The Buried Girl

The Buried Girl

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica

Summary

Daryl, alone and lonely after the death of his wife and the estrangement of his adult kids, sees his later years as a long tedious continuum of malaise and depression. The day he finds Ileana, naked and helpless, marks a new chapter in his life. He attempts to help her escape unspeakable cruelty and injustice. But can we ever really escape?

Summary

Daryl, alone and lonely after the death of his wife and the estrangement of his adult kids, sees his later years as a long tedious continuum of malaise and depression. The day he finds Ileana, naked and helpless, marks a new chapter in his life. He attempts to help her escape unspeakable cruelty and injustice. But can we ever really escape?

Content

Submitted: April 12, 2013

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Content

Submitted: April 12, 2013

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To listen to this story read by the author, go to http://64shadesofgrey.net//index.php/topic,82.msg182.html#msg182

 

The Buried Girl

Daryl was depressed. He was 57 years old, his wife died four years ago, and his daughter and son both left home as soon as they were able and moved across country to Texas and Georgia. Daryl tried his best to cope with his losses - his children might as well have been dead to him - by working and staying busy. He didn't really need to work. His house was mortgage free, his own parents had previously left him a substantial amount of money, and his wife's life insurance added to his financial cushion.

His house was far bigger than he could easily manage. It was on ten acres in a semi-rural location in a small town about seventy miles from Detroit. He and his wife always imagined their house filled with grandkids and family. They even built a fully functional apartment on the second floor over a detached garage. Their plans fell apart so quickly.

The more pointless his life seemed, the more withdrawn and subdued he became. His work as a freelance graphic artist became morose, almost moribund. Consequently, Daryl lost some work from some of his commercial clients who liked him for his ability to design cheerful, colorful illustrations that played well with their customers.

So, it was with a sense of forced determination that Daryl started running again, after almost ten years being out of shape. He didn't want to run. He didn't even want to leave the house most days. But, he sensed his life slipping away and he looked into his future and saw many long, lonely, dreary years ahead if he continued on his present path. So, he ran. He didn't know what else to do.

He ran on an unpaved hiking trail that wound in and through a wooded state park near his home. He would drive to the park and leave his car at the head of his favorite trail and spend anywhere from forty minutes to two hours running and imagining that his life was somehow less lonely because of the very occasional walker he might pass. At first, it was a slow, plodding shuffle of a run. As the weeks and months passed, his jog became a run, and his distances increased and his times decreased.

And so it was that Daryl's life changed on the day that he found a young woman - naked, cold, and battered - half buried in a shallow grave in a small clearing in some otherwise densely overgrown trees and shrubs not one hundred feet from where he parked his car.

He had finished his run and was walking it off before getting into his car to leave. He heard her, a low moan, a weak call for help, barely audible. "Please... Help me... Help." Her voice was subdued, her breathing shallow and labored. There it was again. "Help me." Daryl moved toward the voice. It was coming from the trees. "Please." It was closer now. He stepped through some heavy brush and there she was. Only her head, neck, shoulder and one arm were visible. Her hair was matted with moist soil and her skin was cold and bluish and dirt-stained. She could barely lift her arm and her head hung back as if holding it up required more strength than she had.

Daryl quickly ran to her, shocked and unsure how to help her. He dropped to his knees and began pulling at the dirt on top of her. It was loose and easy to move, but it was also damp and heavy. It quickly got under his fingernails and all over his arms and legs. The buried girl was nearly unconscious. Her breathing was thick and her body limp. He uncovered enough of her torso to pull her out of her shallow grave. She was completely naked. Her forehead and temple had dirt-thickened blood coagulated into splotchy patterns. Her skin was cold and clammy but she was still alive.

He picked her up; she couldn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds. As quickly as he could, Daryl rushed to his car. He put her in the front seat, covered her with the windbreaker and towels he always kept in the car when he ran. He lowered her seat to a reclining position and got into the driver's seat. "Where is the closest hospital?" he thought to himself. He started the car and picked up his cell phone to call 911.

Before he could dial, the girl reached out her hand to him. "No... Please don't call... anyone... It's too...Daryl was depressed. He was 57 years old, his wife died four years ago, and his daughter and son both left home as soon as they were able and moved across country to Texas and Georgia. Daryl tried his best to cope with his losses - his children might as well have been dead to him - by working and staying busy. He didn't really need to work. His house was mortgage free, his own parents had previously left him a substantial amount of money, and his wife's life insurance added to his financial cushion.

His house was far bigger than he could easily manage. It was on ten acres in a semi-rural location in a small town about seventy miles from Detroit. He and his wife always imagined their house filled with grandkids and family. They even built a fully functional apartment on the second floor over a detached garage. Their plans fell apart so quickly.

The more pointless his life seemed, the more withdrawn and subdued he became. His work as a freelance graphic artist became morose, almost moribund. Consequently, Daryl lost some work from some of his commercial clients who liked him for his ability to design cheerful, colorful illustrations that played well with their customers.

So, it was with a sense of forced determination that Daryl started running again, after almost ten years being out of shape. He didn't want to run. He didn't even want to leave the house most days. But, he sensed his life slipping away and he looked into his future and saw many long, lonely, dreary years ahead if he continued on his present path. So, he ran. He didn't know what else to do.

He ran on an unpaved hiking trail that wound in and through a wooded state park near his home. He would drive to the park and leave his car at the head of his favorite trial and spend anywhere from forty minutes to two hours running and imagining that his life was somehow less lonely because of the very occasional walker he might pass. At first, it was a slow, plodding shuffle of a run. As the weeks and months passed, his jog became a run, and his distances increased and his times decreased.

And so it was that Daryl's life changed on the day that he found a young woman - naked, cold, and battered - half buried in a shallow grave in a small clearing in some otherwise densely overgrown trees and shrubs not one hundred feet from where he parked his car.

