The Night of the Storm IV
Title: The Night of the Storm
Author: Anton Szandor LaVey (if you get the reference you win)
Theme/Set: 18. Desperate
Rating: NC-17
Claim + Additional Pairing: Olivia Benson + Mystery man
Warning: Language, rape, sex, all that good stuff that was missing in the first two parts of this series. C'mon, you honestly thought I would hold back?
Word Count: 1979
She should have known, in retrospect she should have known that there was something wrong with him - and not one of those usually picky things Olivia had about most of her dates, like not putting the seat down after they used her toilet. No, there had some big red flags in the past couple of months that Bobby Goren threw up, and she just completely ignored.
In her defense however, the man was a little odd to beginning with, and they had both been very busy with their respective jobs to really spend any quality time together. Still, after the death of his mother, things slowly started to unravel, he drank more, talked less, but showed up at her door step at odd hours - claiming that he just couldn’t go back to his place, that he didn’t want to be alone.
This prompted Olivia to give him the key, the key he kept on his key ring and had used to open the door to get into her apartment tonight. That one mistake left Olivia bound and gagged in the bath tub that Bobby was obsessed about, he loved how big it was, how clean she kept her bathroom. After his mother died he spent a lot of time in that bath tub, he insisted that she bathe with him, that he could wash her body, her hair, watch her shave - at first it was a little creepy, then it was arousing.
Looking back, she should have known. But really, how could she? Little quirks apart didn’t add up to the big old clue that he was a serial killer. What could have been him with odd fetishes, needs, and wants turned out to be symptoms to a big, huge underlying problem. Olivia Benson thought she might have to break up with him after this. This, this whole sociopath rapist thing, is a deal breaker.
He was kneeling in the tub, washing her with a wash cloth, murmuring to himself, as he carefully washed her - and rewashed her and then started to shave her. His request to shave off all her pubic hair had come three months before this, and she agreed, grudgingly - she took it as a joke, or just another one of his kinks that he indulged in.
In the back of her mind she worried that he asked her to do it because he wanted her to look younger, but after a week and a few experiences in bed she realized that he wasn’t interested in making her look younger - just obsessed with being clean. He showered before sex, after sex, and asked her to do the same - most of the time she agreed to do it before hand, only because she had just come home from work and was sweaty and dirty anyway. It was annoying at best, but every lover had their “things” him being obsessed with being clean was the least of her worries.
Tonight he shaved everything, between her legs, her legs, and even her arms - until she felt even more naked then she already was, shivering in the rapidly cooling water of the tub, watching him wearily. When he was done, he pulled her out of the tub, and dried her off thoroughly - brushing her hair away from her face and rubbing her body down.
Washed and dried, he laid her down on the bed, and tied her legs together and to the end of the bed. Sitting down beside her, he caressed her face, looking down at her as if this was just a normal night for them, except they were trying something a little different.
He was the deranged killer, and she was the scared cop who had been to fucking stupid to realize her boyfriend had gone off the deep end. The normalcy of it made her stomach turned and she tried to speak around the gag, he just shook his head and got up to clean the bathroom.
As she listened to him clean the bathroom, she thought about the ME’s reports on all the victims, how they had been shaved, raped, cut - hanged to dry and then carefully redressed and placed in the body of water they had disappeared from. They had wondered what had happened to all that blood, the carotid arteries had been severed, there would have been a lot of blood - and there had been none at the scenes.
Olivia shuddered to think why he was even bothering cleaning the blood when he planned on cutting her up and letting her cool in there. Tugging at the ropes she groaned weakly and desperately fought against the wave of helplessness that came over her. This wasn’t suppose to happen, not this way - no she was suppose to go out in some sort of cop blaze of glory, getting hit by a bullet that was intended for her partner, or some innocent bystander. Not raped and cut up by her boyfriend.
No, this was when someone came and knocked on the door - Elliot coming to check up on how she was doing, seeing if he could by her a drink or come to get her up to date on what was going on with the investigation. But there was no knock; there were no sounds except for a TV playing somewhere over head, and the steady scrubbing of a brush against the tiles and the sides of the tub.
Falling back against the pillow she thought about everything except her obvious fate, she thought of the books she was reading, about when she had to pick up her laundry, all to keep a cool head - everything would be fine, she just needed to wait. There had to be a way to get through to him, if only she could actually speak to him, she had talked herself out of situations like this . . . well not exactly like this, but close enough.
