Forbidden Fruit

He was disgusted. With her, with himself. With the world. He couldn't even stand enough to look at another woman so he had wanked himself in the van on his way home. He felt the bile creeping up in the back of his throat as he pulled into the section of the warehouse that he had designated the garage.

As he got out of the van, Frank noticed that the door was slightly a jar, and a sliver a light was shedding from inside his warehouse into the garage, sliding up the floor and spreading on the van. Only one person other than himself knew how to get in... God damn it! Now she was stalking him? It wasn't bad enough that she owned every hard on he's had for days on end, or every dream and thought spared from survival and murder, now she had to invade his space? He refused to call it a home. That little bitch would pay...

Frank pulled a robe from the back of the van and headed in, determination written in the deep lines on his weathered face. 'That little slut,' he thought to himself as he stalked up the stairs, coming to his room.

There he found her, asleep in his bed. She looked peaceful, cute. Perhaps if he wasn't angry Frank would undress and slip under the sheets next to her, feel the warmth of her naked flesh against his own and wake her with the warm press of his penis between her legs, touching the down soft pubic hair which proved that she wasn't a natural red head. He would kiss along her neck and shoulders, fondle her chest and clit, teasing those perky nipples. All this before he would take her again, consume her in a lustful act which, despite the romantic fashion it began, held no love at all. But then again, Frank was pissed off. Gentle, kind and compassionate were no longer in his vocabulary.

He took the rope, looping her hands together and quickly tying them around the head board. He spread her legs, tying them down. He knew what it felt like to be nailed with one of those powerful legs in the groin and it was anything but pleasant, even with the protection of a cup, which he wouldn't have. She was tied down, helpless and at his mercy now. The final touch, a roll of duct tape from a drawer. Frank cut an eight inch piece from the roll and placed it over her mouth, knowing how loud she get when she was enjoying herself, just imagining how loud she would get when she wasn't. How Frank would love to hear her scream, she would probably also bite, which was something he could live without at the moment.

A darkly content smirk pull on his lips as he watched his work, the woman was silenced and immobilized, completely at his disposal. She began to stir, waking from her slumber. She must have been a heavy sleeper for Frank to have time to tie her down and cover her mouth.

"Wake up," he smacked her across the face, back handing her hard enough to toss her head around and leave a red mark on her cheek.

Her eyes opened and looked at Frank, her first reaction for her body to tense, pulling at the restraints. The harsh, hemp rope bit into her skin painfully at her sensitive wrists and ankles and Frank laughed.

"Oh no, you're not getting away..." he produced the large Bowie knife from his belt and looked down on her. She was still wearing the leather mini skirt, and as it seemed a tight corset styled top with front lacing. "How convenient..." his voice murmured as he straddled her spread legs.

Something in his voice, that dark undertone, made Vendetta's eyes widen. She knew he could be a sadistic bastard, but was he that cruel as to -rape- a woman who would freely give him sex? The short answer to this question, is yes.

Onto Part V?