Fuensalida

Chapter 13

Celeste sat in hopefully her last hotel room before they arrived in Virginia. Chris had been dragging out the drive, what should have taken two days had now taken four. In the course of the drive he decided to go back to treating Celeste like a child. She sat in the backseat of the car, in silence. While Cassie enjoyed the drive, the experience, the closeness to her husband’s murderer, Celeste felt like the child he was treating her like, wanting to pout and then throw things when he ignored her. Instead of his visits, he went straight to her mother’s room, making her stomach curdle. The only time he spoke to her was when Cassie was standing there. Celeste could not stand it, the jealousy of her own mother that was tearing through her, and then she hated herself for being jealous of her mother who willingly went to bed with their abductor.

Celeste stared down at a picture of herself on a school ID from a school she never attended. Along with the ID was a forged birth certificate and social security card. Celeste did not know why he had done it, but Chris had decided to make her a year younger, meaning Celeste Taylor, on paper, was fifteen-years-old. The way he made it, her birthday had just passed, she had just turned fifteen. She wanted to toss them out and tell him to make her older instead, she could easily test into a higher grade, instead he was going to force her to be pushed back a grade.

Most women always wanted to be younger, but a sixteen-year-old girl did not want to wake up one morning and be fifteen again. It did not matter if in body she was sixteen, because Celeste Taylor, born July 7th, was who she was now. Was this who she would always be?

She dumped it all into her purse and ignored it, tossing it aside, letting a pen fall out and roll across the floor. She ignored it, standing up and looking out the window, watching another sunset. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the glass. She could hardly remember her life before The Incident. It now was the focal point of her life, when she truly began, and she did not even feel truly alive. She felt like a goldfish in a fish bowl, tossed around without care, waiting to die from massive bruising.

“God, that’s a morbid picture, Celeste,” she told herself, shaking her head.

Celeste shook it off. She was not that type of girl, and just because she was abducted and some victim of her own making, some Stockholm syndrome dolly, she was not going to become someone morbid.

Flashes of her father’s death ripped themselves through her head, reminding her of why she was allowed to be morbid. She tried hard, and usually succeeded, in pushing such thoughts to the deepest recesses of her mind. Today they were coming at her strong, reminding her of her last moments with her father, his eyes watching as Chris raped her.

Celeste wrapped her arms around her body. She went back to feeling sick, with herself. She allowed him to touch her, she wanted him to touch her, and instead he was touching her mother. Which was worse? That the daughter who lost her father wanted him or the mother who lost her husband wanted him? Because of him they were running, from what Celeste did not even know any longer. They believed that Cassie was dead, she had seen it constantly on the news. They were now in some desperate hope that Celeste might still possibly be alive. Why had he not ‘killed’ Celeste off as well?

Celeste walked through the hotel room to the bathroom. She left the door open, liking to give the bathroom air instead of coming out to fogged up mirrors. She stripped herself from her clothing, hoping the heat of the water will relax her. It was odd, where so many people said they woke up after their showers in the morning, Celeste always felt more relaxed, like she could crawl back into her bed and sleep happily for a few more hours. She hoped this would be one of those moments, that she could crawl into the soft sheets of the hotel room bed, dripping wet, and sleep through the night.

She stepped into the streaming heat and stretched herself under the water, enjoying the feel of steaming water pouring over her body. She loved it too hot, her body reddening under the pounding heat of the water. Her mother often lectured her that it would give her dry skin, Cassandra Lieberman, now Tammy Taylor, had spent hundreds of dollars a month on beauty products for the adorable Celeste, much of which Celeste would never use. Celeste would break down, when her mother badgered her about dry skin, but she was not willing to give up her steaming showers.

Celeste’s blue eyes glistened, her door moving further open. She was smart enough to know it was not just a breeze pushing at her door. She stepped further into the water, watching carefully. She was not sure if she should reveal her knowledge of her intruder, or ignore him until he was peeking in on her.