He had finished his run and was walking it off before getting into his car to leave. He heard her, a low moan, a weak call for help, barely audible. "Please... Help me... Help." Her voice was subdued, her breathing shallow and labored. There it was again. "Help me." Daryl moved toward the voice. It was coming from the trees. "Please." It was closer now. He stepped through some heavy brush and there she was. Only her head, neck, shoulder and one arm were visible. Her hair was matted with moist soil and her skin was cold and bluish and dirt-stained. She could barely lift her arm and her head hung back as if holding it up required more strength than she had.

Daryl quickly ran to her, shocked and unsure how to help her. He dropped to his knees and began pulling at the dirt on top of her. It was loose and easy to move, but it was also damp and heavy. It quickly got under his fingernails and all over his arms and legs. The buried girl was nearly unconscious. Her breathing was thick and her body limp. He uncovered enough of her torso to pull her out of her shallow grave. She was completely naked. Her forehead and temple had dirt-thickened blood coagulated into splotchy patterns. Her skin was cold and clammy but she was still alive.

He picked her up; she couldn't weigh much more than a hundred pounds. As quickly as he could, Daryl rushed to his car. He put her in the front seat, covered her with the windbreaker and towels he always kept in the car when he ran. He lowered her seat to a reclining position and got into the driver's seat. "Where is the closest hospital?" he thought to himself. He started the car and picked up his cell phone to call 911.

Before he could dial, the girl reached out her hand to him. "No... Please don't call... anyone... It's too... dangerous." It caused her much effort to get her words out.

"I have to call the police. I have to get you to a hospital." Daryl's Good-Samaritan instincts were kicking in. Of course he had to call the police. There was a horrible crime committed here.

"Take me... somewhere safe... Not the police... Not a... hospital... Hurry... It is not... safe here. They might... see us."

She was very agitated but too weak to communicate anything else. She lost consciousness, partly from her ordeal - whatever it was - and partly from the expenditure of energy she spent pleading with Daryl.

Daryl was at a crossroads. All of his instincts told him to go straight to a hospital and to call 911. Law enforcement needed to be brought in. Evidence needed to be gathered. The crime scene needed to be cordoned off. But he put his instincts on hold long enough to think. She said to hurry. She said they were still in danger. Her level of agitation, bordering on panic, convinced him to at least drive away from there. He felt a tingling sensation on the back of his neck thinking that they might be watched. He pulled out of the park and onto the main two-lane road that led northward to his own house. He began to feel safer. The urgent sense of danger passed once he was on regular roads again with regular traffic and regular stop signs and signals.

But he didn't pick up his phone again. He stopped asking himself where the nearest hospital was. He glanced at her form, lying stretched out on his passenger seat. She was a mess. She was covered everywhere with rubbed-in dirt and grime. Her hair was matted; stuck together in clumps that gave her a tribal appearance, as if she came from people in the Amazon that used mud to keep insects off their skin. Her mouth was open and her breathing was deep and raspy. Her nostrils were likely filled with dirt.

He parked his car in the detached garage and opened the doors to the apartment upstairs and to the bathroom, turning on lights as he went. He ran the shower to get the water warm. Back downstairs, on the passenger side of the car, he scooped her up from the seat and carried her upstairs to the bathroom. She was still unconscious and limp and almost weightless. He got into the shower with her, still wearing his sweaty running gear and shoes. The water would help her warm up. The dirt immediately turned to mud as it ran down her body and down his body and into tub.

She stirred. The water revived her somewhat, though she was weak and could not stand on her own. He let her legs down and stood her up facing him, her arms draped over his shoulders. She was able to cling to him while he washed the dirt from her back and ass and upper legs. So far, he couldn't detect any injuries there. Her skin was warming up and getting color back into it. She was young; probably no older than eighteen or twenty. She was gaunt, as if she had been starved for the last several weeks.

Daryl turned her and laid her down on the floor of the tub. She was still just a ragdoll in his arms. He left the shower running, got out and squatted by her side. Slowly, over the next hour, he washed her entire body, including her face and hair. She needed food but she needed rest even more. She slept soundly through most of her bath. Daryl felt ashamed of himself for letting his eyes rest on her naked body. She was younger than his own daughter.

But he had a job to do. With a soft, natural sea sponge, he gently scrubbed the dirt off her torso, her flat abdomen, her small breasts and nipples. He felt even more ashamed as his erection bulged in his still wet runner's shorts. He picked up each of her arms and washed them thoroughly. She had no hair on her body, not even her underarms, not even stubble on her legs. She had no hair between her legs. He felt like he was violating her - she was still unconscious and, to his knowledge, unaware of what was happening to her. But he had to finish. He bent her legs at the knees and spread them, running a warm, gentle spray of water and the sponge onto and in between her pussy lips. She was dirty there as well and mud colored water ran out and down the drain.

When he was satisfied with his work, he stopped the drain and let the tub begin to fill with warm, almost hot water. He was completely wet himself, and cold, so he stripped out of his clothes even before thinking that he didn't keep any of his own clothes in the apartment. He would have to wrap a towel around himself and go to the main house for some clothes. It would only take a minute and this tub would not fill up for at least twenty or more minutes. He looked at himself in the mirror. His cock was still erect. He couldn't get the image of her naked flesh off his mind or the memory of his hands rubbing that naked flesh. His cock throbbed and he ached for another look at her.

Oh God. Her eyes were open. She was looking at him; at his naked body. Embarrassed, he quickly put a towel around his waist - it didn't hide his lonely cock - and said, "I have to go to the house for some things. I'll be right back. Warm yourself up. Try to sleep." He left and trotted across the back yard from his apartment to his house. His nearest neighbors were down the road. His property was ringed by thick trees, at least around the back and sides. His erection did not go away because of his embarrassment or his trot to the house.

Daryl got dressed. He was ashamed of himself for being aroused but felt a guilty sense of pleasure nonetheless. This girl - whoever she was - needed his help, asked for his help - not his slobbering lust. His sense of parental responsibility kicked in. He gathered some things for her. Some extra towels and toiletries since the apartment didn't get much use and he didn't keep it stocked very well. He brought some bottled water, some bread and peanut butter, and some milk.

