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This wasn’t a good idea and probably a waste of time.
The Man felt it the moment he swiped right and knew it the second he said “yes” to this dinner. But he was pent up, agitated and restless in a way that wasn’t good for him. It lead to clouded judgement and that lead to mistakes. Not simple slip-ups that can be corrected later, but massive fuck ups that could lead to a victim slipping past him or getting sloppy and leaving clues. Things that could lead to jail time or, as any sane jury would probably suggest, a noose around his neck.
Dating is hard enough as it is. Add in his perverse preferences—yes, he’s sadistic, but he’s not insane, he knows and owns up to what he is—in the bedroom and it left him with very little options to satisfy himself.
That’s where you come in.
“So why are you single?” The Man must have been spacing out. He moves his gaze from the slip of your dress on your shoulders to look at you directly. There’s a lovely shade of red high on your cheeks, and it only worsens the longer he holds your gaze.
You giggle, a bit uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so blunt, it’s just…” you wave a hand at him. He’s watched your gaze drag up and down his body since you’ve sat down at the table. He’d be lying if he said the attention wasn’t flattering, but he was not after simple adoration. Not tonight.
You’re sweet. None of your questions were too suggestive. You blushed like a school girl at the smallest compliment. You had this doe-eyed look about you that almost made him feel bad for agreeing to this little date. Clearly, you’re looking for something serious. Some Prince Charming to come sweep you off your feet. His intentions with you were far from pure but he could pretend for a little while.
And maybe it was because he was so good at pretending that he knew you were genuine, a sort of kindness and innocence in you that made a man like him hard to think about breaking.
But he doesn’t tell you that. Instead he turns that question back on you. “You’re gorgeous. Surely you can do better than random men online?”
Another nervous giggle. “I don’t know. I’m just looking for something…different.” You take another sip of your wine—second glass of the night, he’s made sure to count and keep refilling it for you— a slight shift in your posture and averting your gaze.
The Man is good at reading people, body language especially. It makes a difference, knowing if your victim is going to run left or right, if they’re in fight or flight mode. And there’s something about the shift in your body language, the way you’re eyeing him back, sizing him up that feels familiar.
“I’m particular, I guess. About the men I meet. What I want in a partner. You know?”
Shame. That’s what it is. Desire for what you know most people would reprimand you for even thinking about. Something dark and primal and a bit depraved.
The Man smiles. “Yeah. I think I get it.”
***************
Something’s wrong.
You can feel it, before you even open your eyes. As you attempt to stretch out along your bed—it is your bed, the familiar smell of your sheets, and the feel of your silk comforter—you feel wrong. There’s an ache in your muscles, bruised and raw all over, and a twinge of pain between your legs that’s impossible to ignore.
Still, you attempt to move, to sit yourself up, only to roll over and see him sitting on the other side of the bed.
You don’t scream, even if you can feel it on the tip of your tongue, but your heart is like a battering ram against your rib cage as you stare at your date from last night. He looks right back at you, a small smile on his lips.
“Good morning.” His voice is low, that deep timber you found so alluring last night suddenly sending chills along your spine.
He crawls across the bed to lay beside you, and you think, for a stupid moment, to tell him to take off his outdoor clothes before getting on the bed. But he comes to lay beside you, spooning you, cheek to cheek as he pulls out his phone.
This could almost be romantic, if you weren’t scared right now—why are you so scared? You’ve had one night stands before. But there’s something wrong about the fact that you don’t remember anything after dinner or your third cup of wine, and the way his touch and calm demeanor is setting off alarm bells.
“What…” your throat is dry, voice hoarse. “What is happening?”
He whispers in your ear, opening up his camera roll. “I wanna show you something.”
He continues to hold you as he pulls up a video and you immediate recognize the wallpaper and furniture arrangement before he even presses play. But you watch, as the camera pans over your body, sprawled along your bed, dress hiked up. You can hear your heartbeat quicken, and your sure The Man can, too, as you both watch him set up the camera.
The Man on screen is gentle, at first, in the way he slides the dress off your sleeping form; in the way he carefully slips off your heels, kissing along your collarbone, your breasts, ribs, all the way down to your clothed sex. He takes care with your panties too, before licking a wet line along your cunt.
But that’s where the kindness ends.
You weren’t completely unconscious, clearly. Every once in a while, you make a small whine, whimpering a “no” or “please” as he pounds into you. You stop after a while, the only other sound in the video coming from the creaking mattress or The Man’s grunts as he fucks you.
You can feel your head behind to throb as you watch The Man in the video grip your hair, pushing you further into the mattress. Behind you, you can feel The Man harden watching his assault back. You both sit there, you mesmerized in complete horror, and The Man, aroused by your current fear and last night’s pain.
It’s several long minutes before the video ends, a strangled “fuck” coming from The Man in the video before he spills inside you.
The only other sounds in the bedroom is your uneven breaths as The Man continues to hold you.
He whispers in your ear, “was that ‘different’ enough for you?”