Second Chance pt 2

Jackson was as happy as a pig in shit - there were even times when his past grievances didn't weigh so heavily on his mind...
      The ex-tracker had slid into Pugino's organisation like a well-oiled piston – after a few hours of sleep-learning some basic Italian - to confidently take his place amongst the industrialist's entourage. The work wasn't hard, some courier work, some mild stand-over work, some being silent and menacing behind his boss as he 'negotiated' another deal. The pay was good – no, the pay was fucking excellent, better even than he'd got from Johnson, and the fringe benefits were beyond belief. The best food, the best drugs and alcohol and the most beautiful women waiting there to be plucked and fucked. Of course, it hadn't taken long for his reputation to get around the whores that inhabited the fringes of this not-quite-respectable world, but like women the world over they'd do anything for money. And if for some reason they had such a high opinion of themselves they couldn't be bought, there were other methods of persuasion. Jackson's urges rarely went unsatisfied.
      There were a couple of things that bothered him though. The first was Pugino himself; he couldn't work the man out. Here he was surrounded by his troupe of secretaries - stunning, desirable women who were offlimits to everyone else - but other than the occasional, almost paternal pat on the arse he didn't go near them.
       What was the matter with the prick? Couldn't he get it up anymore?
       Jackson hadn't been able to dig up much information on his new boss either. Pugino was carefully, legally remote from any shady dealings and was revered throughout Europe as a generous, humble man who selflessly gave much of his wealth and time to numerous good causes. He had a wife somewhere, though no one said anything about her. She was probably some fat, ugly old Italian woman with hairy legs – no wonder Pugino couldn't get it up if he was married to something like that!
       The other thing that niggled at Jackson was the raven-haired psionic girl Pugino kept by him like some sort of trophy. Her name was Arabella and she taunted the ex-tracker, taunted him with her beauty, her unmistakable sensuality, and her sly smiles that said 'you can't have me'.
       Uppity little cunt, he'd show her one day.
      But otherwise life was good for Jackson, no less than he deserved he thought after all the shit he'd been through, and he was happy to boast about his good fortune to Bryce whenever they spoke.

The boss was going away for a few days, a business trip to Lausanne. It was a low-key event and he'd only taken the core of his followers with him. Jackson was unconcerned at being left out – it sounded like it would be deadly dull and anyway he was overdue for some time off.
       Arabella, he'd noticed, had been left behind too.
       Jackson'd had the misfortune to witness her display when the little bitch found out she wouldn't be going with Pugino. She'd whined and pouted, carrying on like the spoilt brat she was. Jackson only just managed to keep his face impassive; if he'd anything to do with it he would've slapped the stupid slut back in her place but Pugino had tried to placate her, cuddling her in his lap like a child, petting her and promising he'd bring her back 'something nice'. The Italian man had dropped a few notches in Jackson's esteem that day.

All of Pugino's staff lined up outside his luxurious villa to see the great man off, standing respectfully and quietly as he was driven away in his armour-plated Bentley. Arabella, dressed casually and youthfully in tight jeans and sloppy jumper, had looked petulant as her benefactor stooped down to kiss her cheek but there'd been tears in her eyes as she watched the expensive car disappear down the long driveway of Pugino's country property. Once it was out of sight she heaved a great sigh and turned to go back inside, starting slightly as her eyes met Jackson's. She dropped her gaze quickly and to his secret amusement – and stirring cock - hurried past him, slender shoulders hunched as if expecting a blow.
       Jackson smirked and ambled after her – he'd just had an idea.

His room – rooms rather, they comprised a small bathroom, living room and much larger bedroom - were on the floor below Pugino's, not luxurious, but comfortable and secluded.
      Jackson prowled around his quarters. Arabella would be without her protector for several days; he could have her for a few hours with no one the wiser and if it happened soon there'd be time for any... damage to heal. Not that he expected there to be any telltale signs of his attentions; Jackson was a past master at not leaving a mark.