He felt like enough time had gone by. The tub might be filling up close to the top, so he hurried back. He dropped his things on the small kitchen table and went in to check on her. The water was high and she was completely submerged except for her face. Her eyes were closed. "She must still be asleep," he thought. He turned off the water and the surface quickly became still and transparent. Her skin had tiny bubbles on it. He found his eyes refused to leave her nakedness. He couldn't help but admire her youthful beauty. His "admiration" became lustful ogling. Many long moments passed and his eyes probed every part of her body under the glassy water.

She startled him when she said, eyes still closed, "Please do not call the police. They'll find me if you do." Ashamed again of the bulge in his pants, he straightened up and forced his eyes onto her face. Even though her eyes were closed, she could surely feel his touching her body in places a man of his age shouldn't. She either didn't mind or she simply didn't have the strength to be offended.

"I think I should help you out of the bath and into bed. You need rest." She didn't disagree so he helped her to stand. She had to drape her arms around his neck while he toweled her dry and then he carried her to the bed. The apartment was chilled because he had kept the heat off and he forgot to turn it on when they first arrived. So he turned down the sheets and helped her under them. This queen bed had a featherbed on top of the mattress and a thick, three season comforter instead of a blanket. She would quickly warm up inside. He pulled the comforter to her neck and helped drape her still-wet hair into a fan on each side on her pillow.

"I need to tell you," she began, but her interrupted her.

"No. We can talk later. You rest. I need to buy you some clothes and some other things, so I'll be back in a few hours. I've put some water here by the bed. I won't call the police. Sleep now." He stood to leave, but he thought of one more thing. "Before you sleep, what can I call you?"

"My name is Ileana." Her eyes were closed.

"My name is Daryl," he said to her, wondering if she even heard.

"Dari," she repeated softly as she nodded off to sleep.

Daryl didn't know how to shop for girl's clothes. He had no idea what she would need in the bathroom, either. So, he muddled through as best he could. He bought some panties and a long cotton nightgown in the junior miss section of a Walmart. He bought some t-shirts and a pair of jeans. If they didn't fit or if she didn't want them, he could always take them back. He bought some girly socks and plain white sneakers. All he needed was to get her dressed so that she could leave or go home or do whatever it was that she had to do. Realistically, she would be in his house only as long as it took her to recover and formulate a plan.

He stocked up on some groceries. The last several months Daryl had been negligent with his diet. He was eating junk and processed foods even though he was a very good cook. Since he had a "guest" he may as well cook properly. Ileana surely needed it.

When he returned home, he quietly went to her room. She was still asleep. Her long brown hair was a mess but it was drying out. It looked like she had drunk some of the water he left by her bed. He laid out the clothes he bought, such as they were, and stood over her again. It was only upon looking at her, sleeping so soundly, that he wondered where she was from. Ileana sounded foreign and the more he thought, the more he realized that she did have a very slight accent - something Eastern European perhaps. He wrote a note:

"Ileana, I bought you some clothes. They're not much but maybe when you feel up to it, we can shop for something more to your liking. I'll need your help getting things for the bathroom: hair care stuff, soaps, makeup??? girly things that I don't understand very well. When you feel up to it, I'll fix something to eat. I'll be in the house. Please make yourself at home. We'll talk when you're able."

Daryl went back to the house. He was worried about her. She had so quickly become his project that he didn't think about work or his own needs or even the danger she spoke about earlier. He felt a very strong fathering instinct toward her but he also felt that it was only a thin veneer covering a very different un-fatherly instinct. He lusted after her. There. He said it. He wanted her. He wanted to lie next to her. He wanted to possess her. He wanted to fuck her, to taste her, to consume her and to be consumed by her. It was wrong, he knew it, but it was what he ached for.

The afternoon passed and the evening progressed. He didn't want to bother her because she needed to sleep, More than that, he was afraid to visit her again, especially after his self-confession. He didn't trust himself to do the right thing by her. He prepared a short, simple dinner for himself so that if she awoke hungry, he could fix her some dinner and share it with her. But she never came. The evening turned to night. Daryl began to feel guilty again. Ileana had been through something traumatic, something horrible. She needed time to recover, to regain her strength, and maybe her senses. And yet, all he could think of was her body, her physical and sexual vulnerability, and his loneliness. He would stay away from her.

Finally, he went to bed. It was well past midnight. He usually fell asleep within minutes of lying down but that night, he lay there thinking, imagining, wondering, remembering. His bed was like hers: a queen with a feather bed on the mattress and a thick down comforter. His boxers felt constricting to him. His semi-erect penis would not give him rest. He removed his boxers and tried to sleep naked, something he never did but which seemed appropriate that night. He thought about masturbating but he resisted the temptation. A small voice inside told him not to do it.

He finally fell asleep and dreamed fitful, dark images. He awoke around two to the sound of thunder in the distance. He got up, still naked and looked out his window toward the apartment. Her room was dark. The cloud cover made it a dark night. Later, he awoke again. The rain had started, brought in by a powerful thunderstorm. The cracks of thunder and the flashes of lightening were close, very close. He got up again to look toward the apartment. The rain was heavy and he couldn't see a thing.

Suddenly, a bright flash of lightening lit up his backyard. There was Ileana, standing naked in the heavy rain. Her arms were spread wide and high. Her face was upturned, as if looking to the heavens. The lightening flash burned an image into his brain. His eyes saw nothing but his brain continued to see her naked form. Another flash. She had moved again. She was spinning in circles as if trying to absorb the rain and the electricity and the light and the violence. That last flash was more prolonged, at least a second or two. Daryl stood transfixed as he watched the Woodland Nymph below his window.

The lightening passed and it became dark again. He went back to bed, memories of Ileana refusing to let him sleep. But sleep came eventually. How long he slept, he wasn't sure. When he awoke again, it was to the sound of creaking steps on his bedroom floor. He listened and heard nothing. He waited silently. Still nothing. She was there, by his bed. Saying nothing, he lifted his covers for her and she climbed into bed with him, her skin wet and cold from the rain.

