Amazing Grace

"No, not this time," he told me, shaking his head slowly. "You enjoyed that a little too much. This time, I'm gonna make you really feel pain, and humiliation."

"But you've shown me that you're not a monster, Auggie. You still have a heart," I tried to reason with him. I could feel the anger flaring up in him and I knew I had to act quickly to soothe it down. His gun was still at my side but I didn't even think to reach for it. Instead, I wrapped my legs around him again and let him feel the heat that still simmered between my thighs, leaving a wet trail against his lower abdomen. "I know you still have anger to work out, but you don't have to hurt me."

"What if I want to hurt you?" he asked simply, as if it was just something he needed to do.

I was speechless, paralyzed to utter the shameless thought that ran through my mind. There was a stranger, some slutty skank of a woman unknown to me, who wanted to slide his cock back into her mouth until it was nice and hard, and then tell him to hurt me with it as much as he pleased. I put a muzzle on her, and we just stared at each other in silence as he contemplated what he wanted to do to me. His eyes told me that he wanted to try and break me with cruelty. I made up my mind to try and break him with compassion.

After what seemed like 5 long and tense minutes, his stomach growled loudly, breaking the tension in the room.

"I'm starving," he said finally. "What do you have to eat?"

"We could order something," I offered. There was not much in my fridge other than the ingredients I used for my green smoothies every morning, beers for Garry, and cream for my coffee.

"No, no phones, no ordering out," he decided, still not trusting me. "Find something to make us for dinner," he commanded. It struck at all my feminist sensibilities, which were already on edge.

"But I don't cook," I lied. My mother was a traditional southern woman, (in more ways than I ever imagined, apparently), and she taught me how to cook quite well. She grew up believing that was how you keep a man. So I knew how to cook but I hated men assuming that was my natural job. It really irked me. Garry was a great cook, so I let him prepare most of our meals. We'd lived all these years together and he still thought I could barely make rice.

"Compared to prison food, I'm sure you'll do fine." I thought better of arguing with him, and decided I would try to make us something good.

"Can I at least pee first?" I asked.

"I guess," he told me, and I sensed the slightest hint of playful sarcasm. I smiled inwardly. "I gotta go, too. Come on."

He still wasn't prepared to let me out of his sight, but it didn't really bother me. I stood and stretched my limbs, then reached for a t-shirt to put on.

"No," he stopped me, grabbing my hand and pulling my shirt from me. "As long as I'm here, you stay naked."

"Fine," I sighed in fake exasperation. Truthfully, I loved to watch the raw desire in his eyes when he ogled my body. I put a teeny extra sway in my hips as I walked to my bathroom, and I knew just where his eyes were glued.

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I found a couple of lamb chops in our freezer and grabbed a few potatoes, onions, and peppers out of the vegetable drawer. I defrosted the chops in the microwave and set to making some home fries. I figured Auggie would appreciate a good, hearty meat-and-potatoes meal, and if I got him full he might just go to sleep. Strenuous sex and a heavy meal could knock out any man -- that much I knew. Then I could figure out how to get myself out of this mess.

The shift in our activity to food preparation had cooled the sexual tension significantly and I was able to think more clearly. Auggie thankfully allowed me to put on an apron while I sautéed the potatoes, but my naked ass was still hanging out the back of it and that's where his eyes stayed glued. I figured that I should start a conversation and try to shift his mind off of sex and revenge, but I had no idea where to start. His whole adult life had been consumed with being in prison and being falsely accused of rape.

"Did you grow up in Dallas?" I asked him finally, trying to find a neutral topic while slicing potatoes and onions. Meanwhile, I popped the lamb chops in the microwave and set it to defrost.

"Yeah, I grew up in South Dallas," he replied, a historic Black community in the city. Most Whites lived on the north side. One question in and I was already treading into touchy waters. I turned on the broiler and tried to think of a better question.

"Were you raised by your mom? Did she have any help?" I asked, hoping that would be a safer topic.

"Yeah, there were some uncles that would come and fix stuff around the house, and my grandmother took care of me a lot when my mom was working. Why you trying to get all up in my business?" he asked, accusation rising in his voice.

