Fool's Reward Ch. 01

After savoring the sensation for a moment, he relaxed his grip, allowing her to slowly fall back to the table, basking in the afterglow. He stepped back only to have his place immediately filled by another man, who pulled her off the table, then spun her around, pushing between her shoulders until she was face down on the cloth. He took her from behind with no effort to be gentle. It was hard and fast movements until he also came. His place was taken by another, who was happy to take her in the same position.

"Somebody get this bitch a cock to suck," James jeered. Quickly a volunteer got on the table and sat in front of her, releasing himself and pulling her forward until her mouth engulfed him. He grabbed her with both hands by the hair and forced her head up and down his shaft. She was locked into place as her hips were trapped between the table and the man behind, now seeking his release. When he came, James stepped back for another turn.

"I'm gonna show you guys how to treat a whore," he bragged. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up close to his. "Do you want me to fuck your ass, Terry?"

She shook her head unconvincingly. He squeezed her breast drawing a loud moan. "I said, do you want me to fuck your ass, you worthless slut?"

Her head nodded submissively and she allowed herself to be pulled back to the man sitting on the table. As he pulled her mouth back over his cock, her eyes locked on to Michael's. His reaction to the scene was visceral, but he hadn't been able to force himself to walk away. She continued to stare at him as the man resumed pulling at her hair to satisfy himself. James slid himself inside for several thrusts, then moved his erection to her anus, then began pushing.

Michael had finally seen enough and was so disgusted he forced himself to walk away. As he turned, something caught his eye, forcing him to look again. Peering closer at her, he saw a single tear fall down her cheek. He stared as her eyes brimmed until they overflowed and rained down unchecked. None of the men took notice, too intent on watching the scene and preparing to take their turn.

Suddenly it all became clear to him. Why from the moment he saw her he was so drawn to her. Why he had been unable to make himself wait to know her better. Underneath her beauty and confident exterior, his ability to gauge people had picked up on the sadness and shame she was hiding below the surface. Her body was getting what it craved physically, but he could clearly see in her eyes the toll that the demeaning treatment was taking on her. He looked at her face and instantly saw the pain she was in; the pain his gut had been screaming at him to recognize since the day he met her. It compelled him to move without thinking.

Hurrying into the room, he ran around the table and grabbed James, pulling him off of her, shoving him into the wall. Shocked, the man on the table let go, and she rolled off, falling to the floor where she gathered her clothes with shaking hands.

"What the hell?" James bellowed. "She wants it. She's just a fucking whore," he said stepping forward, only to be met with a right hook to the temple that put him on the floor, still naked from the waist down.

"Anybody else have something to say?" Michael seethed. They all took an involuntary step back and he reached down to grab Terry's hand. "We're leaving; now!" he hissed.

She acquiesced without a saying a word. He led her from the room, through the bar and out the door into the night.

"I've got my car," she complained, trying to pull away as they approached his vehicle.

"I don't care," he said, barely containing the adrenaline coursing through his body. "You are going to my house and you are going to tell me what the hell is going on."

She melted into the passenger seat, covering her face with her hands, unable to stop sobbing.

A short time later Michael pulled into the driveway of his townhouse. He paused, finally coming down from the rush of emotions he'd felt at the bar. He took stock of Terry and immediately felt guilty for his harsh tone. She was a wreck. Tears had caused her makeup to run all over her face, she was carrying her underwear in her hand, and she was obviously still quite drunk.

~~~~~

He helped her from the car and they slowly walked to the door. Once inside, he asked her to sit on the couch while he made coffee. Within minutes he was back, but she had already passed out. Shaking his head, Michael went to the closet and got pillows and a blanket. He tried to make her comfortable, then turned off the lights and headed up the stairs.

It can wait until tomorrow, he thought. But she's not leaving this house until I get answers.

He went to bed, only to toss and turn until late in the morning, wondering how she was going to explain what happened. When sleep finally came, it was restless and left him on edge and unsatisfied.

~~~~~

Michael woke with a start. He looked around, feeling confused and sat up trying to shake the unsettling dreams from his head. Once he cleared his head, his first thought was that Terry might have fled. While she wasn't exactly a prisoner, he had committed a felony for her, and she was damned well going to explain her actions. Nothing about the night made sense, even in the cold light of day. It was a jumble of anxiety and emotional turbulence.