She shivered in his arms for a long while until their bodies shared enough warmth to still her shaking flesh. She uncurled her body and raised her mouth to his and they kissed. Facing him now, her hand traced down his chest and abdomen to his cock. He longed for her touch and when he had it, his world seemed different. He was no longer a middle aged man staring down a long path of loneliness to eventual death. He was a young man again with many happy years ahead. He knew nothing about this woman but in the space of eighteen hours she had changed his life, at least it seemed so in the lustful orgasmic pleasures that he was experiencing in his bed at that moment.

Ileana moved down under the comforter and took Daryl's cock into her mouth. Daryl was not very experienced with women. His wife was his one and only partner and during all their years of marriage, they had never experimented with anything more than vaginal intercourse. Daryl knew what oral sex was - he wasn't completely stupid - he had simply never experienced it. He had fantasized about it. He had masturbated to the image and the idea of a woman's mouth around his cock. Daryl discovered that the reality was very different from the fantasy. It was so much more intense for him that he had to pull her away or risk cumming within a few short seconds.

Ileana misread his intentions - or perhaps she read them perfectly well - and decided she wasn't ready to take him inside her yet. She climbed on his chest and before he knew it, shimmied up to his face and cradled him between her legs. He had never been here before. He was overwhelmed and unsure of himself. Perhaps it was the generational difference but Daryl was almost shocked by her sexual aggressiveness. She wanted his tongue and lips to suckle her pussy and she wasn't shy about it. His comprehension of this new facet of female sexuality excited him beyond measure. He didn't know what he was doing but he drank her in and explored her. Her body's reactions fascinated him and he abandoned himself to her the same way she abandoned herself to her own orgasm and her own desires.

When she came on his face, Daryl thought their coupling was over but Ileana was only just warming up. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and then slid back down his body. She reached behind her as she did so to see if he was still hard. His cock had slackened somewhat but the sensation of her hand grasping his shaft brought him instantly back to attention. She continued to position her body over his. Without much delay, she impaled herself on his cock. She wanted it hard and deep and he was able to give it to her.

He was always used to being on top. The entirety of his sexual experience had been from the top in the missionary position. This, for him, was new and somewhat distracting. It did help him to last longer, though, and Ileana reached a quick orgasm before he did. As she was writhing on top of him, Daryl tried to remember how his wife felt on his cock so many years before. He couldn't. Everything was so different - their position, his built-up levels of anticipatory eroticism, her younger, smaller, tighter body. All he knew was that her pussy gripped his cock like it would never let him go. Those thoughts - his mind's eye seeing her contracting, muscular cunt milking his cock - made him cum into her in a glorious release that had been building in him for much longer than just the day that he knew her.

The next day, after sleeping much later than he usually would or could, Daryl got up and dressed. Ileana was still in his bed, her warmth and feminine scents making his bed and bedroom feel alive again. He went to his kitchen to make coffee and breakfast. He heard the water running in his bathroom. She was taking a shower. He brought her a mug of coffee and another two towels. Upon knocking on his bathroom door, she said, "Yes? Come in." Daryl was confronted by Ileana's slender, wet, naked body standing on the bathmat in front of the mirror. Perhaps it was another generational difference but, without thought, he assumed she would have a towel around her or be covered in some way. He rarely saw his own wife nude except at night and tangled in the sheets with low light. The bathroom suddenly became an erotic place to him. She was completely unselfconscious about her nudity. Yes, he gazed long and lustfully at her nakedness the day before but now, here, in broad daylight, and with a revived, healthy woman, he was still jolted by it. His cock bulged against his constricting clothes.

She turned to him, saw the towels and took one to dry herself in front of him. She wrapped her hair in the other and let the first fall to the floor. Only then did she take the coffee from his hand. She had some cuts on her head but they looked to be superficial. More pronounced were the bruises on her neck. "We must talk," she said, as she walked by him and into his bedroom with only a towel on her hair and the mug in her hand. He followed. She went to his kitchen and sat, naked, on a bar stool at the island. No one had ever sat naked in his kitchen before. She acted as if nakedness were her normal state. She carried her body in such a way as to convince him that it really was the only normal way to exist.

"Dar-il, thank you for helping me." Her slight accent was more pronounced when she said his name. She pronounced Dar as if it rhymed with car, and she made the second syllable rhyme with ill. "And thank you for not going to the police."

"Please, tell me what happened. Who hurt you? How did you come to be in that place?"

"There are some bad men. I did not do as they said so they tried to kill me. They thought they did kill me. I thought they killed me." Her hand moved involuntarily to her neck as she said this. "I woke up feeling of cold and wet. My chest felt pressure. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't see. I panicked. But I was able to reach out and I felt air. I did not know where I was but I knew I needed to move up." She paused, remembering the sense of panic that her ordeal had caused her. "By the time you found me, I had no strength left. I could not move any farther."

"But you don't remember being taken there? You don't remember being buried?" She shook her head. "I'm glad I was there to hear you. That place is very little used. But why not go to the police? Surely they could help get you home. They could find those men who did this to you."

"Impossible. They are the same. And I have no home." She looked every bit the orphan of her story; gaunt and pale, bruised, sad, tragic. "And you must never go back to that place. They will find out I'm not there. They will watch. They will find me."

"But we have to do something. You can't hide forever. We can't let them get away with this."

"Please, Dar-il. Can I stay here... for a while? I can't be seen. I cannot go out. I have no one. I have no one to help me. I can help you. I can clean. I can cook for you. I can..." It was obvious to Daryl that she was going to say, "I can sleep with you." He felt sick. Of course. Of course she only came to him last night because she was paying her keep. How stupid he was. He looked at her, sitting on the barstool in all of her proud, naked beauty; so vulnerable, friendless, powerless. She used the only asset she had, her beauty.

"Ileana, you can stay here as long as you like. I will look after you. I don't have family. You can hide here until we figure out something else. You can use the apartment as if it were your own. If you'd like, you can fix meals for yourself there, or you can eat here with me. But please... do not feel like you need to do anything. You don't have to work. You don't have to cook for me and you certainly don't have to sleep with me."

