Amy's Awakening Read online

  Amy’s Awakening

  by

  Alexandra Cameron

  Copyright © 2013 Alexandra Cameron

  All rights reserved.

  ~

  Amy woke slowly, her head pounding. She could feel the nausea rising as she tried to open her swollen eyes. Pressing her hands against her skull to try and stop the pounding, she squinted into the natural light of the room as she tried to work out where she was. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. She closed her eyes again, it was too bright. It was never this light at her place in the mornings; she lived in a basement flat. Even in the middle of summer it was always pretty dim and cool. Where on earth was she?

  Feeling disoriented, Amy sat up carefully and remained still for a few minutes as she tried to get her bearings. She could hear the muffled sound of a shower running through the walls. Whose place was she at? Somebody had opened the curtains already, allowing the bright morning rays to stream in. She looked over to her left and saw a small bedside table with a couple of silk black scarves draped over it. They weren’t hers. She felt a new wave of nausea rising and closed her eyes. Concentrating on deep breaths, she tried to overcome it. What had happened last night? She couldn’t remember a thing.

  There was nothing here familiar to her at all, nothing. Amy was sure she’d never been in this room before in her life. As she tried to get up, she realised her whole body was aching. Every inch of her was sore. She turned and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet pressing into the cushy carpet below. As the duvet fell off her, she realised she was completely naked. She looked around the room again nervously, checking it was really empty. Oh god, what had she gotten herself into?

  She stood up unsteadily, still feeling nauseous, and began making her way over to the door on the other side of the room. It was cracked open slightly, and she could see the welcoming sight of the white tiles of a bathroom. She peeked through and to her relief saw no-one else was there.

  Opposite the toilet there was a small wash basin. She turned on the tap and ran her hands under the stream. The cool water felt good on her skin. She cupped her hands and lowered her head down to take several refreshing gulps. It helped get rid of the gross, dry taste in her mouth. Then she splashed water over her face and let it run down her neck. It was getting her long, blonde hair wet, but Amy didn’t care. It felt good against her bare back. She was starting to feel a bit better, the pounding in her head had definitely lessened. She stood upright again and wrung out her hair. She didn’t want to think about why she was naked in a stranger’s house. She stared back at her pale face in the mirror. She looked different, somehow, and not because she was hungover.

  Her face was entirely free of makeup and her green eyes had a bright gleam to them she wasn’t used to seeing. She stared at herself for a few minutes trying to remember the previous night, before suddenly realising the sound of the shower running had stopped some time ago. She carefully walked back to the door and peeped into the bedroom. No, there was still no-one else there. Trying to walk as softly as she could, she went back into the bedroom to look for her clothes. There was a pair of men’s jeans strewn on the floor. A lone sock. She kept looking. Her bra was hanging on a bed post. Amy grabbed it and quickly put it on. Her shirt was caught up in amongst the crumpled bed sheets, and finally she found her skirt halfway under the bed. She spent a scrambled minute looking for her knickers, but they were nowhere to be found. It didn’t matter, she decided, she just wanted to get out of there quickly before anyone saw her. She pulled on her black knee-length skirt and sat back down on the bed to put on the heels she’d worn last night when she saw the ropes tied around the bedposts. She stared at them, frozen with her shoe in her hand, before turning back to look at the scarves on the bedside table. Shit. She didn’t want to think about the implications of this. She wasn’t the type of girl who had one night stands, let alone any sort of crazy sex games with a stranger.

  She tried again to recall the events of the previous night. She’d gone out to celebrate with friends. She’d just passed her last semester and was looking forward to the summer weeks ahead, free of study. She’d had a lot to drink, much more than she was used to. The last thing she remembered was dancing at a loud club, vodka and tonic in hand.

  As she’d been becoming more awake, she’d been more and more aware of how much pain she was really in. It hurt everywhere, all of her muscles were sore and aching. Muscles that she didn’t even know she had were burning. This couldn’t just be from dancing for too long. Oh god, what had she done?

  Ignoring the ropes, Amy did up the straps on her shoes with slightly shaky hands. She moved towards the door as quietly as possible. She could no longer hear any sign of anyone else being in the flat, there was nothing but silence. She peeked out of the door carefully and saw an empty hallway ahead of her. Relieved, she began to make her way towards the front door of this unfamiliar flat. She just had to get out, then everything would be fine again. She could pretend it had never happened. After all, she didn’t even know for sure if anything had happened.

  She was scurrying past a door on her left as quickly as she could when suddenly a low voice coming from the darkened room stopped her in her tracks.

  “Amy.”

  Amy winced. She knew that voice. Still looking straight ahead at the front door, she desperately tried not to think about it. No, no. I don’t know that voice. I did not have sex with that man. I would never.

  “Come in and sit down.”

  Amy stood there frozen. Her glance gradually turned towards the voice. She shut her eyes. It couldn’t be him. This was all just a bad dream.

  “Come in and sit down,” he repeated. He sounded harsh and cold.

