SMILE

 

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SMILE

By Lea Carrol

Copyright 2016 by William Abeleven - Publisher

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews.

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SMILE PLEASE

Malia opened her eyes. One sound in the silence. As still as she could be, she propped herself up on one elbow. The clock glowed two am and she had been asleep for several hours. She’d fallen asleep editing of the candid funny celebrity clips she put together that had proven so popular on her Internet blog.

Outside, through the window, the moonlight cast shadows through the room. A light breeze played with the gauze curtains. Apart from that queer sound coming from somewhere in the house that had woken her, all was quiet.

She listened intently for a moment because it was a sound she knew but couldn’t place, and then it came to her. It was somebody tickling porcelain with a spoon. Not a large spoon hitting a dinner plate, but something like perhaps a teaspoon muddling some sugar around in a cup of tea or coffee. Whoever was doing it downstairs was hopefully trying to be as quiet as possible, but it was going on and on and on. Perhaps it was part of a personality disorder thing because there would have needed to be a lot of sugar in that cup being stirred to not have dissolved by now.

How irritating…at a couple of levels. Her children had left their nappies and cots behind over a decade and a half ago but yet still she slept like a new mother, every tiny sound waking her. She was the only person in the house with that sort of super hearing ninja type skill and as far as skills went, well, after all these years she still hadn’t had to deal with an assassin in the house. In the meantime, the children slept through everything and anything, and Brandon, well he wasn’t there ready to defend the house with her, was he? She was awake now and soon, if she didn’t get up and do something, she would be awake and she would be bored.

The floor was cool, but she left her slippers off so as not to make that flip-flopping noise that slippers made. From the bedroom door, she looked down the length of the hallway. No lights under any of the doors, which meant that the children were all asleep. A few quiet steps along and she was at the staircase landing.

Downstairs was guest room. It was occupied at the moment by Brandon’s friend, Luke who was down for something related to something she wasn’t really sure about. Brandon had a lot of friends but Luke, she didn’t care for. He was tall, like Brandon, but a more rugged mountain man type with a handsomeness that once might have been used to convince people that smoking Brand X cigarettes was the thing to do.

She liked Brandon’s friends and Luke wasn’t the first good looking friend of his he’d brought home and she’d met and liked. But when she’d learned over a dinner that had turned to astrological signs that his birthday was in August, and then on the eleventh of that month and that his birth year was 1972, alarm bells had started ringing. And she’d noticed too that his mood change quickly when she’d brought up a party she and Brandon had been to, asking him if he’d enjoyed himself as much as she had that night, replying. “Yes, I think so…maybe. Sorry. Can’t really remember. So many parties, and they all seem the same, hey Brandon?” adding, “but think I left pretty early” and changed the subject.

The other rooms downstairs were the usual rooms found in any large home, plus a private den tucked away in the back of the house that she and Brandon kept as a place for themselves. It had the fireplace, a bar, books, music, paintings and a couple of couches on which they could while away time – a quiet place for the two of them to escape.

From the top of the stairs she could hear Brandon downstairs, his breathing regular but heavy enough to penetrate the study door. He would hear nothing, even if she was tromping around wearing gardening boots.

Carefully, she took the first of the fifteen carpeted steps down to the ground floor. The third one down creaked on the way down but not on the way up. The tenth step did the opposite.

At the bottom of the staircase Malia stopped to look around. There were no lights on anywhere but the guest room where Luke was staying was open a crack.

Malia turned right and walked softly towards the kitchen door. It had been pulled closed but a soft light glowed from under it. The handle turned silently and she pushed the door open just enough to take a peek in. There was no one in there. The soft night light beside the door was there to provide enough light for them to find the fridge or even make a cup of coffee without having to light the whole room up. The den – their private den, was accessed through what looked like a simple pantry door, sitting now in the shadows in the back of the kitchen. It wasn’t meant to be a secret door but Brandon had wanted access to the kitchen from the den so he’d used a pantry space for that purpose. It was a matter of convenience and it kept the den a private place. That pantry door sat ajar now and from behind it, Malia could hear again the sound that had woken her.

There was nothing really to be afraid of. She was in her own home, her husband was in his study not ten meters away and their dog had not barked. She felt a little as if she might have if she believed ghosts and evil spirits. The home, after all, was old and she was religious.

A half dozen steps and a slight creak from the pantry door and she was inside the passageway between the kitchen and their den. Two more, and she was inside it. She looked up high to her right. A faint blue light pulsed slowly from in the dark. Looking hard, she could make out the high back of Brandon’s reading chair. She reached behind her for the light switch…...

“Don’t,” a low voice seemed to warn her. “Just come in, and close the door behind you.”