"I'm just trying to get to know you, Auggie, trying to make conversation," I said while I seasoned the lamb chops.

"You're trying to soften me up," he insisted.

"I was just trying to learn what your life was like before I helped ruin it," I sighed, being much more truthful than I intended. I pulled out my cast iron skillet and put a little olive oil in it. "I'm kinda lost here, Auggie. I'm trying to be understanding of what you've been through, but I have no idea how to talk to you or what to say." He was silent for a long stretch after that, and I let the silence hang.

"Well stop beating around the damn bush and just ask me what you want to know."

I thought for a second as I began to sauté the potatoes and onions. "How'd you manage for all those years?" I asked finally. "What did you do to keep your mind occupied?"

"I read up on the law, mostly," he answered, "trying to figure out how to get out of there. I could have gotten 3 law degrees from all the shit I read."

"They had law books in the prison library?" I asked, surprised. I put the lamb chops on a rack and placed them under the broiler.

"Nope, I had to order each one. I poured over every detail of criminal law that I could get my hands on, especially cases challenging eye witness identification. That's how I came in contact with lawyers working for the Innocence Project." Everyone in my office knew that name. They were part of a larger national organization called the Innocence Network. The Texas chapter is based out of Fort Worth. Since I began working for the DA's office they had gotten a number of our convictions overturned, but never one of mine. Augustine was the first.

He continued telling me about what he and his lawyer had to go through to get a judge to order DNA testing on the evidence in his case while I served our food. It felt surreal, sitting at my kitchen table with him, my first big case, both of us naked, having a conversation about the law while we dug into our food. Not to mention that he had fucked me against my will, or that I had just had one of the best orgasms in recent memory. Also not to mention the bombshell he and my mom just dropped on me. My mind just couldn't process it all in that moment. It was all I could do to just keep up my end of the conversation. I think I had totally blocked out that he had also cum inside me without protection, and I was ovulating. I would have had a nervous breakdown if I tried to deal with that in that moment.

"What made you want to be a god-damned prosecutor?" he asked when we were about done.

"I don't know," I replied. "Just wanted to help people, do something good."

"Really? Is that all? When I found out who I was, I thought that's why you were prosecuting me so hard."

"I was doing my job -- it was never personal," I replied, looking away. I got up to clear the dishes to avoid looking him in the eye.

"That's a God damned lie," he accused me. "For years, YEARS, we fought to get those DNA tests on my case, and every time, there you were, fighting tooth and nail against me."

"I thought you were guilty," I told him as I rinsed off the dishes and left them in the sink. "Clarisse identified you, three others testified that they saw you with her that night, flirting with her."

"That's bullshit!" he challenged me, voice rising in tenor. "If you really thought I was guilty, why not allow the test to prove it?" He was becoming more and more agitated, and me more frightened. Our truce was eroding fast. I wondered if I could make a run for it to the bedroom and get hold of the gun. "The truth is, you knew god damned well that the evidence against me was only circumstantial, and you didn't want to allow the test and have to face the possibility of being wrong."

"Th... th... that's not true," I stammered. "It was our policy in the DA's office to rely on our past work as good prosecutions. It would cost too much money to go back and test the tens of thousands of old case files."

"Bullshit! We were offering to retest at our own expense! My mother worked two jobs for years paying for lawyers and legal fees, and she still owes!"

"It.. it doesn't wo... work like that. We can't just rely on outside tests. If a court orders a DNA test, both the defense and the prosecution get to have their own experts do the work. Th.. that way it keeps all sides honest."

"You're full of shit," he said, suddenly upon me. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed me and pinned me up against the wall, my feet dangling below. His eyes grew icy cold. "I saw you! At each one of those court dates I saw you, and at each parole hearing I saw you. I saw the look in your eyes and the determination in your voice. You were on a mission to keep me locked away. It was personal."

I began to cry.

"Don't play that poor helpless woman shit with me," he yelled. "I want answers!"

