Siren Ch. 04

"Siren singing in the roof," Roland called out. "Come down and ease the salted wounds of a bitter sailor's heart," he said, borrowing lyrics from the song. Kenna took a breath, loath to leave the tiny space she had claimed as her own. But safety was an illusion and so she shifted to climb down, realizing belatedly that she would have to face the wall to do so safely, which meant exposing her back to him once more.

There was nothing for it though. She threw her legs over the edge and braced her arms against the low wall, trying to lower herself slowly while her feet searched for purchase. Suddenly she felt his large hands grasp her ribs, easing the strain in her arms as he lowered her to the floor. She made to turn as soon as her feet were flat but he stopped her, holding her so that he might see the scars in the light of day.

Kenna quieted though her belly twisted as he held her still. The thought that he could see what had been done to her so clearly, that he could force her to expose herself to him like this, made her sick inside. His hands released her but she didn't dare move. His fingers made short work of the knots she'd made that morning and he drew the ripped shirt away from her back so he could see the full extent of the damage wrought on her body.

She tried not to shake when one hand drifted across the scars. Most were quiet, tightened strips of flesh that pulled at her if she moved too fast or too far. But the deeper ones were still healing, even months later. They were puffy and sore in the damp air out at sea and it hurt when his fingers brushed over them. She clamped down on her reactions; with her face hidden, she could control what he saw and felt from her. It was a tiny victory but one she sorely needed. To him she would be a statue.

"Fifty with the cane?" he asked, quietly, his fingers still drifting along the long straight scars.

"Thirty," she said, no shaking in her voice, no hesitation.

"He must have been angry then." His hand moved to the inward curve at the small of her back where her skin was unblemished.

She shook her head. "Thorough." His hand flattened out at the smooth skin of her bottom and he moved it between her skin and the shirt that hung open at her shoulders, coming around to palm her lower belly, pulling her into him, his lips finding her shoulder.

"You did not anger the man who maimed you?" He spoke softly, directly into her ear, causing her to shudder. She cursed herself and strived to regain her impassivity.

"No," she whispered as his lips made their way up her neck, his nose nudging the sensitive skin behind her ear. "He thought it was for the best."

"So you angered the priest who ordered him to do it? Did you refuse to give him confession on your knees?" Kenna knew what he was implying but she had long since learned not to be offended by the thoughts others carried of her. The loneliness that followed from those opinions was the true burden.

"Some men take great pleasure in the pain of others," she said it casually, leaving her implication plain. In response he slipped his hand lower, teasing her swollen lips.

"Shameful," he said, his lips at the shell of her ear. Her voice caught as his fingers worked their way into her gathering wetness. She restrained her body as it screamed at her to grind into his hand, to encourage those clever fingers of his.

"Do not pretend that you are much different, sir," she said. His fingers slowed but did not stop. "Your pleasure is in taking that which is not willingly given as well. You wield desire like a weapon, and you leave marks much deeper than the flesh." Her body arched into him as his fingers penetrated her easily.

"Would you rather I beat you?" Kenna heard something change in his voice, and she was at once triumphant and scared that she had cracked his smooth exterior. "Did you like the pain Kenna? Did you like your husband's cock bludgeoning you while you suffered beneath him?"

He knew, she thought even as her fingers shook from the pleasure he was stirring between her legs. He'd seen her surprise, heard her cries as she'd toppled over the edge of ecstasy that first time. She had hated the pain, and yet it had kept her alive. But here, with his touch, she was lost, unable to fight him in body or mind. And to claim she was simply enduring as she had her husband would be too big a lie to be of any comfort. Her body won as her defenses weakened and she pressed down against his hand.

"You will do much worse," she said between pants, her mind fighting for clarity as her body rose up in revolt. "You will open me up and darken my soul with your touches, make me question the soundness of my thoughts. You will employ your power like a sickness of the mind until I have no place to run from you." He stilled his motions as her legs quivered with unrealized pleasure. She gripped his forearm through the fabric of the shirt and clenched her teeth to keep from whimpering her disappointment. "And then after all of my thoughts and desires are torn asunder, you will have won."

"And what is it that I win?" His voice was no longer at her ear but above her. He'd straightened to his full height, and his presence loomed over her.

"I don't know," she whispered, despair evident in her voice.

"Don't you, though?" His response was a growl that rumbled through his chest and she felt him pull her into his body, pinning her against him. There was a darkness in his voice, deeper and much more frightening than the smoothness of his behavior to this point. For a moment Kenna thought he might elaborate but then he picked her up, still pressing her back to his chest, and he carried her over to the table. She squirmed and fought his hold but both of them knew it was futile.

He practically threw her face first on the table, her legs hanging down where he kicked them apart. A large hand pinned her in place, no thought given to the sensitive scars on her back as he pressed her down into the wood. His hand went back between her legs, gentle despite the tension in his body.

"I like how you fight me despite the begging your body does for my touch," he said as he slipped his fingers inside her, making her groan. She couldn't deny it as he forced her to acknowledge how much he could make her feel. "But you know it, just like you feel it. You're mine, Kenna." His hand withdrew only to be replaced by his cock as he rammed into her, stealing her breath with the savagery of his movements. And still her body arched into him, her hips lifted to his hammering pace. "I will do what I want, when I want." She cried out as his legs forced hers even wider apart, her toes barely brushing the floor. "And I will make you love it." He leaned over her, placing his mouth next to her ear, "Just because I can."

Kenna sobbed as he straightened, his pace keeping her on a knife-edge between pleasure and pain. His words seeped into her and she felt herself getting lost in her body again, unable to fight off what only he had been able to elicit in her. She cried out as his body collided with hers over and over again, sending shivers of pain that only seemed to make her pleasure run hotter. Why? Why did he have to have this effect? Why could he not simply hurt her so she could hate him without this confusion? Why did he want her to like it?

Her body clamored towards her peak, ignoring her distress just as he did. When the pressure burst inside her she called out in despair as much as in release. He was right, and she couldn't hide it from him.

"That's it Kenna," he groaned as her channel clenched around him. The smooth slide of his member against the tightness of her channel was too much for her and she cried out, her pleasure pushed higher than she could imagine. The hand on her back, the sound of his voice, it all pulled at something much darker, buried deep inside her and she recoiled from it even as her orgasm claimed her.

He found his own completion as well, grinding against her bottom as he spilled inside her. She bit her knuckles as he withdrew, her pussy aching now that the heady pleasure was past. His seed dripped down her thigh, soiling her skin. She crumpled, her legs refused to hold her and she settled for hugging her knees on the floor. Roland stood before her, huge and magnificent where she was miserable and small. She stared at his boots until he turned and left the cabin without another word, locking the door with a scrape of a key behind him.

"I hate you," she sobbed, feeling the loathing inside her, the shame at his manipulations and forcing them outwards and away, pushing them onto him. "I hate you!" she screamed at the closed door.

***

Thanks for reading! I'm so curious to hear how you guys feel about Roland at this point. Next chapter we are going to get into his head a little more but for now I'd love to hear your impressions. So feel free to comment or email me. Your input has been invaluable so do let me know.

Chapter 5 is coming sooner than this last one did, barring any surprise visits.