Malia clasped her hands to her chest. “Luke. What are you doing in here? I heard something from upstairs.” She started towards his voice, stopping a few steps in. “Where are you? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Just sitting here. Thinking, that’s all.” he said.

“Why so mysterious, Luke?”

“Come a bit closer. Sit down here. We can talk,” said Luke.

“I think I might go, Luke,” said Malia. “I don’t want to wake Brandon up.”

“Well don’t then…. Don‘t wake him.”

Malia squinted into the darkness. It was disconcerting speaking to a disembodied voice.

“You and I - we’ve never had a good talk, have we? Why do you suppose that is, Malia?”

“There’s really nothing to talk about, is there Luke? Or is there?”

The space – her space, and Brandon’s space, he was making it his own. It was like he was pissing around the place like some wild beast, making it his territory, spraying his vile scent around.

Malia slipped sideways to her desk and slid open a tiny drawer in the top of the bureau. Quietly, she took out the heavy pen, gripping it like a blade and took a few steps further into the darkness.

“I think you’ve been playing with me, Malia.” His voice was not coming from where it had – he, had moved, “asking me innocent questions about my star sign, and then digging a bit deeper asking about my birth date and then my birth year. Did you think I wouldn’t notice your probing? Were you trying to make me nervous?”

“Don’t be silly, Luke. You’re a friend of Brandon’s. Why would I try to make you nervous?”

“Do you think it mattered to me that you picked up my pen?”

Malia felt his fingers at the back of her neck and jumped, catching the scream in her throat before it filled the room. He was firm yet gentle, cradling her neck in his open palm, squeezing, releasing, squeezing, releasing as he guided her slowly, deeper into the room. “Stop it Luke,” she said trying to squirm out of his grip. “You know Brandon is not far away,” she turned to face him, pressing her hands against his chest.

“Shut up! You don’t want Brandon awake, coming in asking questions, do you?” he whispered, nuzzling into her neck. “I know that what happened between you and me at that party was not the first time something like that has happened with you, or while you’ve been with Brandon.”

So it was him. It was him who had forced himself into me that night at the party, and he just had the nerve to admit it me. Bastard!

She remembered her pleading with him that night, “Please – I don’t want it like this.” And she remembered fighting him off until she had no strength left to fight anymore. And she remembered too what it had been like with him and how different it was with Brandon who was gentle and respected her, even when she didn’t always want to be respected in bed.

“Please don’t, Luke. That night was a mistake and you shouldn’t have taken advantage the way you did. This isn’t right. This is my husband’s house and my children are upstairs.”

And now, the animal smell of him here, mixed with liquor and she remembered how she had lain there that night, his hips thrusting at her like an animal, and she defending herself from his hardness and hugeness.

“Don’t Luke – I don’t want this,” but he was so strong and she remembered how it had felt that night when it was out of his pants, so thick and heavy and how he’d forced her to take it in his hand and he’d made her finish him off like that until there was a pool of it, wet and thick in her hand. And she remembered how he’d grunted when he finished.

“Please don’t Luke – not again, not like before, and not here ….. Please. This is Brandon and my place – our special place.” She closed her eyes as she felt her knees begin to weaken and give way. She licked her lips. They were dry…so very dry.

“I promise I won’t say anything to Brandon about what happened. I should never have brought it up, pressing you about your birth date. I’m sorry, alright.”

“I want that pen back,” he said, his voice husky, his fingers playing inside her mouth. “And not because Brandon might see it and wonder – he gave me the damned thing. I want it to remind me of you now. Where is it?”

“It’s here. It’s here in the room.”

“I want that pen back, and I want it smelling of you. I want you all over it, alright?”

He had her pressed back hard against a wall now. She could feel the cold of it through her dressing gown. Underneath, she had on nothing and she was wet from what he was doing. She was fighting him – she didn’t want this like she hadn’t wanted it before. What was happening here was not her fault.

“I’ve got it here – the pen. Here,” she showed him.

“Open your legs,” and she felt herself spreadeagled, standing up, pressed hard against the wall, his feet kicking hers apart. “Put the pen inside yourself – put yourself all over it. Make it as wet as you are.”

“Luke. I don’t want to do that,” she said as she did as he asked. “I’ve done it. Can I go now please? Haven’t you humiliated me enough now?”

Inside her gown, she felt one of his hands on her chest, moving from breast to breast, squeezing, releasing, again and again.

“Luke.” She’d closed her eyes and turned her face away from him. “Luke.”

“Shut up.” His other hand was under her gown, his fingers probing her at the front and at the back. She squirmed, trying to close her legs.