I had none to give him, so I just kept crying. He was right, I had made it a personal mission of mine. All through his trial I was haunted with visions of his dad pounding away on top of my mother. I heard her cries and her blood curdling scream. It fueled my nightmares, reliving my mother's rape, ever since I was a little girl. My dad -- never a liberal to begin with -- was filled with anger and hatred toward Black people afterward. Disparaging remarks about the inherent criminality of "those people" became regular topics of conversation in my home growing up. I went to law school to put rapists like Auggie's father away so that they could never terrorize innocent women like my mother again. I didn't know who his father was when I prosecuted him, but it didn't matter. I prosecuted him with all that hatred in my heart all the same. I couldn't admit a word of this to him, though. I shuddered to think of how enraged he'd become.

Now I had to face the fact that my history and my choice of career had all been based on lies. My mother's rape was a lie. The accusation against Auggie was also a lie, even if an unintentional one. My whole career, built on a house of lies. So I just cried.

"Nothing to say, huh? That's ok, if all you wanna do is cry, I'm about to give you something to cry for." He grabbed me by my waist and threw me down over the kitchen table, face first. Then he pulled my arms up behind my back and held them with one hand, while his free hand spanked me like a bratty little girl. His slaps came hard across my ass at a fierce tempo, sparing no mercy. This wasn't foreplay -- he was actually spanking me for all he was worth. Each slap stung more than the one before it.

As he continued punishing me I began to feel a second thud slapping across my thigh, out of tempo with his hand slapping my ass. It wasn't slapping me hard, but its heat seemed to stick to my skin nonetheless. Then it dawned on me: he'd grown hard spanking my ass, and watching me flail beneath him helplessly. I couldn't mentally process the confluence of emotions.

I didn't realize just how my body was reacting until he speared me, sliding in waaaayyy too easily. My ass was already red, but I'm sure the rest of me turned crimson in shame. Once again I could hear myself, making a mess all over his flesh, and my shame was complete. The hand that had been spanking me was now in my hair, yanking my head back as his hips began crashing into my sore and tender backside. I gladly took the pain in exchange for the depth and girth with which he was filling me.

A terrible sense of betrayal overcame me from the way my body was responding, but I couldn't help it. Two good erections in one night was a rare treat by this point in my life. Three was totally unheard of. Not since I was 21 had I been fucked with so much lust and boundless energy.

At some point my arms were released, and the hand holding them folded against my back moved lower, spreading me. I assumed he wanted a visual image of the raw carnality taking place where our bodies met, to see all the wetness I left smeared all over his skin and dripping down my thighs. My eyes shot open when I realized that he had much more in store for me. I prayed he wouldn't, as I felt his thumb sliding down along either side of my vulva, gathering some of the moisture leaking out of me.

"Please," I begged as I felt his fat digit center on the tight virginal orifice merely an inch above where he was plowing into me. "Not there. Please not there," I pleaded, trying to squeeze myself shut and prevent his entry. I learned in that moment that you can't tighten one hole without clenching the other, and Auggie began to growl in ecstasy as he felt my pussy squeeze wetly around him. He started fucking me even harder -- if that was possible -- and painfully hitting some deep recess in my vagina with every lunge. It was by far the sweetest pain I had ever experienced, and I silently called on my Lord and Savior and made all manner of promises if he would only allow that feeling to continue.

It was at that very moment that the demon at the gate broke through. I screamed at the shock of the invasion but that only seemed to egg him on. He yanked my mane even harder, perhaps to distract me from one painful sensation with another, and increased his thrusts into me to a frenetic pace. It was as if my screams of torment just fueled his passion. He was in full-on musth by that point and there was nothing I could say or do to prevent the fucking he was about to give me.

He didn't thrust his thumb in and out of me; he just held it deep inside, fully sheathed in my anus while his huge hand gripped the whole of my left ass cheek. He held me like that -- like he owned that orifice, too, and could do with it what he pleased -- and fucked me. To my surprise, the added fullness in my ass seemed to stretch my pussy tighter, increasing the stimulation of my clit.

With the table scraping a few inches against the tile floor on every thrust, Auggie fucked me clear across the room until we hit the wall. Then he lifted me up and carried me, still impaled on his rigid shaft, back into my bedroom. He threw me down on the bed face first, my nose landing in the pungent wet spot still damp from our earlier fucking. I didn't have time to move before he was on me again, sitting on my thighs to hold me down. Auggie's big rough hands once against found my ass and began spreading my flesh, exposing my last virgin territory.

