An invitation to a swingers party.
It was a large house or estate. How old was he and how could he afford this? Most definatley a mob boss. She pulled up her top and tried to make out the scenery. There were privacy hedges blocking her view of the exterior and vice versa. If he was going to try something, she had come to a resolve that she would scream and one of the neighbours could come rescue her but this was private. He could cut her up with a chainsaw and no one would hear.
She didn't know if it was the song or the fact that she had no idea where she was but she lost it. This was all too much. She jumped out of the car, while it was still moving. She landed, hard, on what seemed to be gravel or rocks. When she tried to get up, her ankle put up a fierce fight. She started to scream and limp back the gate. It needed some type of an opener, like a key or a code. She clutched the bars and screamed again until she bursted out into large sobs. She felt a large pair of arms going for her shoulders and for her legs and next thing she knew, she was being carried inside.
Everything was dark but he knew how to navigate his way around. He smelled coffee and let his sense guide him into the kitchen. He placed her on the counter and went for the lightswitch. Her hair was disheveled and eyes bloodshot benath her specs, which were bent at the centre. Her dress was dirty and had a small tear on the bustline.
"Are you fucking insane?" he yelled as she adjusted her eyes to the light. She didn't reply.
"You could have seriously injured yourself. If you wanted to get out, you could have just said so. I'm not holding you hostage. If you were having second thoughts about this whole thing, you could have just said something instead of taking a suicidal dive. God that was so fucking stupid of you."
She still didn't reply. He sat down on a bar stool and put his elbows in the counter and buried his face into his hands. The stress of today was getting to him. His father wanted more money on his birthday, his mother was still a slave to his abuse. Every year he would call on Kaiden's birthday, make awkward small talk and ask for money. Kaiden would yell and scream no and then his mother would call and ask that he forgive and forget. Kaiden would give in and not hear hide nor hair from them until the next time he needed money or the closest major holiday. To top his shitty birthday off, Miss Suicide wasn't satisfied with his preformance. He had given her an amazing, top notch orgasm. He hadn't tried that hard with a girl in forever and no girl had tried to kill themself before having sex with him. He didn't have to deal with any of this, but he liked it. He liked, no, wanted the challenge. He wanted to make her toes curl. He wanted to make her scream his name. To get over her reluctance and fully give in to him.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I don't know what came over me. I'm not usually that stupid."
He sighed. He didn't mean to make her feel bad. Just cognizant of the stupidity in her actions. Now he felt bad.
"Let me see your ankle. You took a nasty dive." She offered him her leg and he got up and felt around her ankle. She winced at his touch. "I don't think you broke anything, I would say its swollen. Just stay off of it. I'll give you an ice pack and i'll alternate between hot and cold."
He put an ice pack on her ankle and carried her out of the room. They went into the living room and he placed her in a recliner chair. He walked over to the bar and poured two glasses of Jack Daniels. He drank down the contents of one and then refilled it. He walked over to her and offered her the glass. He sat down on the coffee table so they were face to face. She shook her head.
"I don't really drink. Do you have ginger ale?" she asked shyly.
He drank down the contents of his glass. "Sweetheart, you're going to need something stronger than ginger ale if you want to survive that ankle."
He offered her the glass again and she reluctantly accepted it.