insisted, focusing on her again, his eyes too moving
over her neck. She was silent. “Then I will tell him,” he made up his
mind right there, “he’s my best friend and I should have been paying
more attention.” She turned slowly toward him, the suggestion playing
across her face. She was considering it. “No,” she said, “He will be so
angry. I can’t ask you to get involved.” “If you can’t tell him, I
will,” Cary replied, thinking that it would give him a chance to calm
his friend down. That stupid girl. Why had he let her drink so much? She
didn’t know what was happening. Not really, anyway. Cary doubted though
that Luke would see it that way. The night was bottomless black and
loomed over the rural country road waiting, as it always did out here,
just a bit ahead, promising to swallow them away. Cary loved visiting
the farm and had been more than happy to oblige his friend and bring his
wife home from her ten year reunion. Luke, on business, had been unable
to attend and Cary had agreed to meet her at the school gym. He had
gotten there early and seen that Jayne was happily trashed, dancing and
reminiscing with old friends. Cary caught her up and danced with her,
then with best-friend-Alice, then cheerleader-Amanda and
student-council-secretary-Marie. When he found Jayne again, she was
surrounded by the entire football defense team, and the running back
with sucking salt off her neck. The men roared. Though their bulk had
moved a bit, they were still huge. Cary pushed hard through them and
caught Jayne by the wrist, pulling her sloppily through the booing
crowd. He could see a large, red welt on her neck that was quickly
purpling. “Come on, buddy! That’s our girl,” one fire hydrant of a man
slurred. “Getcher own,” his blotchy faced friend agreed. “That one’s
mine,” the running back corrected, menacingly, “In’t that right, Jaynie,
baby.” “Dave, I get’er next!” another howled, winking lewdly at her.
“Always were my sloppy seconds, Anderson,” Dave replied to a chorus of
oooohhhhhh!s. “You got it, Tyler,” she shouted right back, trying to
twist free of Cary. He was dumbstruck and shook her. “Take her, man,”
Dave called to Cary, surveying Jayne’s long, lean frame lasciviously,
“I’ve already been there.” The team cheered. “Jayne! You need coffee and
sleep,” Cary implored. She whined and glanced longingly back at the
team, who was lifting cheerleader-Amanda onto the bar and chanting, Take
it off! “Oh, HELL no, Jaynie,” Cary shook her again, and dragged her
bodily away. “No more fun,” she sighed, “You’re just like Luke.” “If I
were,” he reflected, angrily, “this never would have happened.” When
they pulled up the long, dark driveway, Jayne became very still. Cary
parked the car and faced her. She didn’t even blink; this stoic, silent
woman could not have been that shameless, drunken girl in high school.
She just couldn’t, Cary thought. But he knew the reason and he was
dreading having to momentarily meet it at the door. Luke saw the
headlights on the wall and felt his heart flutter, wondering how it had
gone. He knew that she had been nervous and he had wanted to be there
for her, but his plane had been delayed and other arrangements had had
to be made. He glanced out the window and saw that they were still
sitting in the car. His heart quickened and he went immediately for the
door. He could see her; she was twisting her short, black hair but not
meeting his eyes. Something was wrong. He was sure of it when Cary
stepped out of the car and approached him, leaving her inside. Jayne
watched Cary tell the whole story. It seemed so long ago, four hours,
ten years. It had all come back to her on the drive; she had been a
miserable girl in high school, and college. She had never known
self-worth, had never given herself value. She had offered and others
had taken. Until Luke. He changed all of it; he forced her to recognize
that she had value, to him at first. Then, to herself. It had all fallen
apart tonight when she had seen Dave. She touched the mark he had left
on her neck. She watched Luke’s jaw twitching; he was so handsome and
tall. He kept his hair very short because it grew so fast; she could see
the dark shadow of it on his cheeks and neck. His broad shoulders were
hunched and he was flexing his fingers into fists, agitatedly. She knew
he was breathing hard, in gulps, as he did when he was trying to control
himself. His eyes kept darting over to her and she looked away. She knew
that Cary would try to calm him. She also knew it wouldn’t work. She bit
her short nails even shorter. Cary placed one hand on Luke’s shoulder
and leaned into him, saying something low and measured. Luke’s eyes grew
wide and he turned bodily toward her, slapping Cary’s hand away. “You
did what!” he screamed at her through the windshield, taking long,
determined strides toward her. She shrank into the seat. “I’m sorry,
Luke,” she cried, locking the doors against his fury. He pounded on the
window. “Open it before I break it, god dammit!!” he shouted. She shook
her head. Cary took the keys from his pocket. “Wait, wait! You don’t
have to break it,” he said, sprinting over and fumbling with the lock.
As soon as the door was open, Luke was inside the car, hauling Jayne to
her feet and shoving her toward the house. He grabbed her suitcase in
one hand and her arm in the other and dragged both up the porch. Cary
was worried. “Luke,” he started, following them up the stairs, “Come on,
man. I told you she didn’t—“ “Shut up, Cary,” Luke spat, throwing her
suitcase through the door. It landed hard and opened, spilling the
entire contents onto the floor. He pushed her next through the foyer and
into the living room. She stumbled and landed on the couch, curled her
arms around her knees, trying to smooth her linen skirt and sweater.
“Luke,” Cary repeated, glancing at the trembling woman, who was clearly
scared witless and pitifully stroking her sore arm. “Cary!” he barked,
taking a deep, disgusted breath, “You don’t know anything about her.
What she has been and done; what she--.” He broke off and faced her
instead, “Tell him, you whore. TELL HIM!” She cried, tears spilling
freely down her face and said nothing. He grew angrier. Cary was
uncomfortable but couldn’t let himself leave them at this level of
crisis. “Let me see it,” Luke hissed. She couldn’t move, couldn’t stop
crying. He picked up a glass, the closest thing, and turned, throwing it
at the wall behind him. It shattered and Cary grabbed him. “TELL HIM!
