Page 606 of Rage

I tried to make my brain think of anything. Anything that wasn’t this divinely punishing cock driving into me again and again. I went boneless in his hands as he continued his delightful torture, turning me over and cradling me in his hands as he fucked me from behind.

From this new angle I could see all the etchings on the walls around us. Distantly, I scanned our entire life story in pictures as his tempo quickened. My brow ached as the imagery went from abstraction to memory in a seamless river of information.

“I missed you,” he said behind me, his voice close to my ear. “I waited while everyone forgot.”

I closed my eyes and a fever-dream of fragmented memories spilled into me. Or perhaps they were just recovered. I didn’t know.

A man that looked like him, only without the horns and teeth; without the enormous size. His clothes were out of date.

The silken tug of colorful ropes bound around our hands before we smiled and kissed each other.

Dancing around a maypole when he was much younger. I was younger too. Smaller.

A long night at his mother’s bedside with my herbs and tinctures.

Strange men in strange clothes coming into town and making camp.

Giving a girl a bundle of herbs and instructing her on how to unburden her womb.

The roughness of his hands as he brushed hair out of my face while I failed to carry another pregnancy to its end and dealt with the fever accompanying my miscarriage.

Prayers called out to the sky to take the strange men and their strange clothes away.

Being locked in a cage, stripped bare, checked for marks.Touchedby these men. Snarling, biting, fighting them off; trying to.

“I couldn’t stop them then,” my demon said behind me. I reached up and smoothed my hand around the back of his neck, eyes still unseeing as this past self spilled into me.

The acrid smell of smoke. Fire. Fire. Fire. FIRE. FIRE.FIRE.Pain doubling, then tripling, then numbing. Numbing everything except for the rage. Gods there was such rage in me and rage in Rowan’s face.

Rowan.That had been his name.

“Rowan,” I sighed.

His pace stuttered and I came back into my body as he nuzzled against my neck. His thrusting continued, only now it was slower and more tender. His lips brushed against the sweaty skin of my neck.

“You remember,” he said. “Your first becoming. You remember it.”

My eyes rolled as another collapse into pleasure loomed. “They burned me,” I said.

“Called you a witch,” he growled. “My beautiful wife. Our precious healer. Protector of all that was good, all that was right. And they cast you out and called you a demon. Burned you while they made me watch.”

“I want to see you,” I said.

“Soon,” he breathed against my ear.

I could feel him against every surface inside of me, but I didn’t think I had another release in me. I feared I might break. As if sensing this, he became even gentler, his movements focusing on his own pleasure while simultaneously brushing his hands in soothing strokes down the length of my body. Touches meant to pacify, rather than titillate.

“I cursed them,” I said, recalling the words I’d uttered.

“And I sealed that curse with their blood,” he panted as a moan left his throat. “I tore them apart with nail and tooth and blade for you.”

Yes. It was getting clearer. I was all but ash when the sky poured rain down on us all, extinguishing flame and creating rivers of blood that carved through our once-peaceful village.

“You came to me,” I said softly.

“Yes,” he moaned as his body trembled with effort.

“You held me in your arms as I soaked in their blood,” I said.

---