The Arrangement

THE ARRANGEMENT
by Riley Sharpe

Copyright ©2015 Riley Sharpe

Cover image modified from Kink Porn Shoot at http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File%3AKink_porn_shoot_01.jpg, by Mikey Baratta from San Francisco (Natasha Lyn & Mark Davis, uploaded by Vydra), CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) via Wikimedia Commons. Complete cover image copyright ©2015 Riley Sharpe.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This story contains sexually explicit content and is for
ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY.
All characters in this story are consenting adults and at least 18 years of age.

The Arrangement

I wake up with a jolt. The night is utterly silent, and for a moment I think I haven’t opened my eyes, the night is so pitch. They are open, though, it’s just that nothing is casting any light with the stars hidden behind stormy skies and the moon’s reflection blotted out by the earth this time of month. My house should still have lights, though—I run some outdoors, or hell, even the clock radio ought to shine out red numbers for me to see. Instead…nothing.

What woke me up?

I reach out toward the bedside lamp and freeze. It’s a cool night, the first hint of autumn in the countryside, and when I raise my arm I realize absolutely nothing is covering it. I went to bed in a long-sleeved nightgown, and the rest of my body suddenly registers the bedsheet flush against my skin for the whole length of my body. Even my cunt is bare. How did I become naked? My other hand, on the bed, flexes and clenches, encountering ragged shreds of fabric that were once my pajamas. At the same moment a deep voice behind me says, “Good evening, pretty lady.”

He’s come for me.

My pulse jacks up as I dive my hand under my pillow, all vestiges of sleep vanished in an instant. Before my fingers can curl around the cool metal of my pistol, a hard, hot hand clamps down on my wrist, twisting it up behind me as he twines his other arm with mine, so fast that he’s pressing into a pressure point on my shoulder with that arm locked tight before my wrist is pulled far enough for pain to lance down from my shoulder. He twists further, and I bite back a cry.

“Go ahead and scream, Asha,” the voice says, a silky smooth baritone now close to my ear and accompanied by a hot male breath. “This little cabin of yours is so secluded it’s all but inaccessible. Even if I hadn’t cut your phone lines, and if you could reach a phone, what’s the standard police response in these parts? Whatever it is, you’d have to add ten minutes for the maze through your fields that you call a driveway.” His nose brushes hair from my neck, leaving it to hang just past my shoulder blades, and a moment later lips press against my skin. “I can do a lot in ten minutes.”

A little shiver runs down my spine, straight from his mouth to my naked cunt, which tightens in anticipation. My mind whips into a frenzy, trying to formulate a plan, ignoring the growing pain in my arm. It’s no surprise he chose the night of the new moon to attack, although that will be a disadvantage to him as well at some point. First, though—I should make sure he is the person I think he is. It’s not like I can recognize the voice.

“You got a name I can call you by, stranger?” I ask in the most casual drawl I can manage. Just because he can feel the blood pounding in my neck doesn’t mean I can’t try to pretend my heart isn’t trying to flap its way out of my chest.

“I’ve got plenty of names, little girl,” he answers, and nips at my neck, causing me to suck in a sharp breath that I try to keep quiet. “You can just call me Rune.”

It’s him. I hide a smile and tilt my head to touch his temple. He doesn’t let me, immediately shifting out of reach, but I feel the brush of metal, confirming my suspicions. He also, though, yanks my arm upward so that I hiss sharply in an effort to keep quiet. Still, my eyes begin to tear. How far until he dislocates something?

“Well, Rune,” I say, with attempted nonchalance that comes out breathless, “usually my alarm system catches any intruder early enough to wake me and get the police on their way before he makes it anywhere near my front porch. That’s an impressive feat you managed, slipping your way in.” I shift my legs under the sheet, my toes preparing to grip it.

“What can I say, babe? Electronics just like me.”

“And you went through all that work to get to this?” I ask, and on the last word I use my toes to rapidly pull the sheet away from my lower half, exposing my legs to the cool night air and causing him to inhale thickly in surprise. While he’s busy being surprised and enticed by my long, smooth legs, I take advantage of these legs now being exposed also meaning that they’re free to move. One shifts off the bed, changing my center of gravity so I can tilt him sideways, and I arc my other leg up and past my head, smashing my shin bone into his night vision goggles in a kick I’ve worked hard to achieve. It performs perfectly, not only knocking the goggles askew but also jamming them painfully into the bones of his skull. I twist my back toward him far enough that the pressure point on my shoulder gets some relief, enough for me to slip that arm free of his off-balance hold and bring my second leg around, along the side of the bed and up into his crotch. It makes contact further back than I intended, but he doubles over with some inarticulate version of a curse, and the grip on my wrist loosens just for an instant.

An instant is all I need. Writhing free I somersault forward, away from the bed and toward the door, using my forward momentum to bring me upright and into a sprint. I bolt to the door, and promptly fall flat on my face as a trip wire across the doorway catches my foot.

How did he have time to get through my security and set up traps on my own turf? I told him what my security is, not any codes or tricks for bypassing it. Well, he must not have been exaggerating when he declared his technical know-how as “guru-level.”

Did he think I was exaggerating when I suggested he wear a mouth guard and cup?

My shoulder is still aching, but I don’t waste any time in getting up and heading for the stairs. On one side of me is a wall; on the other side is the balustrade, opening up to overlook the ground floor of the house. Having designed this house myself, I know it inside and out, but he’s apparently cut power to the entire goddamn farm, and it’s darker here than in the bedroom. I have no problem navigating in the dark, but without eyesight I also don’t know how to watch out for trip wires without slowing down, and another one catches me just before the curve to the stairs. This time I don’t sprawl onto the ground, but hang onto the balustrade and slam sideways into it as my legs give way. It makes a hell of a racket and ends up delaying me as much as a complete fall would. I haven’t managed two more steps when strong arms wrap around me, crushing me to a hard, broad chest and throwing me so my diaphragm rams into the balustrade’s top beam.

