Heather Lewis: Notice

“You want Jeremy to fuck you? I think that’s what she’s been wanting.”

Jeremy still just rubbed me with the gun for a little bit. My legs ached now, all of me ached. And I ached the way Burt meant, too, and so when Jeremy put the gun into me I didn’t know what I wanted or where I was in myself. But all of it changed when he pulled it out again. When Burt said, “Fuck her ass.” And then this sharp, tearing pain shoved me forward.

I would’ve cried out. Maybe I did, but Burt’s dick was still there muffling everything except this pain that wouldn’t quit. I kept waiting for it to. My body that’d been so slack now went the opposite. Tight in this way I couldn’t undo, nothing in me able to stop that spiking barbed thing inside me.

Burt stood there, laughing a little. He said, “You’re going to suck me off, sweetheart. You understand me?”

And his dick went half-hard from him saying this because I knew I hadn’t accomplished it. And I knew what he wanted of me was impossible. That he couldn’t get any harder than he already was, much less come off. And so I saw too clearly the beauty of my position.

“You understand?” he said again. “Because otherwise, Jeremy’s pulling the trigger.”

He yanked at my hair more. He said, “You like that, don’t you, sweetheart? Knowing the chamber’s full? Is that enough to satisfy you? Huh? Answer me.”

He pulled at me harder, yelling this last thing again and again. And then he pulled at my hair some more, made it like I was nodding my head. And Jeremy pushed harder, too, pushed the barrel further and further so the hurt inside me never let up. And this horrible heaviness took hold in my chest. Dragged me toward the bed. Left the two of them pulling and pushing at me all the more, or making me feel it worse.

And when I thought it would keep on this way for ever, Burt began laughing. Not quietly, but loud. Like the joke on me was even better than I’d thought. And then he was taking his dick away and zipping his pants and, when I’d sunk to my elbows, he leaned down and stroked my cheek. His laughter had turned to a low chuckle. I watched him walk out into the living room, saw him settle on the couch, with my phone in his hand. I watched him get on with his next piece of business.

Jeremy took the gun out of me, and while he did this slowly there was still the tearing and it made me jerk my head around and see for the first time the other one in the room. The guy from the car who’d done all that waiting in parking lots, and had waited through this, too. But before I could wonder what all his endless patience might mean for me, Jeremy took me back again. And so it was that much clearer they were nowhere near finished with me.

Jeremy lay the gun near my head. It stayed lifeless there, leaving this little streak of blood on the sheet. I felt lifeless, too. A short moment of sweetness in this before Jeremy pushed me down and then was pushing into me. Trying to get his dick into my ass. My body went from dead to too alive all in a quick rush of soreness. And unwilling or unable or both, I knew I couldn’t take him. There just wasn’t room in me for this.

He wouldn’t stop trying though. Not for the longest time and by now I’d given in to just crying. This occurring somewhere inside me while on the outside I didn’t feel any tears or cries or movement, just the limping, unmanaged jerks of my body. Of it reacting to things. I couldn’t be sure if I felt anything at all.

And then maybe I wasn’t wholly there for a time because what I felt next was the other man’s arms around me. Him behind me and me leaning against him. I felt his hands in my T-shirt, heard him in my ear, saying in a voice I’d never heard, “You’re going to like me. You’ll see.”

And I wondered whether I was alone with him until I opened my eyes and saw Jeremy still there, loafing on the bed. He still had the gun. Was fucking me with it in a way I could only watch. I had no other way to know it was happening.

My head lolled back against this other one, which seemed to please him. I felt the stubble of his beard scratching my cheek and his hands still fooling with my breasts. Of all of it, I seemed to have the most trouble with this.

I tried to rest. I felt so tired. I closed my eyes again but still it took me some time to get away. To stop feeling the one behind me, him fondling me.

I must have at some point managed it, though, because a slicing across my belly and an instant numbing there startled me back awake. I opened my eyes to see Jeremy lapping a little coke off my stomach. I could feel this little damp place left by his tongue. From the look of things, the look of me, he’d been doing this a while. All across my belly these little hash marks from his knife. This last one maybe just went deep enough to impress me. Went deep enough that the coke spilled into it, making this pinkish clump.

He noticed me. Licked a bit from his knife and then scooped more on to it. Held the knife to my face and told me to have some. “You need to wake up,” he said.

I jerked my head away but the one behind me stopped that, held me still until I snorted some. Jeremy cleaned the blade on my cheek. Then he wiped it on my shirt, which they’d cut off me apparently. It lay near me in pieces.

Jeremy snorted lines off my belly, then smeared what was left into those little scratches. He closed his knife and instead of feeling glad for this I felt suddenly scared because he was getting up to leave, to go join Burt in the other room. This would leave me alone with the last one.

Jeremy closed the door most of the way when he left. I could hear him and Burt talking but I didn’t think it was about me. This last guy came around from behind me and I fell back until first the bed and then the wall stopped me. My head hitting the wall woke me more than the coke had.

He was sitting on my chest. He had his hand behind my neck and was lifting my head toward his lap. He pressed my face against him for a while. Rubbed himself against me until I could feel him getting hard through the soft cloth of his pants.

He took his dick out and rubbed it along my face and the softness of this and his pants meant it hurt more when his zipper scratched my cheek.

This all seemed nearly friendly so when he began yelling, it caught me short. I didn’t know what I’d done. Had trouble making out the things he was saying. They seemed to come from his throat all clumped together, and so I’d only get little bits until he screamed, “Open your fucking mouth.”

Then his fingers were opening it for me, prying me open. And once he got his dick inside, he fucked my mouth hard enough that my head kept hitting the wall. I slid down to try and stop this. To stop the pounding back of my skull, not to get away from him. But my moving made him slip out.

Then he got rough. He pulled his belt from his pants and doubled it over, smacked me across the face. And I could hear the sound of this and him still shouting; shouting, “Oh, you’ll do them, huh? And not me.”

And it going on this way in a rant about me thinking him not good enough, and I was wanting to tell him that wasn’t it at all. That I was just very tired. That if he’d let me rest, just for a while, I’d do whatever it was he wanted.

I was beyond speaking, though. Had lost this ability way before his belt pulped my lips.

He left off the smacking, finally. Looped the belt around my neck just as Ingrid’s husband had. He tried to tie my hands with it, but his girth wasn’t big enough and so the belt wasn’t long enough and this angered him too. He yanked me up by it before he let go and got off the bed.

He sorted through all those clothes still in a heap on the floor. Came back with a belt from a robe, one Ingrid had borrowed while she was here. This cord was sure long enough, and made of a stretchy, scratchy synthetic that made his job easier and mine harder. Harder still when he hog-tied me with it.