  As though hypnotised, Amy took a deep breath and went into the room. Face the truth, you wuss, she admonished herself. You’re an adult, for goodness’ sake. She would just explain it had been a mistake to him, it hadn’t meant anything, and it could definitely never happen again.

  She had entered a dimly lit kitchen. He was standing by the stove, indicating that she should sit. He waited until she did so before turning back to the pan, leaving her to stare at his naked back. He wore only faded, scruffy jeans. Amy considered getting up and running out there and then. But, no, she had to sort this out before her life could continue. Otherwise she’d always be living with the fear that he might do something, say something, spread gossip about her. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth.

  “I was drunk last night,” she began. She winced as her voice came out croakily. She cleared her throat.

  He continued stirring with a big wooden ladle. No reaction.

  “It ... it didn’t mean anything,” Amy continued. “It shouldn’t have happened. We’ve never gotten along, you and I, this was clearly a mistake.”

  She watched the muscles in his back move up and down slightly as she spoke. Wordlessly, he lifted up the pan and brought it over to the table. He put the pan of scrambled eggs down next to the bread basket. Still saying nothing, he sat down across from her. He looked at her for a moment before finally speaking.

  “That’s not what you said last night. You said you’d always fancied me, had always wanted me.”

  Amy scoffed. “As if. You’re a liar.” She knew she would never have said anything like that. It was just like David to claim she had; he’d always been an arrogant dick. Everyone thought so. How could she have slept with him?

  “You did,” he said with a quiet insistence that gave Amy pause.

  She turned back to face him sharply and stared into his dark face. His black hair, still wet from showering, clung to his temples. He calmly spooned eggs onto his plate. He put some on the plate he’d put in front of Amy too. He began to eat slowly, knowing she was w
aiting for him to say something else. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking what he was planning on doing. She simply watched in silence as he ate. Finally, he took a piece of bread and chewed it slowly. Then he put down his fork and reached across the table to take Amy’s hand. “We didn’t plan…,” he began. Amy jerked her hand back and put it in her lap. She didn’t want him to touch her.

  “No. Don’t you start with that crap. You’ve always been an utter bastard to me, all throughout school. I would never have slept with you in a million years if I hadn’t been drunk. You know I wouldn’t have. You knew I would regret it, and you did it anyway. To spite me. That’s the sort of person you are.”

  Once she’d got going, Amy hadn’t been able to stop it all from coming out. She exhaled slowly. Shit. Maybe she shouldn’t have said all that to his face.

  David stared at her for a moment, his eyes turning cold, before intimidatingly rising up from his seat and then, with one sudden movement, he wiped everything off the table. Dishes clattered to the floor as Amy shrank back into her chair in shock. He walked around the table and stood over her, putting both hands on either side of her chair. She was trapped.

  “That’s. Enough.” His cold, threatening voice echoed around the room as he put his face inches from hers. Amy swallowed nervously and slid down lower in her chair.

  He drew a deep breath. Amy looked down at his hands and saw his knuckles were turning white as they tightly gripped the chair.

  “You’re going to say that I took advantage of you?” He was really angry now. “That you were too drunk? That you didn’t want my hands all over you? You’re going to dare to pretend that you didn’t enjoy it? I won’t take that.”

  Amy looked into his dark eyes in panic. His fists were clenching and unclenching into fists as he spoke.

  “Listen up, Amy,” he said, quietly and coldly. “I didn’t come on to you last night. You came on to me. Your friends all left for the night, but you didn’t want to go yet. You wanted to stay with me. You were flirting with me, touching me, grinding up against me all night. And then you said: ‘Let’s go back to yours and fuck.’”

  His black pupils stared into her. Amy looked down at the bulging muscles in his arms. He was going to beat her. Hit her. Panic coursed through her. He was out of control. She was sure he was going to kill her, his anger was so overwhelming.

  David continued to stare down at her.

  “You wanted me to fuck you. It wasn’t me who wanted that. I didn’t even intend on sleeping with you. I was going to sleep on the couch and then tease you a bit in the morning. I was just going to pretend to have slept with you, because I knew it would wind you up a bit. You’re not as perfect as you think. I put you in my bed and then I went to sleep. On the couch. But you followed me back into the living room. You undressed in front of me, Amy. I told you, quite clearly, that I wasn’t into vanilla sex, that’s just not my thing.

  And you stood there in front of me and said: ‘Do with me what you want.’”

  David stared at her mercilessly. “So I did just that.”

  Amy gasped in disbelief. She would never have.

  “And believe me, baby, you enjoyed it,” he continued. He was on a roll now. “You enjoyed every second. You were screaming for more all night. You were horny and uninhibited, you wanted it dirty and rough. You like being bound. You like being whipped. You lost control completely when I spanked your ass. You did things with me that you’ve never considered doing with anyone else, and you were insatiable doing them. You couldn’t get enough.”