Over the next several days, Daryl and Ileana settled into a strange kind of existence. She preferred to spend her days in the big house with Daryl even when he was attempting to work. She puttered around, straightening and putting things in order, bringing him coffee and snacks. At first, she wouldn't wear clothes even though he told her he'd prefer that she did. She said she felt constricted in clothes but he finally got her to wear a long t-shirt - nothing else. At night, she would go to the apartment but never once did she spend an entire night there. Ever since that first night, she would come to him in the small hours of night and crawl into bed with him. She said she was afraid in the apartment by herself. Sometimes, she would just sleep. Daryl felt like an abuser when he made love to her but his lust always prevailed and he told himself that she enjoyed it, too. Maybe she did.

She told him what kinds of things she needed from the drug store for when her period came and he shopped for her. Over several days, he found out that Ileana was Romanian, she was nineteen years old and she had been given in payment to the men who tried to kill her. She didn't have family in Romania anymore. She was trying to live in Bucharest, waiting tables and sometimes cleaning people's homes, when she was taken, six months ago. She never knew who took her or how. She simply awoke in a dark place with other girls. All of them had been drugged and were helpless. She was raped many times during her ordeal and during her journey to America. It wasn't until she was in the possession of four American men that she was finally allowed to see daylight and to clear her head of the drugs that they had her on.

The men were trying to sell her and they wanted her to cooperate by eating healthy food, by gaining some weight, by staying clean and healthy looking, and, most of all, by learning to please men on command, by being docile, and by learning many different ways to please a man sexually. It was her resistance to them that led to their attempted murder. Out of anger, and despite not wanting to scar her, they slapped her around and finally, out of frustration and anger, one of the men strangled her. The part that made her very afraid, however, was that two of the men worked for the Sheriff's department. In fact, one was the Sheriff himself.

Ileana stopped using the apartment altogether after she had a scare in it one evening. It was nothing, really. There were two ways into the apartment. One was from the inside, from a door at the top of the stairs that led from the garage to the small kitchen. The second door led from the small living area to a deck that wrapped around part of the apartment at the second floor level. From there, steps led down to the backyard. One evening, she went to the apartment from the house and she used the outside door, the one on the deck that led to the living room. She was in the bathroom and after flushing the toilet, she made her way to the kitchen. On her way, she noticed that the door was wide open. The sight filled her with fear. She was certain someone was in the little apartment with her. She ran to the house and told Daryl. He checked it out but everything was okay. She must have left the door ajar and the wind blew it open. Nonetheless, Ileana wouldn't stay in the apartment anymore and she insisted on keeping the doors and windows locked in the main house.

After that incident, things progressed uneventfully except for the overall sense of purpose that Daryl felt having Ileana as his 'project.' Neither one had formulated a plan for the future. Ileana couldn't just spend the rest of her life as a recluse in the house of an older man. She had no identity, at least in the sense that she had no driver's license or social security number. She couldn't find legitimate work in the future unless she somehow became 'legal' by registering with immigration. Nor could she make her way back to Romania without contacting authorities.

Daryl knew that one possible solution would be to contact the FBI since they might offer protection from whatever corruption filled the local police department. However, he didn't see any harm in letting the heat die down for a time. He enjoyed having her with him. He enjoyed having her presence in the house. He enjoyed having her body at his disposal. He assuaged his guilt in this regard by telling himself that she was always the instigator of their sexual encounters. She apparently needed sex as much as he wanted it.

What neither one knew is that the men who tried to kill her did indeed know that she wasn't dead. One of them had visited the sight of her grave and found signs of her seemingly miraculous resurrection and escape. Using the law enforcement resources at their disposal, they put out feelers to try to find her. They knew she had nothing and nobody. No naked and battered woman had been reported by anyone. No hospital had records of a nameless woman turning up with stories that matched what she would surely tell them. The men came to the conclusion that she was found and helped by a local person or persons and that she prevailed upon them not to call the police. She was a very intelligent girl after all, who spoke English very well. That left them with two possibilities. One was that she was helped to get away from there. If so, she would be long gone and they'd never see her again and the story would die away. The second possibility was that she was being harbored locally. They could not risk having such a dangerous witness living amongst them.

Accordingly, notices were put up. 'Have you seen this woman?' Her picture began to appear on bulletin boards with those words above it. A police hotline number was added for anyone with information. The notices were sufficiently vague as to why she was being sought. It was left to the readers to fill in their own details. Was she a runaway? Concerned parents would feel a sense of duty to report her if they saw her. Was she a criminal? Law-abiding citizens would want her to face the charges and make amends. Was she simply missing? Who wouldn't want to help a family that had lost a daughter and feared the worst? The police did not want to officially list her as a missing person. They wanted no electronic record that could be seen across the country.

Still, Ileana was safe as long as she stayed in the house, unseen. Daryl would eventually see the notices when he did the shopping. When that happened, they would have to act and either call the FBI or flee to a safer place.

But that is not what happened. One evening, while carrying a mug of tea from the kitchen to Daryl's upstairs office and studio where he was trying to work, Ileana was suddenly startled to see a woman standing at the front door. The front entrance was a double French door that opened onto the front porch. It was usually dark on the porch but it caught Ileana's eye because the motion sensor had turned it on and the woman was just reaching for the doorbell. It rang and Ileana immediately backpedaled into the kitchen and out of sight. A quick moment later, Daryl ran downstairs and answered. The woman said she was trying to get signatures for a ballot petition of some sort. Daryl was suspicious and cautious and undoubtedly acted so. He got rid of her as quickly as possible but it spooked them both. If he had known about the police notices he would have decided on a plan immediately. Instead, he took a wait and see attitude. The woman at the door seemed harmless enough. Her petition drive did seem authentic. And neither one knew whether she saw Ileana during her brief appearance.

But the woman did see a brief flash of a young woman. And she had been seeing the notices about a missing girl. And she did know that this house belonged to a sad man who had lost his wife to cancer and his kids to family arguments. And she did think his behavior was suspicious. And she did call the number on the hotline to report what she saw.