He leered down at Arabella sprawled naked, unconscious and vulnerable on his bed. It had been so easy...
      The girl was predictable; every afternoon she spent a few hours in Pugino's gym, generally alone, to either swim or workout. All Jackson had to do was 'accidentally' - for the benefit of the internal security cameras - bump into Arabella as she headed to the gym. Then, using the concealed syringe set-up Bryce had developed, he'd surreptitiously injected her with a compound that made her instantly malleable and suggestive for the few minutes before its anaesthetic qualities kicked in. After that it was just a few short steps to the elevator then down a level and into his conveniently handy rooms. Easy. He'd caught Arabella as the drug took full effect, manhandling her to lie on the bed before he'd carefully stripped her, neatly placing her clothes to one side. Jackson's cock had throbbed hotly as he savoured the feel of her unresponsive flesh beneath his hands.

Breathing heavily, Jackson pushed her lean thighs apart then roughly pulled her labia open, gazing hungrily at the entrance to her cunt. He could take her now... No, he wanted her awake, he wanted to see the look on her face when he finally fucked her. Arabella twitched and Jackson smiled in anticipation; the drug would be wearing off soon, time to get to work. He fastened a pair of wide, fleece-lined cuffs around her wrists - they wouldn't leave any marks - then hauled her slight weight over to the doorframe.
      The girl's dark eyes blinked open and she stared at him uncomprehendingly.
      "J-Jackson?"
      "Going to teach you a lesson," he dragged her hands over her head and fastened the cuffs to a stout chain dangling from the centre of the lintel. Arabella licked dry lips.
      " – what - ?"
      Jackson stepped back, abruptly letting go of the girl's body. She gasped, wincing, flailing about as she tried to put her feet on the ground to support her weight. It wasn't easy, Jackson had pre-measured the chain, leaving it long enough that she could only just stand on tiptoe - that would put an increasingly painful strain on her calves.
      Fully conscious now, Arabella glared at him.
      "What the hell do you think you're doing? Let me go!"
      "Shut the fuck up, bitch!" Jackson grabbed her chin with one hand and pinched a small nipple, hard, with the other. The girl squealed in outrage, only to subside into a pained whimper as Jackson twisted her nipple brutally.
      "I said, shut the fuck up."
      "Why are you doing this?" Arabella snarled.
      "I'm teaching you a lesson," Jackson ran his hands down her body, grinning at the shiver of revulsion as he probed between her legs, "you've been disrespectful."
      "To you?" she barked a laugh, "You don't deserve – " she whimpered and mewled, trying to arch away from the violating fingers thrust sharply into her unlubricated vagina.
      "There you go again," Jackson said with a smirk, "You really need to learn some respect, cunt." He took his hand away and started to undress himself. Arabella stared at him in horror.
      "Don't do this, please," she whispered hoarsely, "I'll give you anything you want…"
      Jackson laughed, a disconcertingly light sound.
      "What I want is to hear you scream when I bury my cock in you." He grinned boyishly, standing naked and threateningly erect in front of her. "And that's what you're going to give me whether you want to or not." Jackson shoved his fingers towards her face. "Suck these, get them nice and wet, bitch."
      "Please, Jackson, don't - " Arabella's plea broke off into a choked moan as he pushed four of his fingers deep into her mouth.
      "Good strong gag reflex you've got there," he joked as the girl retched, "that'll come in handy later. Right - " he pulled his fingers from her mouth to stroke the scant moisture onto his penis, " – let's get on with it." Arabella panicked, tears welling up over her thick lashes as she tugged futilely on the chain. Jackson slipped his hands between her thighs, spreading her legs wide as he effortlessly lifted her up.
       "I've been waiting a long time for this," his grin was fierce as he brought her cunt in line with the tip of his penis.
      "Don't, please don't," Arabella begged, "you don't know who I am – " she bit back a shriek, gasping in pain as Jackson forced himself into her body.
      "So fucking tight!" Jackson pulled out a little then rammed in again, wringing a despairing whimper from his captive, "Doesn't Pugino fuck you at all?"
      Arabella sobbed brokenly, the shudders wracking her lissom body only spurring Jackson on and it wasn't long before he was coming, hard, head thrown back in a howl of primal joy.
      Panting, he pulled out, dropping her body so she dangled limply from the chain. Arabella quivered, her head hung down between her arms, long ebony hair in disarray over her tear-stained face.
      "Fuck that was good!" Jackson leered wearily, "Give me a moment and I'll do it again…"