TELL HIM!” Luke roared, shaking Cary off. “Luke!” Cary took every bit of
strength he had left and pushed his friend against the wall, pinning him
at the throat with his forearm, “You can not do this. Not like this.”
Luke knew, but he had to see the mark that some other man put on his
Jaynie; the same man that took advantage of her weakness. That
disgusting, fucking bastard. “Show me, god dammit,” he shouted at her
from behind Cary. She curled into herself. He felt like he would be
sick; he raged at how quickly everything they had been through together
had been broken, at how easily she could become that girl again. “You
want to be marked?” he screamed, throatily, breaking Cary’s hold and
throwing him to the ground. Luke grabbed the hairbrush from the open
luggage and strode toward her, violently. He pulled her to her feet and
wrapped his arm around her waist, forcefully, pulling the skirt up so
quickly and ferociously that the seam was shredded. She dug her hands
into his arm, trying to escape, but he felt nothing. Cary watched in
horror as Luke took the flat side of the brush to his wife’s ass,
slapping it viciously over her cheeks and thighs. She wailed, crying
harder and more jaggedly. She was frantic to push away from his
methodical assault, but he was relentless. Through her panties, Cary
could see the skin deepening pink, red, burn, bruise and smolder. She
was crying from a different place now, her body wracked with deep,
constant sobs. Luke threw the brush down, sickened and pushed her away.
She folded to the ground, no longer caring that Cary could see her. He
was silent witness, now; he didn’t move, sensing how tense the moment
was. Luke was sure that she would have been better than this. Their six
years together should have prepared her better. He would not make that
mistake a second time. He would show her that she was his and that no
one else mattered, no one else. If she really knew love, she would never
be susceptible to that fucking filth, he thought. He glanced at her,
quaking on the floor. He went quickly to their bedroom, knowing she
would stay, but not wanting to prolong this any more. Cary inwardly
shuddered when he saw Luke return with a fat, long leather strap; he
waited, wanting to have more faith in Luke than he had. “Get up, woman,”
Luke instructed, softly, nudging her with his foot. She opened her eyes
and blinked up at him. He kneeled down and held the strap in front of
her face, nodding, “Up, now.” Her eyes were wet saucers, but she rolled
to her knees and rose. He pointed to the low-backed, red couch. She
nodded and Cary started to understand their relationship anew.
“Everything off,” he said, his mouth a grim downward curve and his dark
eyes steely. She looked toward Cary. “Everything off,” he repeated, not
even glancing at his friend near the door. She whimpered, but began to
peel her sweater from her slender shoulders, unbutton her blouse and
remove her camisole. She turned away from Cary and slid off her panties.
He could see that her backside and thighs were already black cherry
blooms and he wondered how much more she could endure; Cary had no doubt
that he was about to find out. She covered herself but leaned quickly
over the back of the couch, her short locks brushing over her sad face.
She worked her full lower lip between her teeth, fervently. She knew
that this would be vicious, but that it also was deserved. He moved
beside her. “Who touches you?” he asked, raising the strap behind her.
“You do,” she replied quietly, and he brought the stripe onto her
bruises effortlessly, licking around her hip and eliciting fresh,
instant sobs. He waited. “Who touched you?” he asked, preparing a second
blow. “Dave,” she barely whispered and he smashed it across her thighs,
relishing the choking gasps. “Who touches you?” he asked again. She was
still panting, but kept her fingers knotted together. Tell him, girl,
Cary prayed silently. “Y-you,” she breathed laboriously, “do.” He
strapped her twice, now, letting each dig leather claws in her as her
knuckles whitened and her lip bled from her teeth. “Who touches you?” he
said, mechanically, raising the strap again. She moaned and Cary could
see it working on her face. She was praying too, but for what? He wasn’t
sure. “Only you,” she finally was able to slip out between her gritted
teeth. He sunk two more on top of each other and she screamed into the
cushions, kicking her feet furiously. Her ass was mottled welts and
blood raging below fragile skin. He grabbed her hair into one big hand
and yanked her roughly up to his face. Cary started. “Who touches you?”
he growled in her ear, holding the strap inches from her face. “Luke,”
she shook horribly, “Only you.” He led her by the hair over to a mirror
beside the door. Cary felt too close to them, but they couldn’t see him;
they could only feel their own closeness. Cary dissolved. Luke tucked
the strap between his legs and pulled a black marker from his pocket. He
pushed her close to the mirror, naked and thrashed, sobbing. She was
inches from her reflection and could feel him pressed against her aching
ass and legs. She blinked tears heavily down her face. Her hot breath
was fogging up the glass. “Who touches you, Jayne?” he said, again,
getting her closer to the mirror, so she could feel her mouth skim the
surface. “You,” she could feel the shape of the word on her lips. “You
don’t need to please anyone else, Jaynie. You’re mine now. You answer to
me,” he continued, and pressed his mouth to her ear, “They can’t touch
you. Who touches you?” She shuddered and he raised the pen, tucking her
hair behind her ear and tracing his finger over her jaw line, over the
disgusting welt. “Luke,” she breathed. He nodded, took her face in his
hand and turned her head toward him, pressing her into the mirror and
carving his name into her face with thick swipes of ink. She closed her
eyes and cried, her tears running through the letters and down her chin.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, stepping back and raising the strap a final
time. She could see his name across her face as she felt his mark across
her ass. She opened to the pain, smiling. The purple bruise beneath her
ear dissolved, too.
Return to the Community Page
|
|
|