Daryl and Ileana ate some grilled chicken that he prepared with a hint of ginger and lemon. He also lightly sautéed some baby spinach with butter and finely chopped onions and served them on top of a bland, lightly salted white rice. As usual, Ileana wore only her long t-shirt. Daryl was completely accustomed to her near nakedness at all times. He had never seen shoes on her. In fact, he had never seen her legs or feet covered with anything at all. He looked at her as she helped clean dishes. Her t-shirt covered her ass but he knew she was naked underneath it. His mind's eye pictured her sweet ass and hairless pussy underneath the knit cotton of her shirt that followed the contours of her ass so closely as she bent slightly to reach for some dishes across the kitchen island.

He became aroused. He had taken up her habit of wearing non-constricting clothing at home. His pants were a baggy white cotton with a drawstring at the waist. It made him slightly embarrassed to think about given his age, but he had stopped wearing boxers under his house clothes. Now that he looked at her body from behind and became fixated on her, his cock began pushing out on his baggy white pants. He moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She felt his erection on her ass and smiled. It was usually she who went to him for sex. This small act excited her and made her wet.

She turned and looked up into his sad face. She felt so grateful for all that he had done for her. He was her protector and her only friend and he was three times her age of nineteen, but he was also her lover and she felt genuine affection for him. She also felt genuine sexual longing for him. She kissed him and with her left hand felt his hard cock through his pants. She led him to the game room. He still had the steak knife that he was holding in his hand, so he absentmindedly put it in his pocket instead of diverting her purpose by moving to the counter or the sink.

They had never made love in the game room before. In fact, they didn't spend much time there at all. But it was close to the kitchen and there was a pool table and Ileana wanted to lie on the hard, green surface of the table while he fucked her so that he could ram himself into her without the spring that a bed provides. She longed for hard, deep penetration and she became wetter just thinking about it. She sat on the edge of the table and brought him to her between her spread knees. She untied his pants and let them drop to his ankles. His cock extended straight out toward her. She took it in her hand, hitched up her t-shirt to expose her glistening pussy, and fingered herself to make sure her wetness was at its fullest. She ached for him and she wanted him right now, while his cock was this hard. She rubbed the tip of his cock onto her cunt and between her lips, spreading her moisture onto him.

Then, she backed away, onto the table and beckoned him to follow. He did. She was lying on her back, her legs spread invitingly, her feet flat on the green and her knees slightly bent. Her arms reached out to him. He climbed onto his knees between her legs, his pants still bunched around his ankles and his cock bobbing pleasantly. He felt like his cock was heavy. Perhaps it was. He had not been this turned on for a long time. He positioned his cock into her waiting hands and she guided him to her eager lips. They both needed this. Their raw animal lust after so much consternation and worry would help them both. Daryl felt his cock begin a slow but forceful drive into her pussy.

Very suddenly and from several directions at once, loud banging noises, slams, and shouts filled their ears. Even as the noises were registering in their brains, Daryl felt rough hands grabbing at his arms and torso. He was yanked off the table and a fist slammed into his gut. He crumpled to the floor, tripping backwards because of the knot of clothing bunched around his ankles. As he fell backwards, he saw large men grabbing Ileana by the neck and arms, still on the table.

Daryl could not breathe. The punch to the gut had caused his diaphragm to constrict painfully and he couldn't force it to draw air into his lungs. Two men held Ileana down to the table. Two more men faced Daryl. One crouched down where he was, took a fistful of his shirt, and slammed his other fist into Daryl's face. Blood streamed out his broken nose and ran down his chin, neck, and t-shirt, eventually dripping and pooling onto the hardwood floor.

"Well, well. All this time we were worried that you were long gone. You gave us quite a scare, bitch." Ileana had a look of abject fear on her face. She knew these men of course. They had tried to kill her once. "And I see you're all dressed up and eager to do what you do best." The man doing the talking moved to her feet and pulled her toward the edge of the pool table. "Jake, get over here and help hold her down."

Ileana began a frantic struggle to free herself of the one man holding her left wrist and neck. Frank turned away from Daryl and went to Ileana's right side to hold her other wrist and arm. The man crouched in front of Daryl stood but kept his eyes on Daryl.

"No. Please. Let me go. You cannot do this. I beg of you." Ileana's Romanian accent became more pronounced when she spoke quickly out of emotions like fear or anger. She kicked out at the talking man but he brushed her kicks aside and slapped her hard on the face. It dazed her somewhat and she went momentarily limp.

"I've missed you Ileana. I've missed that sweet little pussy of yours." He unbuckled his pants and let them drop. He pushed his white briefs down exposing his hairy ass to Daryl. He took his cock in his hand and began massaging it. When he thought it was hard enough, he pulled Ileana closer to him. Her hips were on the bumper and her legs were hanging down in an awkward, dangling manner. She stirred again and began to struggle once more. She bent her legs upwards again to try to kick at her attacker. But he just grabbed her legs under her knees and bent her up, forcing her knees to touch the felt at each side of her.

"No. You fucking bastard. Leave me alone. Help me. Someone. Help." She shouted loudly and flailed to the best of her abilities but her arms and neck were held down and her rapist was holding her legs down and spread. Her pussy was exposed and vulnerable. There was nothing she could do. "HELP ME. DAR-IL, HELP ME PLEASE." Daryl couldn't stand. He couldn't even breathe. He tried to shout, to say something, to reach out to her but he could do nothing at all. He was failing her in his weakness and helplessness.

The man between Ileana's legs put his cock to her pussy and rammed it in. She was already wet but it didn't ease her suffering. He rammed her until there was nothing left between his balls and her perineum. He began a repeated slam of his cock into her pussy, each slam causing his pendulous scrotum and balls to slap against her anus. She felt it and it disgusted her more than the feeling of his cock inside her. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD. I'LL KILL YOU. I'LL KILL YOU ALL." The men all laughed at her anguish and her ridiculous threats.

The talking man finished and came inside her. As he drew his wet cock out of her, it trailed a line of sticky cum from her abused pussy and draped itself over the edge of the pool table. Ileana's eyes were wet with tears and with despair. She tried to shout, to scream, to curse the men, but she only babbled incoherently, choked by her own tears and snot.