“Slippery minx!” Rune snarls, and then I am screaming because he’s dislocated my goddamn shoulder.

“Fuck!” I shriek, momentarily weakening in the struggle as pain explodes out, through my arm, into my chest.

“My thoughts exactly,” is his reply, and I feel him leaning me forward on the railing, compressing my diaphragm and pushing a knee between my legs, spreading them.

Cool night air kisses my moistened cunt and I hear the sound of a zipper as a large hand cups my breast under the dislocated shoulder, beginning to knead. The hot mouth returns to my neck, biting, sucking, tasting. The only thing I can see are splotches in front of my eyes stemming from the pain…and excitement. I’ve waited a long time for him to break in here.

“That hot little body belongs to me,” he growls low in my ear. “I’ve come to claim what’s mine.” The words aren’t loud, but they’re dark, sinister, dangerous. From him it’s a statement of fact, and a warning to me. The hand fondling my breast lowers to my leg and raises it to latch my heel over the railing. “Let’s see how wide I can spread that feisty cunt before I sink my cock into it and make sure it knows who its master is.”

“You only get it if you can catch it,” I wheeze. His cock is free, the tip on my pubic bone and slowly moving backward, but getting it to that point has distracted him. Using my functional arm and the opposing leg for leverage, I haul myself upward, tucking my chin and tumbling over the balustrade.

“Asha!” he cries as I start to fall. “Son of a bitch!” He starts to curse further, at the same time grasping for me, trying to catch an ankle or wrist, but I haven’t thrown myself over the edge in a fit of suicidal stupidity. My hand and wrist curl around two of the vertical bars, arresting my fall, and I want to switch arms but the one that’s dislocated refuses to act in any way like I tell it to.

Okay. Maybe throwing myself over the railing with a dislocated shoulder was a little stupid. But it wasn’t thoughtless. Doubling up, I hook my ankles in between the rails so that I can hang from only those and reach out toward the ceiling almost directly underneath him, where a metal chandelier hangs. I didn’t just design this house for aesthetics; it’s my playground, and the light fixture is well secured in place so that I can swing from it at my fancy.

Clutching a metal arm, I begin releasing my feet, but Rune is faster, locking his fingers around one ankle. I brace myself and extend my other leg outward in a gymnastic spreading of my legs. My center of gravity is now solidly in yawning space one story up. Through his grip on my ankle, I can feel him start in surprise. No doubt he has a good view through repositioned goggles.

“You want this pussy?” I gasp, strained from keeping myself suspended and from the pain in my arm. “Come and get it.” Then I lever my leg back toward him, bringing my heel down toward his hand with the force of a small sledgehammer.

He tries to avoid it without losing his grip on me, but only succeeds in the first pursuit. I hope this is a testament to his trust in my own self-awareness, not to his inability to support me in a perilous situation. Over our years of internet flirtation and gaming dates I’ve assured him that I know how to handle myself IRL, probably as adept at the skill as he is at manipulating electronics, and he has to trust I wouldn’t give him a choice between getting his hand crushed and having me fall to my death.

Whatever the reason, now both of my legs are free and I swing to hang vertically from the chandelier, waiting half a heartbeat before dropping the rest of the way to the floor. It isn’t far, and I’ve done it before, but every jolt seems to go straight to my injured shoulder. Every shock reminds me of how effortlessly and expertly he popped the socket, leaving me no doubt that he really did spend almost a decade in some elite military unit as he’s claimed. His combat skills are rusty—either that, or he underestimated me—but I think he might still be able to beat me. The thought sends shivers to my clit and pricks up my nipples as I begin scurrying toward the library as silently as possible.

From Rune’s direction, I don’t hear any sound whatsoever.

I close and bolt the library door, then make for the patio doors, slipping out into the cool night and softly shutting the door behind me. Where to? Well, I need to get my damn arm reduced, and the barn is the closest place where I’m likely to find tools—and a gag, since I’ve never fixed a dislocated joint and will probably need several agonizing attempts to manage the task. The muted stars afford me just an iota of light, allowing me to see shadows of trees and buildings as I dart across the lawn.

I still don’t see the trap until an inhuman cry is wrenching out of me as I’m jolted to a belly-flop on the damp earth, blades of grass tickling my uncovered breasts and morning dew cooling my stomach, abdomen, as jaws of a bear trap close on my ankle.

No—Not a bear trap. Just something similar in design, with deep interlocking curves replacing the sharp teeth so that it securely lodges my ankle without tearing the skin or breaking any bones. Pulling myself toward it, I can just make out a dark line extending in both directions. He surrounded the house with Asha-traps! Not that I should be surprised. He’s got a type-A personality, and isn’t going to disappoint in our first non-virtual interaction.

That doesn’t mean I’m giving in easily. Tugging at the jaws, though, it’s clear that my leg isn’t getting free until I have two functional arms that aren’t lancing agony into me at every movement. At least he’s given me something to hold my arm firmly while I try to yank it back into place.

Feeling awkward, I fold myself in half, securing my wrist near the trapped ankle on the same side and pull. And scream. The whole side of my body seems to be on fire now, from my fingertips, up around my shoulder, and down to my toes, all burning with an exquisite pain at a level I’ve rarely experienced. I yank again, unable to hold back a shout, but the arm remains stubbornly out of alignment. Then my other leg flips out from under me, making me fall, right as Rune barrels into me.

Deep into me.