The only thing he knew was that he was now in it up to his neck, and had to know everything to figure out what to do next. He crept down the stairs, afraid he'd find her gone, but she was still there, sleeping soundly. He went into the kitchen, trying not to disturb her while he made coffee and some breakfast. When he was done, he put everything on a tray and walked back into the living room finding her still in the same position.

He set the tray down on the coffee table, then sat next to her, putting his hand on her hip and gently shaking her. She began stirring, slowly stretching and willing herself to move. Suddenly the memory from the previous night intruded and she sat up abruptly, looking around in confusion. Her eyes settled on Michael and immediately she threw her arms across her breasts reflexively, even though she was still wearing her dress and was covered by a blanket.

"Easy," he said softly, trying to put her at ease. "You're safe here. I just brought you some breakfast."

Terry looked at the food, clearly still confused from waking up in a strange environment. "How did I get here?" she asked slowly.

"I brought you home after that scene in the bar," he said, a bit more harshly than he intended. Again he cursed his lack of tact when her face reflected the painful memory. "Oh God," she sobbed, putting her hands over her face.

"Here," he said, handing her a cup of coffee. "Drink this. It'll help."

He waited patiently while she sipped her coffee and nibbled at the food he put out. She was remembering snippets of the night, but had been so drunk that much of it was still a blur of unintelligible images. After finishing all she could, she asked where the bathroom was, and left to clean herself up.

As she shut the door, Terry looked at herself in the mirror, horrified at the person staring back. Her makeup was smeared, hair disheveled, and there were traces of what she assumed was dried semen on her skin and her clothes. Sliding her dress off, she found more on her skin around her pelvis. There were bruises on her thighs, shoulders, and around her neck and breasts where the men had bitten or twisted hard enough to leave reminders of the night's activities.

She held her head in her hands as more images flashed through the night, including the vague recollection of her facing everyone at the bar as she was exposed to them by James. She remembered being ushered into the room with the pool table, and of the men who used her in there; men who she wouldn't have been remotely attracted to under any other circumstances.

In the cold light of day, the thrill that she felt at being used that way was gone, leaving in it's place the knowledge that she was nothing but a toy for those men; not worthy of someone who really cared about her. The images continued to assault her, seeming to grow more horrific with each new one.

She thought about her life over the last three years; her wonderful marriage ending due to her inability to suppress her desires, leading to the loss of the man she believed she would grow old with. Her estrangement from her loving parents. Years worth of horrible choices, using alcohol as an excuse to do things that made her hate herself the next day. Almost three years of living alone, not believing that her life could ever recover.

Without any conscious thought, she flipped open the medicine cabinet, aimlessly looking through the bottles within. One caught her attention and she reached for it idly, reading over the label.

It would be so easy, she mused, emotionless. One bottle of pills and I could go to sleep. This entire nightmare would go away forever. I'd never have to think about the terrible things I've done. Just a few minutes... She opened the lid, staring at the tiny pills with a detached fascination.

More images flashed through her mind culminating in some man she didn't even know forcing her head down in his lap as James forced himself inside her in a way she had never even shared with the man she vowed to spend her life with.

Terry shook her head, trying to force the memory away. When that failed, she poured the contents of the bottle into her hand, unable to focus, desperate to stop the pounding in her head.

The last picture that jumped into her mind's eye was of Michael's disgusted stare as he watched her degradation. The only man she had met since Steve left who made her feel something real; made her feel like she was worth caring about. The look on his face was burned into her mind, and reflected the loathing she felt toward herself as she looked at the whorish appearance in the mirror.

Her hand brought the pills up to her mouth and she opened wide, trying to take them all at once.

~~~~~

Michael sat impatiently on the couch awaiting her return. He wanted to give her as much time as she needed, but was afraid if he waited too long, she'd close herself off and refuse to talk. He desperately wanted to help her, and despite the scene in the bar, felt the need to protect her from whatever demons were causing her to act so self-destructively.

He was roused from his thoughts by the floor creaking, signaling her return. "Terry," he began, but stopped as he caught sight of her pale, fragile appearance, her entire body trembling as she held onto the wall for support. "What's wrong?" He asked, alarmed.

"Help me," she sobbed...

To be continued...