The man pulled up his pants and said, "Let's turn her over. I know you always liked the look of her tight young ass, Bobby." They turned her onto her belly, her legs draped to the floor. One man held her down by pressing down hard between her shoulder blades. Bobby moved in behind her and dropped his pants. He was already hard from watching her pussy being savaged by the talking man. He licked his hand and rubbed it between her ass cheeks. Without any delay, her fingered her ass, one finger followed by a second. He ringed the inside of her anus with his fingers trying to spread some wetness and trying to open her up. It didn't matter.

"Yee-haw. I'm gonna fuck this little piglet. Oink, oink." Bobby made repeated snorting pig sounds as he unceremoniously jammed his hard cock into her ass. Ileana screamed from the pain but Bobby only became more excited and began a continuous violent pumping of his cock as deeply into her ass as he could.

Daryl was dying inside. He didn't care about his nose or his house or the pain he was feeling. He felt useless and weak and worthless. He had let her down. These men were brutally raping the only woman in the world he cared about - the only thing he cared about. She needed him and he was doing nothing. He could do nothing. He gathered his strength and resolve and jumped toward the man standing before him but the man just swung a right roundhouse to his jaw. The blow hit the button and Daryl crumpled instantly like a bag of potatoes. He was knocked senseless and lost consciousness. The talking man heard the commotion and saw the punch that dropped Daryl. He laughed. "Good one, Jimmy." He turned back to watch what was happening to Ileana.

The man in Ileana's ass was taking his time, enjoying her tight ass and her screams of pain and anguish. The man holding down Ileana's shoulders wanted to get in on the action. He climbed onto the pool table above Ileana's head, one foot on her back. He unzipped his pants and pushed them down to his knees. Then, he dropped to his knees and lifted Ileana's torso onto his lap. She pummeled him with her fists but he caught her wrists in his large hands and held them together behind her back. She was powerless to stop what was going to happen next.

"I'LL BITE YOUR COCK RIGHT OFF IF YOU DO THIS. HELP ME, DAR-IL. SOMEONE HELP ME!" The man with Ileana on his lap slapped her hard. He slapped her a second time. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back.

"You're gonna suck my dick and you're gonna like it, bitch." He jammed her face onto his lap. His hard cock slapped against her face. She kept her mouth closed tightly and he used both hands to strangle her. She flailed at him with her hands but his grip on her neck was causing her face to turn red. She felt pressure on her head as her body fought to supply her brain with oxygen. She went limp and her body relaxed.

"Dammit, Jake. Why'd you do that?" said Bobby at Ileana's ass. "Now she's gotten all soft and loose."

Jake ignored Bobby, who kept up his relentless attack on her ass. Jake arched Ileana's head back and her mouth opened wide. He crammed his cock into her mouth and began skull fucking her limp body. The renewed flow of oxygen revived Ileana and she came to her senses feeling her ass being pummeled and her mouth and throat filled with Jake's hard cock. She realized where she was and what was happening to her. Her body tensed up. "That's better," said Bobby who continued his pumping with added enthusiasm.

She tried to fight but Jake took her wrists into his beefy mitts again and pulled them painfully high up her back. She tried to bite him but he seemed to enjoy it and he slapped her hard on the face to remind her that he could inflict more pain than just a thorough skull fucking. He grabbed her hair and used it to jam her head back and forth onto his swollen cock.

After an eternity of this abuse, both men came at the same time, Bobby into her ass and Jake in her mouth all the way down her throat. Bobby said, "I'm cummin', I'm cummin'." His voice squealed in a high pitch as he said it. He pumped a disgusting stream of semen into Ileana's ass. She felt its added wetness as each spasm injected her with more. Bobby's announcement and obvious pleasure made Jake cum too. Ileana felt his orgasm spurt down her throat but she didn't taste it right away. Jake had held himself as far into her throat as he could until several of his ejaculating spurts had emptied their load into her. Then he began pumping her head again and she tasted his vile spooge.

"Jimmy, you're up. Get over here." The talking man traded places with the man who had stood over and decked Daryl. He practically tripped over himself getting to her, unbuckling his pants as he went. He grabbed her by the hips and flipped her onto her back once again. She was suffering and had gone limp from her abuse and her despair. She had very little fight left in her. Her face hurt from being slapped so hard and so many times. Her neck felt bruised from Jake's hands and her throat was irritated and raw from his cock. Even her jaw felt sore from being over-stretched. Her scalp hurt from where Jake yanked on her hair so violently. The muscles in her shoulders and arms felt torn from being wrenched up behind her. And her ass and pussy were bruised from their abuse. She just wanted it all to end. Daryl was nowhere. She hadn't heard a sound out of him since he was yanked off of her and beaten to the ground.

The talking man stood by Daryl to make sure he didn't get up or try anything but he was still almost motionless on the floor, arms and legs askew, his face bloodied, and his pants still bunched around his ankles. Just for good measure, the talking man kicked him in the gut as he lay there and then turned to watch what Jimmy was doing to Ileana.

Bobby and Jake stood on either side of her and held her arms, though she seemed to have been broken down by their abuse. She was no longer fighting them. Jimmy held his cock in his hand and stroked himself hard. He grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his cock. He didn't want any kind of warm up. He just wanted to ram her hard and fast. His cock was enormous compared to the other men. As he was growing in front of her eyes, Ileana stirred back to life. "No. You fucking pig. Get away from me. Please. Please, don't do this." She whimpered as she knew that her struggles were futile.

Jimmy laid his cock, at least ten inches long and as thick as a soda can on her belly. He took her ankles in his large hands and raised them up to his own shoulders. "NO. PLEASE. DON'T DO THIS. CAN'T ANYONE HELP ME?" Jimmy pulled back slightly and dragged the tip of his enormous cock over her opening. He was very hard. The head of his cock was purple and felt hot on her shaved pussy. "Please..." she whimpered, as she struggled fruitlessly against the men holding her down.