  Amy felt the heat rising in her face as she became more and more angry and indignant at his words. Fine, maybe she’d had the thought, occasionally, that the type of sex she’d had with past boyfriends had been a bit boring, but she would never have done anything like the things that David was saying. She didn’t like it like that at all. She liked passionate sex, but not sex with pain, not with dominance. She would never let a man tie her up and spank her. She felt sick that this pervert had had his hands all over her. She had to resist the urge to slap him in the face for saying all these awful things about her. Amy stood up to face him.

  He was still going on.

  “You want a man who dominates you in bed. Who treats you the way you need to be treated. You need it the way I gave it to you last night. You need someone to take control. You need a man who will destroy you in bed. You need to feel used and protected at the same time.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, her cheeks flaming. She wasn’t this girl. But she didn’t have to explain herself to him, she realised. This was ridiculous. She could just leave and forget this had ever happened.

  She lifted her chin and looked at him in defiance. This was why everyone hated him. He was a wanker, an arsehole, a bastard who played with other people’s emotions. Amy pushed her chair back and stood up.

  “Fuck you, David. You can think whatever you want about me, but you don’t know me. You know nothing.” As she turned to leave, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “You know what’s going to happen to you, Amy? You’re going to end up married to some dullard, having boring sex and a boring life. You’ll settle down, have kids and lead a boring life with boring sex.”

  He was quiet for moment.

  “I know you’d never be happy like that. You might think you were, for a while. But you wouldn’t be. I know you won’t like me for saying this, but it’s true.”

  Amy gaped at him wordlessly for a moment. What a condescending, arrogant prick. Ugh. She turned and walked towards the door, more than ready to leave.

  “You don’t need to worry about me not liking you,” Amy began, “I’ve never liked you.”

  The door banged as she closed it firmly behind her and ran down the stairs.

  *

  Back in the comfortable surroundings of her own flat, Amy realised how exhausted she was. Her muscles were still sore and aching all over. She went into the bathroom and peeled off her clothes from the night before, looking forward to a long, hot shower. As she turned to step under the welcoming water, she suddenly stopped short as she looked behind her and caught sight of herself in the full length mirror. She stared at her back and ass in astonishment.

  There were easily at least twenty red, angry looking welts across her back. On each of her ass cheeks, the imprint of two clearly defined hand prints could be made out. She turned around to look at her front and saw small indents from fingernails on her waist, as though she’d been grabbed roughly from behind. Her breasts were bruised and swollen, and the entire length of her body was marked with scratches and bruises.

  Amy couldn’t stop staring at herself in the mirror. Mesmerised, she raised her hand and carefully touched her nipples. Up until now, the men she’d slept with had only ever sucked them, tenderly stroked and caressed them. But now, as she touched her raw, reddened nipples, it hurt like a thousand pin pricks. She took one between her fingers and twisted lightly. Another agonising pain shot through her as she let out an involuntary moan. She felt it in her pussy too. It was as though there were a direct line between them.

  But, oddly, it wasn’t a bad pain. It was an entirely different feeling from when she accidentally stubbed her toe or tore a fingernail. The pain felt good, it tingled and throbbed. A sharp tug on her nipple made her gasp. Her knees began to shake as she felt the beginnings of arousal mixed in with pain. It was as though her body couldn’t decide if it was feeling arousal or pain, so it merged them. As Amy continued pulling and twisting on her nipples, her arousal built, becoming more intense, more urgent. She ran her hands over the bruises and welts on her body in fascination, and she could feel the blood running to her pussy as she touched herself.

  She stepped into the shower and stood there letting the warm, relaxing water flow over her bruised and battered body. As the water relaxed her muscles, with one hand cupping her breast, she slid her other hand down along the contours of her waist and slowly circled the half-moon shaped indentations that fin
gernails had left on her stomach. The bruised impressions caused a slight burning sensation as she pressed down on them. She felt her pussy contract and closed her eyes. She carefully traced the marks on her body with her own fingers before sliding her hand further down. She slowly slid her fingers over her hip bones before moving further down to between her thighs. Her bare mound was throbbing underneath her hand. She moaned loudly and urgently, the sound was entirely involuntarily, she couldn’t have stopped it if she wanted to. Suddenly she tore her fingers away from her body when she realised what she was doing. What was this about? What was wrong with her?

  She’d never been turned on by pain before. Turned on by the evidence of what must have been done to her last night. This was an entirely new experience for her.

  After a long, hot shower she lay down on her bed, exhausted. After the night she’d apparently had, a nap was just the thing she needed. Her ass began to burn as the red bruises came into contact with her sheets. She turned over onto her stomach and hugged her pillow. The fabric felt agonising against her nipples too and she had to bight her lip to keep from moaning. What the hell was this? She wasn’t typically loud during sex, let alone when she was by herself. She’d never been the type to moan.

  She turned carefully onto her side and closed her eyes. But she couldn’t sleep. The sexual frustration was torturous, her body was geared up for orgasm. The urge to touch herself was only growing more and more intense. She desperately tried to supress it and fall asleep, but it wasn’t going to happen. Her heart was racing. As much as she tried to relax, she couldn’t.