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Arabella crouched shivering between his thighs, Jackson spared a glance at the clock on the wall. He'd had the girl in here for two hours now, almost as long as she normally spent in the gym, and fun as it'd been it was time to wrap it up. He tangled a hand in her snarled, sweaty hair, forcing her head back so he could look into her ashen face.
      "Playtime's almost over, bitch," he jerked her towards his groin, "Get me off again then you can go." It was an indication of Arabella's state of mind that she blankly did as he ordered, making no objection as the blood and shit smeared organ slipped past her lips. Jackson pushed her head down, forcing his cock deep into her mouth, grinning at the sensation of pliant muscles rippling around his penis as she gagged.
      "Oh yeah," Jackson murmured, gripping her head with both hands, "that's the way."
       It took a while for the girl to get him there, Jackson had come several times already in the past couple of hours, but she worked doggedly and was eventually rewarded with him pulsing sluggishly into her mouth. Jackson kept a grip on Arabella's hair while his breathing returned to normal, then he untangled his fingers and shoved her away. With her hands still cuffed she couldn't keep her balance and Jackson sneered at the girl sprawled inelegantly on the lushly carpeted floor.
      "Get cleaned up - you're a fucking disgrace."
      He removed the cuffs, pleased to see no signs of chafing, and Arabella crept into the bathroom, silently enduring the final humiliation of having her rapist watch her shakily sponge away his semen, and her blood, from her lower body.
      Once she was clean Jackson brusquely inspected her before letting her pick up her clothes. There were no marks, no cuts, no bruises to mar her smooth skin, only some redness and a small amount of swelling visible in her cunt and arse. With years of experience in such matters, Jackson concluded that would be healed, or at least not noticeable, by the time Pugino returned.
      There was one last thing though....
      Arabella was dressed, and though pale, didn't look like she'd spent over two hours being raped and abused. The girl stood silently, hunched in on herself, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. She flinched as he stepped close, her breath hitching as Jackson employed a finger under her chin to force her to look at him. He smiled down at her – the fear in those big, black eyes was arousing to see even given his shagged out state. He leant closer, his lips brushing her ear and she trembled.
      "If you breath one word about this – " Jackson whispered, " – I'm going to hunt you down and do it all again. Understand?"
      Arabella nodded minutely as helpless, hopeless tears welled up in her eyes.
      "Good." Jackson pressed his lips to hers, a parody of a lover's kiss, "Now get the fuck out of my sight."

Jackson was jerked out of a sound sleep by the bedroom light being flicked on and a rough hand shaking his shoulder.
      "Mr. Pugino wants to see you."
      "What?" Jackson blinked up at the two bullyboys standing by his bed, "He's not due back for days."
      "He cut short his trip," the broader of the pair spoke expressionlessly.
      A frisson of alarm snaked down the ex-tracker's spine. The little bitch! She'd talked! Fuck, you just couldn't trust women. Better to play it cool though, just in case it was something else.
      "Get dressed now." the second man-mountain rumbled.
      "All right, all right," Jackson grumbled, reaching for his clothes, "But I've got no idea what this is about."