Jimmy plunged his hardness into her. She felt him sliding into her cum-filled vagina, stretching and pushing and hurting. She felt his cock reach all the way to her cervix but he still kept pushing. His cock pushed her cervix up into her abdomen and she felt it go no further. It was a horrible feeling - shocking, disgusting, painful, and yet, despite her revulsion, humiliatingly pleasurable. She hated herself for it. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine it all ending. Jimmy began pumping back and forth, almost pulling his entire cock out each time and then pushing hard, fast, and deep back into her each time. His pace quickened and each time he poked her cervix, she couldn't help but utter a small exclamation of both pain and pleasure. "Uhn, uhn, uhn." She gritted her teeth and kept her eyes closed, hoping for some kind of death soon.

Daryl's brain had been loopy and confused after his blow to the chin. He was on the ground unaware of his surroundings. When the talking man kicked him in the gut, it roused him out of his stupor. He opened his eyes to the sight of Jimmy, his ass to him and Ileana's legs held high by his shoulders. He was grunting and pounding into her. He couldn't see her face but he imagined it and the anguish that she must be feeling. He also saw the feet of the man nearest him, facing the pool table, enjoying what was happening there. Daryl felt in his pants pocket for the knife that he put there earlier. Everyone was watching Jimmy fucking his Ileana.

He quietly pulled his pants off his ankles and got to his knees. From there, he rose, his body aching but his mind willing him to die trying to do something, anything to help Ileana. Without really forming a plan, Daryl stabbed the knife into the neck of the talking man two, three, four times in quick succession. The man's hands went to his neck but blood shot out in long spurting streams onto his wood floor. The talking man collapsed onto his knees. Blood choked his airways and Daryl heard a sickening slurping, wheezing sound as the man tried to take in air.

The other men didn't hear the stabbing. They didn't hear the talking man collapse onto his knees. What they heard was the sounds of large jets of blood hitting the floor and the sounds of his attempts to get air into his lungs. Bobby and Jake released Ileana's arms and ran to the dying talking man, Daryl standing behind him with knife in hand. Both just stood there a moment, unsure what to do. Should they immediately attack Daryl and finish him off or should they do something to help their leader?

Jimmy was the last to comprehend what was going on. He saw the other two men move past him and he saw Ileana's eyes open and her head raise when they released her. Jimmy then heard the sounds behind him. "What the hell?" said Bobby. "Oh fuck. You gone and done it now you piece a shit. You a dead man." Jimmy turned to see what was happening and when he did his cock came out of Ileana. Jimmy took a step closer to the scene unfolding behind him. His pants were still around his ankles and he reached down to pull them up. When he did, Ileana's vengeance-seeking hand grabbed his balls from under his ass. She had instantly sprung to action as soon as she had that opening. But she didn't just want to bruise him or give him pain. She had death on her mind. She squeezed his scrotum as hard as she could, digging her fingernails into his flesh and before he could do anything to react, ripped with all her might everything she could take. His scrotum tore open and blood and liquid and slimy flesh came out in a long string of gore toward her. Her hand was bloodied and she threw his destroyed testicles onto the floor, trailing fibers of rubbery flesh back to his bloody mess of a crotch. He crumpled instantly onto his side and curled up into a fetal position, clutching at his groin. His head was a few inches above the floor when Ileana's bare foot came crashing down onto his temple, crashing the side of his forehead into the hard floor.

All of this happened within seconds. This new commotion caused Bobby and Jake to turn around once more. Their shock and disbelief at seeing the talking man go down in such a bloody way was nothing to their complete incomprehension of Jimmy's condition. Jimmy was huge; at least two hundred eighty pounds. He stood six feet two inches tall. His muscular body was like that of a defensive lineman. And yet, there he was, motionless on the floor with a tiny hundred pound girl standing over him, hand bloody and a look of death on her face.

Daryl was still on autopilot. He stabbed Bobby repeatedly in the back. Bobby turned on him and charged him to the ground. They both fell in a heap while Jake attempted to help. Ileana jumped him and snaked her slender arm around his neck. He quickly threw her off him and faced her to punch her in the face. He hit her once, twice. He raised his fist to strike her one more time and then just froze in that position. From her perspective, she just saw his hulking body over her, fist raised. Then he just leaned to her left and fell. He had Daryl's knife sticking upwards into the base of his skull, embedded deeply. Only the handle showed.

Daryl was there. He took her into his arms and they recovered their breath and stood shaking while their adrenaline shock wore off. Bobby was convulsing on the floor, bleeding out from the knife wound to his heart. Jake was instantly dead from the blade that severed his brain stem. The talking man had bled out through the jugular vein. Jimmy was still alive, but neither Daryl nor Ileana had any guilt about finishing him off. Daryl said, "Ileana, don't look." He plunged the knife into Jimmy's temple, ending his pathetic, worthless life once and for all.

The next days were hectic and filled with fear. It took them many long hours cleaning, gathering, loading, driving, burying, and burning all of the evidence of the men's presence in the house. The two cars that the men arrived in were dumped in remote locations. Bodies were either buried in shallow graves or weighted down and sunk in the main river that flowed through the county. Clothing was burned. The pool table was dismantled and burned in the backyard in a fire pit that Daryl used occasionally to burn brush or other waste. They even sanded the hardwood floor and re-finished it to remove all traces of dried blood.

It took them both many days to feel like they had washed the filth of those men off themselves. The news talked about the missing sheriff and his deputy. The cars were eventually found but nothing else. The other two men also turned up in the news as missing and it was conjectured that all four missing person cases were related. But no clues were found. No one ever came to the house to ask questions. The woman who called the hotline did wonder what happened to her tip but when she called the number again, it just went to a message. She didn't know, of course, that the hotline was a cell phone that one of the men used. She didn't know that the pre-paid cell phone was destroyed and that the account it was attached to was eventually closed for non-use and failure to buy more minutes.

Daryl and Ileana continued to live together in the house until several years passed. She eventually got paperwork through the Romanian embassy and they eventually got married so that she could apply for a green card. He was old, it was true, and she was very young and beautiful. But she had the mind and experiences of a wise, older woman and Daryl had saved her and given her a life. She would take care of him when he could no longer take care of himself and he would happily give her his money and his blessings to find whatever happiness she could after they no longer needed each other. She was no longer just the buried girl.

 

Come visit me at 64 Shades of Grey

http://64shadesofgrey.net


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