“Keep quiet, and keep still,” he slapped her hard, the sting of it causing her to catch her breath. “Now, open your legs,” he snarled. “Wider, and get on the floor – squat.”

Malia groaned and found herself reaching for him. Behind the fabric of his pants he was hard and big and heavy. She pulled down his zip and dragged it out. “Luke. This is bad what you’re doing to me.”

“The problem with you, Malia, is that you don’t know what you want.”

On her back, on the floor, knees up and her gown pulled up around her waist, opened her up – stretched her until she was so open that his hand was inside her, his fingers stretching her until she felt she could not breathe.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, but it wasn’t a groan of pain. Both of them could hear that. “Oh God Luke, Don’t ….. don’t …. Luke ….please…,” she cried as she felt him, on his knees now, lifting her up and slipping it inside her, first in the front and then, with a hard push she felt herself open up in the back and he was inside her.

With her hand, she reached underneath herself and cupped him, holding them in her hands. They were big and full and heavy. He was just resting inside her and when she opened her eyes, he was just there, on his knees, looking up as though into the heavens. He seemed lost inside her. She massaged him softly until he was panting from the anticipation.

“Nobody is like you, Malia. Nobody.” And as he uttered those words, she could feel his hand go into her too. Her body was no longer fighting him. It was no longer fighting her. Now, she was full of him. He was inside of her everywhere. Even her mouth – his fingers played with her lips, darting in and out of her mouth.

Her hand wet from their juices. He was thrusting now, beginning slowly, and driving the full length of himself in and out of her. With his hand no longer inside her, he drove in and out, from one hole to the other and back and forth while she rocked in time with his increasing rhythm.

The world around her was now moving in single frames. Her lips were open and dry, and she could hear her heart forcing its way out of her chest. Her whole body atremble she was almost there.

“Wait,” she gasped. “Stop, you bastard,” she said pushing at him hard. “Not like this, please,” she whispered in a dry voice as she pushed him away. “Like this for a bit,” and she got on her knees, her cheeks spread apart until she was exposed to him – her skin, her hair, her wetness, all read and swollen and waiting for him.

He was no longer speaking, unable, uttering only guttural animal like sounds. She felt his hands spread her from behind and then he was inside her, pushing rough and pushing hard, thrusting and rutting like a mad beast behind her until finally he froze. She could imagine him, neck straining, rigid, as though he was some beast now, howling at the moon.

All she could hear of him was his breathing. It wasn’t really even breathing. It was more like a heaving, barely able to control his breath. She listened to his sounds, and then felt him slip out and fall to his knees, his hands still holding her weakly. Malia pushed herself up and turned around. Down on the ground, at her feet, sat a man who had just taken her without her consent.

She lifted his chin with a hand. He was weak now. “Why, Luke?” Malia sobbed, her face in her hands. “In my own home ….You hurt me, Luke. You forced yourself on me, at the party first, and now here again.

“But you liked it, just like you did at the party,” he panted, his breath still not caught up with him.

“You said you wanted to talk to me and I trusted you, and now you’ve hurt me… again, Luke,” she smiled at him, and at that moment, while their eyes were locked, hers sad, his smug, she drove the pen still in her hand, through his cheek and into his mouth. “There’s your pen, Luke. Can you smell me on it, and taste me like you wanted?”

“You, you fucking bitch,” Luke struggled to form the words. “Brandon is going to fucking kill you,” he tore the pen out of his face. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”

Malia smiled and took a step backwards. She could see in the dark now. When you’ve been in the dark for a while, your eyes adapt she remembered from a science class from when she was young. How odd it was that he was barely bleeding.

“You know I didn’t know it was you at that party - that I was as drunk as you were. All that talk about the pen before. Is this the fucking part where I’m supposed to tell you I’m sorry and beg you to not tell Brandon? Is that what this is? You get yourself fucked in this fucked up way that you like – you get what you want, and I get to be responsible for it?”

“You’re funny, Luke,” she laughed, stepping back out of reach of him.

This is the part where they sometimes lose the plot. If I’m out of reach, it’s better. Don’t want to get my nightie ripped. Brandon wouldn’t like that.

“You know what?” Luke turned touched the hole in his face and checked for blood. “You’re really one fucked up bitch, and it makes me sick for Brandon that you’re with him, so fuck you, Malia.”

“Don’t be here for breakfast, Luke. And don’t try waking Brandon on your way out. He sleeps like a log on those little yellow sleeping pills. And they don’t taste like anything.”

“You bitch.” He got up off his knees.

“Watch it pal, or it’ll be rape with violence,” she said, grinning at him. “And smile… please, for the camera,” Malia pointed to a faint blue light pulsing slowly, high up in the corner of the dark room. “I can make you famous, if you want.”

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