When he was finished, he came back in nothing but his briefs - his body pale, large, seemingly spread out against the black background of her wall. She could only see him in the dim orange light that filtered in from her Venetian blinds that cut across his broad chest, orange tiger stripes against pale flesh, illuminating his mouth that sat in a straight line until he was two steps away.
Then when he was two steps away his lips twisted into a vicious grin, orange staining his teeth that lengthened his teeth - fangs, to rip and tear into her - and she knew that if he wasn’t so obsessed with cleanliness and not leaving evidence behind, she was sure that he would use his teeth to end her life.
He stared at her for a long time, simply moving his eyes back and forth over her body, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly, her eyes squeezed closed, pretending that he wasn’t there. Reaching down, he slowly started to rub his dick through his briefs, making little grunts and whispers under his breath, and at his noise she opened her eye to watch him.
In any other time she might have been aroused, this was a new game they were playing - this could end up with both of them well satisfied, panting for breath and chuckling about how neither one of them had done that before. Something told her that only he would leave here satisfied.
Untying her legs he picked her up and carried her back to the tub, holding her tightly despite her squirming, her screams from in the back of the gag - everything he ignored till he lowered her into the warm water that he had filled the tub with.
She could smell the sharp tang, the sterile smell of the cleaning products he had used to the floor and sides of the tub. He set her up against the back of the tub and she looked around, breathing hard and searching for some sort of clue that would let her know if he was going to actually kill her here.
There was nothing there, no reassurance, no damning evidence - for all she knew; he would let her live a few more hours. Before he stepped into the tub, he pushed his briefs down, and then off, stepping out of the pathetic pile of fabric and into the water.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she looked away from him and pretended that this wasn’t going to happen. There was no way to ignore the fingers on her hips and the water enveloping her as he penetrated her.
She would have screamed but the water and the gag covered her mouth and throat - instead she tried not to panic, she tried to keep her head above water and steal some precious breaths of air before falling back under the water again. Robert Goren paid no attention to her panic and her thrashing, he grabbed her ankles and continued to fuck her, to pound in her, grunting and groaning as she fought for her life.
There were a few moments where Olivia managed to get her elbows under her, to hold herself up for water before gasping for breath where, despite the situation, it actually felt good. Between coughs and gasps for breath she groaned, and peered blearily at him as she hated herself. He remedied her self loathing by shoving her head back down under the water and continuing to use her as he wanted.
When her lungs screamed for air, and everything seemed to be shutting down, she and her fighting diminished significantly. There was nothing left for her to fight with, all her oxygen had been used up and it was going to her brain, on the verge of passing out he grabbed a hand full of her hair and yanked her head up out of the water so she could breathe.
He keened and whined as he came inside of her, while she gasped for breath, she clamped down hard around his erection in the oddest, most indescribable orgasm she had ever had. Everything felt more intense without oxygen, her body craved stimulation and him pounding inside of her gave her that - and her body simply reacted.
Of course, for Liv that was not what happened, she had been used, and she had liked it - so out of it and guilty about the whole thing she still couldn't bring herself to say the word rape when it came to what he did to her.
Sagging back against the grip on her hair she sobbed helplessly, her vision blurry, everything swimming in front of her as fat tears rolled down her cheeks and she lost control of her attempt to still be level headed. This was betrayal, pure and simple, the fact that she had trusted Bobby simply made it worse.
Still gulping for breath, Bobby lent forward and tugged the gag down from around her mouth, allowing her to breath easier and let her frustrations come out in loud sobs. Not untying her, or making any sign that he recognized her emotions, he gathered her up and walked her back to the bed where he deposited her, unceremoniously on the sheets. She was once again strapped to the bed before a blanket was pulled up around her and he left the room. Apparently she was allowed to live one more day.
Author: Anton Szandor LaVey (if you get the reference you win)
Theme/Set: 18. Desperate
Rating: NC-17
Claim + Additional Pairing: Olivia Benson + Mystery man
Warning: Language, rape, sex, all that good stuff that was missing in the first two parts of this series. C'mon, you honestly thought I would hold back?
Word Count: 1979
She should have known, in retrospect she should have known that there was something wrong with him - and not one of those usually picky things Olivia had about most of her dates, like not putting the seat down after they used her toilet. No, there had some big red flags in the past couple of months that Bobby Goren threw up, and she just completely ignored.