Celeste had no chance to try either. “I can see those brilliant blues from here,” Chris told her, and through the shadow of the shower curtain she watched him lose his shirt.

“I told you I’m doing nothing until we are in Virginia,” Celeste snapped at him.

Chris pushed out of the rest of his clothing easily and slipped into the shower with her, his erection already filling with the pulsing need of sexual adventure. Celeste stepped back further, the heel of her foot smacking the metal plug for the drain. She winced and looked down, Chris’s hands reaching out to grip her and pull her gently away from it. “Don’t hurt yourself to get away from me.”

“I… told you…”

“Stop with that,” Chris snapped. “You are getting Virginia, give me what I want in return.”

“When we get there,” she insisted, trying to shift, to pull completely out of the shower. Being this close to his slick, naked body had her body reacting in ways that were pleasant in memory and unpleasant when he was watching her.

Chris gripped her and turned her away from the streaming heat of the water, pressing her full breasts against the shower wall, rubbing himself against her. “I have an idea,” he whispered into her ear. “Why don’t we pretend I’m the kidnapper and you have no choice but to do as I want.”

“I don’t like that game,” Celeste said in a voice that was far more childish than she intended it to be.

Chris seemed taken aback by that sound in her voice and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, unable to help himself from rubbing against her. He had to bend low, but he managed to rub his cock along the curves of her ass, enjoying the feel of the cheeks trying to squeeze at his length. “Then lets pretend I’m the man who can’t resist you, and that you know you really do want me, and that just for right now, we aren’t two people who are angry, or in a bad situation, just two people who want one another.”

“I can’t do that,” Celeste stated, her voice shaking.

“Yes you can,” he hissed gently into her ear, still rubbing, his wet cock sliding between her legs. His hands were gentle as he bent her further forward, sliding her body along the wall. Her whimpers of protest were not unnoticed, he only liked to indulge his own thoughts that they were complete pleasure. They would be, soon enough she would be crying out in pleasure as she did every time she writhed along his cock.

He moved, sliding himself along her damp folds, the part of her body that could not deny the pleasure she derived from having him deep inside of her. She hitched in a deep breath, mentally and physically preparing herself for the drive. He did not hesitate, pushing his hips, driving his thick cock deeply into her body. She cried out, shaking, trying to grab a hold of the wall and finding nothing to grip onto. He left one hand gripping her hip tightly and moved his other hand forward, gripping her arm, pulling it back until her hand slid into his, holding tightly onto her hand as he began to move inside of her. He offered no build up, only started pushing hard and deeply into her.

Her eyelids fluttered, her eyes rolling back, his cock rubbing deeply against velvet walls that had her squirming against him. She did not feel confident in her position, afraid if he so much as moved her slightly she would fall to the floor of the shower in a heap. His grip stayed tight, his moans reverberating in her eardrums, her whole body wanting more and yet trying to refuse him. She squeezed herself over him, panting as he moved himself quickly.

They moved together, for a moment playing the part he suggested in the latter, two people who completely wanted one another, forgetting what had driven them to this point. Forgetting that when he was not with her he was with her mother.

Her sob was not one of memory, it was one of pleasure as her leg kicked and her body twitched. He moaned for more, pulling her closer, his hands bruising her porcelain skin. He wanted to hear her scream, wanted to feel her convulse over his throbbing cock, he absolutely needed it.

She did what he wanted, screaming out in pleasure, shaking along his cock while he pounded it through her. Their bodies slid together, her legs completely giving out for a moment. If he had not had such a tight grip on her she would have fallen as she had feared, but he was letting her go nowhere. He needed to finish with her, to fill her. For a moment it was all that was in his mind, that absolute pleasure of releasing into her, spilling deeply into her body. He wanted the claim of her, to feel her body jerk in surprise as he heated her from the inside.

Her lips were already protesting this fantasy. “You… have to stop!” she cried out, knowing the feel of his swelling cock. She knew what came next, what always came next.