It was only 2 a.m. and the villa was quiet as Jackson was escorted to Pugino's office. He swore inwardly at the sight of Arabella standing at her protector's shoulder, the dark circles around her eyes stood out sharply against the pallor of her skin. The boss himself was seated behind his enormous, antique mahogany desk, thick, strong fingers steepled in front of his chin. To one side and a little behind him was Nadia, one of his everpresent 'secretaries' and the only one of his women who was less than exquisite – Jackson frequently forgot she was around, she always seemed to fade into the background.
      "Arabella has accused you of raping her." Pugino spoke without preamble.
      Jackson was ready for this, he turned large, hurt eyes on the girl.
      "'bella, how could you say such a thing? You approached me -"
      "LIAR!" Arabella screeched, "You raped me! You drugged me and took me to your room and you raped me!"
      Jackson shook his head sadly.
      "It wasn't like that," he spoke earnestly to the ominously quiet Italian, "She came up to me in the corridor, said she'd always fancied me and I did I want to spend some time with her while you were away?"
      "Bastard!" Arabella was crimson with rage, stiff and trembling, her hands balled into fists at her side. "I said no such thing!"
      "Nadia?" Pugino's single word sliced like a knife through the tension. Jackson was confused – what did she have to do with anything? – and then he felt the unmistakable feather touch of a mind brushing his own. Too late he tried to slam up mental shields made almost useless by cyberware. He *felt* the woman's mirth as she effortlessly shrugged off his weak screen.
      Jackson glared sullenly at the psionic bitch as she rifled through his memories. Fuckitfuckitfuckit! Why hadn't he picked up that she was the psi not Arabella? Jackson silently swore at himself – only now did he realise he hadn't felt that sense of another psi when Arabella was with him this afternoon, but he'd been too single-mindedly focused on what he was doing to pay it much attention. Shit!
      "He's filth, sir," Nadia's northern Italian blue eyes bored into him like darts of ice, "Arabella's telling the truth."
      Pugino took one of the girl's cold hand in his, raising it to his lips.
      "I'm sorry, my darling, I never doubted you but I had to be sure."
      Her lower lip trembled and she fell into his arms, sobbing, allowing herself to react now the trial was over.
      "Shh, my dove, shh," Pugino cuddled the distraught girl in his lap, gently kissing her hair, her face. His hard look was not encouraging as he turned back to Jackson. "What shall I do with the swine?"
      Jackson quickly changed the tune of his defence, falling back on the time-honoured method of pushing the blame for his actions onto his victim.
      "It's not my fault, sir! It's hers! She made me do it!"
      "You are guilty, Jackson – "
      The younger man cut his boss off angrily.
      "How can I be guilty when she dresses the way she does? She looks like a slut, she behaves like a slut! She was asking for it!"
      "Enough!" Pugino roared, his anger reverberating around the room, bringing instant silence. "A real man has control of himself!"
      Jackson snarled.
      "What's the big deal anyway? She's only a whore!"
      "She is my wife." Pugino stated, coldly furious. The ex-tracker blinked then burst into harsh, mocking laughter.
      "Don't shit me! Your wife? She's just a kid – "
      "Arabella is as old as I am," Pugino snapped and Jackson floundered, the skin on the back of his neck crawling. Oh shit.
      *It's amazing what cosmetic surgery can do, isn't it?* Nadia, the invisible woman, *whispered* into his mind.
      "'bella, my heart, you are the one who's been wronged." Pugino spoke gently to his wife. "You decide his fate."
      She glowered malevolently at the slim young man standing immobile with shock on the intricately patterned terrazzo floor.
      "Death will be too quick!" She pulled her lips back in a feral grin and whispered something to her husband. Pugino frowned.
      "I don't approve of that industry, but - " his face softened as he gazed down at the woman in his lap, "it's appropriate in this case..."
      "What?" Jackson demanded, stopped from taking a step forward by a beefy hand on his shoulder. "What the fuck are you thinking of doing?"
      "You are an animal!" Arabella hissed at him, dark eyes flashing. "You're going to be made into one."
      It only took a second for him to understand what she was talking about.
      "No!" he made a lunge for the door only to find his arms pinioned by one of the heavies guarding him. "You can't fucking do that!" Jackson kicked and struggled desperately in the man's grip. "You can't!"
      "Nadia." Pugino was expressionless, "If you would be so kind..."
      "With pleasure, sir," she smiled coldly at Jackson who screamed as something lanced through his brain, sending him tumbling down into oblivion…

© 2003 July 25^th Lutra

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Darkside



© 2003 Wordwrights