Relief washed over me when I felt his spongy mushroom tip lodge itself back between my lips, but it was short lived. I was eager for him to slide back in my pussy, but he was merely there to gather lubrication for the next phase of my punishment. A horrified gasp escaped my lips when Auggie just as quickly pulled out of my gooey pussy and centered his head directly against my anus.

"Please Auggie, don't!" I begged, pulling every muscle in my lower abdomen tight to prevent the unimaginable. "I'll do whatever you want, just please not that. Not there!" But he was determined. I squirmed trying to get out of the way but his weight on my legs and a hand pressed into the small of my back held me in place. Panic set in as I felt his weight shift, lifting his hips and adjusting the angle at which his shaft was pointed at my most secret and forbidden place.

"Auggie nooooooooo!" I screamed as he slammed into me, fully impaling me in a single stroke. The pain was blinding, and for a moment I couldn't even think as he came down across my back, putting his entire weight on me. His right arm slid under and around my neck, and applied just enough pressure to let me know he meant business. I stopped screaming and suffered through the searing pain in silence and tried to remember how to breathe. My body felt so full of his pulsing hardness that there seemed no place left for air to go.

"Listen to me carefully, Grace," he began. He held me still while his cock throbbed inside me, the foreboding quiet before the storm. "I'm gonna fuck you in the ass. I'm gonna fuck you in the ass as hard as I can and as deep as I can for as long as I can. I'm gonna use your tight little asshole for my pleasure, and I don't care if it hurts you. You can yell or scream as loud as you can but no one will come to your rescue, and I'm just gonna fuck you harder. There's nothing you can do to stop that," he paused, letting the inevitability of my predicament sink in. I cursed myself for not grabbing the gun and turning the tables earlier.

"But you do have a choice as to what the outcome will be when I'm through," he continued. "If you fight me, you're gonna injure yourself. You'll tear, and need stiches inside your ass to repair the damage. If you tear upwards, it's pretty bad, but if you tear downwards and split your taint, you'll need stitches from both ends and likely get a terrible infection that lasts for months while you heal."

"Auggie, please don't do this to me," I sobbed.

"The other choice you have is to give in," he said, ignoring my pleas and grinding his hips down into me, churning his rigid shaft down in the musky depths of my rectum. "Accept your fate, relax your muscles and take it." His cock was so slick from my pussy that he didn't even need lube. He slid around in me easily despite the snug tightness of my virgin channel. Could my shame get any worse? "You'll be sore for the next few days but no real damage will be done. If you fully relax and let go of your fear and your anger, you might even cum like you did earlier while I was fucking your pussy. But the choice is yours."

It was a total sadistic mind-fuck to be given such a choice -- to make you mentally accept being raped in order to minimize the potential physical injuries. You save the body only to destroy the psyche. "Is th-th-this what they do to people inside?" I gulped, trembling beneath him. I was trying to stall, so scared I could barely get the words out.

"They sure do!" he snickered. "The guys that come in for the first time, thinking they're all tough, usually choose wrong, and end up in the infirmary all ripped open for the next couple of weeks. Other guys will choose right, take it begrudgingly, then quickly align themselves with a gang and buff up in order to protect themselves. Then there're those special few who really take to it and become 'girlfriends.' They try to pick one guy to be with, who's big and strong enough to protect them from being passed around by everybody. But if they pick the wrong guy he may ho 'em out, for cigarettes, drugs or commissary."

"Which one were--"

"Don't you dare ask me that, bitch," he growled, yanking my hair and silencing my impudence. "The only thing you need to be concerned with," he admonished, pulling out slowly, "is how you're gonna take it." He emphasized 'take it' by slamming his hips down into me again. I winced in pain, sure he had already ripped me open with that one stroke. He felt so huge shoved deep inside me like that, I could feel every ridge and bulging vein on his shaft. I tried to focus and think about my options but he started to slow grind into my ass again, making it hard to breathe, and even harder to concentrate.