He could not stop. He needed her too badly. His hands only gripped her tighter, pulling her with his hips, his moans filling the small bathroom.

“Chris, stop!” Her struggles were futile, his grip too hard and her body too weak. She panicked, he could feel it coursing through her body, the only thing bringing him back from impossible pleasure.

“Finish me,” he growled into her ear.


Her gasp was complete horror and if he had the inclination at the time he would have laughed. “I will not!” Back to the prim and proper girl who did not enjoy her sexual liaisons, almost bringing him out of his perfect reverie. Almost.

“That’s… fine.” He pumped her hard, feeling himself readying to give her what he wanted her to have.

“Stop!” She screamed out again, struggling hard. He lifted her, to her surprise, slid her against the wall, pinning her there, her feet inches above the floor, his body still moving heavily into her.

“I need this,” he growled into her ear. He slid one hand up carefully along her body, over her neck, to her lips, gripping her chin, a finger carefully running against puckered lips. “Either your pretty lips wrap around it, or I finish us just like this.”

She sobbed, her mouth opening wide, his finger slipping in and out of her mouth, letting himself imagine what it would be like to pump those tight lips.

“You… you wouldn’t,” she stuttered against his finger. “It… does you no good… getting me pregnant.”

“No,” he responded, grunting, grinding himself into her. “But it would feel so good.”

He was growing closer to that moment, what little control he was holding onto trying to unravel once again. He pumped her body, felt her move with him. She felt the swell, the sway of his hips, the rigorous pump of his cock moving through her.

“Fine!” she cried out loudly.

She felt him pull out of her body. Without any hesitation he moved her, gently and quickly, down to the floor of the shower and on her knees in front of him. When she opened her mouth to protest he did not give her the opportunity, pushing it between her lips, gripping her hair tightly, keeping her over him. She whimpered and let out a sob which only felt wonderful along him. He pushed deeper, bending her back as he moved into her mouth. She shook and pushed at him, though her mouth responded. Her lips and mouth tightened around him, sucking along the hard ridges of his length, or what he was forcing into her mouth. He could not have put it all deep in her throat this first time, she was already too scared, and he wanted to enjoy this moment.

She sucked along him, whimpering as his moans filled the shower. He knew he would not last, he was already too close, but even he was taken a little aback by his sudden explosion into her mouth, keeping her far enough over him that she was forced to swallow him down. He watched her, felt her shaking, and he smiled, unable to help himself.

She licked every drop from him, like the good girl she could be. He pulled from her mouth and watched her eyes transform from a moment of pleasure, of touching him and enjoying his pleasure, to absolute horror. She pushed at him, what might have passed at one point as calm now turned into complete hysteria. She tried to slide from the shower, sobbing hard, shaking harder.

He reached down to her, wrapping her in his arms. Her pushes were even weaker than before when she folded into him. He held onto her, worried that she had finally completely lost it when her words slipped out. “You really would have done it.”

He sighed, it was all he could do. “Yes.”

“You would have done it!” she cried out, still panicked over what had never happened.

He reached back and pushed the shower off, which had long since grown colder. The water stopped flowing over their bodies, taking away the sound that had been muffling her deeper sobs and the racing of her heart.

“Would you prefer me to lie to you?”

“I think so,” she said through her sobs.

“I won’t,” he told her. He slipped out of the shower and hauled her to her feet. She looked miserable, and still beautiful. He wrapped her in the towel she had hanging there and lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom to the bed, placing her gently across it. “I would have, you don’t understand how much I need you.” He climbed onto the bed beside her. “Celeste, I need you like I’ve never needed anything. I would have done it, just to feel your body convulse over mine. I would have taken care of it later, but I would have done it.”

“I hate you,” she sobbed against him.

He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close. “No you don’t.” He laid next to her on the bed, her body curled into his, both of them dripping water onto the comforter.

“I told you I preferred if you lied.”

He smirked. She was calming down if she could at least recognize what she was saying as childish. “I know,” he told her.