In her defense however, the man was a little odd to beginning with, and they had both been very busy with their respective jobs to really spend any quality time together. Still, after the death of his mother, things slowly started to unravel, he drank more, talked less, but showed up at her door step at odd hours - claiming that he just couldn’t go back to his place, that he didn’t want to be alone.
This prompted Olivia to give him the key, the key he kept on his key ring and had used to open the door to get into her apartment tonight. That one mistake left Olivia bound and gagged in the bath tub that Bobby was obsessed about, he loved how big it was, how clean she kept her bathroom. After his mother died he spent a lot of time in that bath tub, he insisted that she bathe with him, that he could wash her body, her hair, watch her shave - at first it was a little creepy, then it was arousing.
Looking back, she should have known. But really, how could she? Little quirks apart didn’t add up to the big old clue that he was a serial killer. What could have been him with odd fetishes, needs, and wants turned out to be symptoms to a big, huge underlying problem. Olivia Benson thought she might have to break up with him after this. This, this whole sociopath rapist thing, is a deal breaker.
He was kneeling in the tub, washing her with a wash cloth, murmuring to himself, as he carefully washed her - and rewashed her and then started to shave her. His request to shave off all her pubic hair had come three months before this, and she agreed, grudgingly - she took it as a joke, or just another one of his kinks that he indulged in.
In the back of her mind she worried that he asked her to do it because he wanted her to look younger, but after a week and a few experiences in bed she realized that he wasn’t interested in making her look younger - just obsessed with being clean. He showered before sex, after sex, and asked her to do the same - most of the time she agreed to do it before hand, only because she had just come home from work and was sweaty and dirty anyway. It was annoying at best, but every lover had their “things” him being obsessed with being clean was the least of her worries.
Tonight he shaved everything, between her legs, her legs, and even her arms - until she felt even more naked then she already was, shivering in the rapidly cooling water of the tub, watching him wearily. When he was done, he pulled her out of the tub, and dried her off thoroughly - brushing her hair away from her face and rubbing her body down.
Washed and dried, he laid her down on the bed, and tied her legs together and to the end of the bed. Sitting down beside her, he caressed her face, looking down at her as if this was just a normal night for them, except they were trying something a little different.
He was the deranged killer, and she was the scared cop who had been to fucking stupid to realize her boyfriend had gone off the deep end. The normalcy of it made her stomach turned and she tried to speak around the gag, he just shook his head and got up to clean the bathroom.
As she listened to him clean the bathroom, she thought about the ME’s reports on all the victims, how they had been shaved, raped, cut - hanged to dry and then carefully redressed and placed in the body of water they had disappeared from. They had wondered what had happened to all that blood, the carotid arteries had been severed, there would have been a lot of blood - and there had been none at the scenes.
Olivia shuddered to think why he was even bothering cleaning the blood when he planned on cutting her up and letting her cool in there. Tugging at the ropes she groaned weakly and desperately fought against the wave of helplessness that came over her. This wasn’t suppose to happen, not this way - no she was suppose to go out in some sort of cop blaze of glory, getting hit by a bullet that was intended for her partner, or some innocent bystander. Not raped and cut up by her boyfriend.
No, this was when someone came and knocked on the door - Elliot coming to check up on how she was doing, seeing if he could by her a drink or come to get her up to date on what was going on with the investigation. But there was no knock; there were no sounds except for a TV playing somewhere over head, and the steady scrubbing of a brush against the tiles and the sides of the tub.
Falling back against the pillow she thought about everything except her obvious fate, she thought of the books she was reading, about when she had to pick up her laundry, all to keep a cool head - everything would be fine, she just needed to wait. There had to be a way to get through to him, if only she could actually speak to him, she had talked herself out of situations like this . . . well not exactly like this, but close enough.
When he was finished, he came back in nothing but his briefs - his body pale, large, seemingly spread out against the black background of her wall. She could only see him in the dim orange light that filtered in from her Venetian blinds that cut across his broad chest, orange tiger stripes against pale flesh, illuminating his mouth that sat in a straight line until he was two steps away.
Then when he was two steps away his lips twisted into a vicious grin, orange staining his teeth that lengthened his teeth - fangs, to rip and tear into her - and she knew that if he wasn’t so obsessed with cleanliness and not leaving evidence behind, she was sure that he would use his teeth to end her life.
He stared at her for a long time, simply moving his eyes back and forth over her body, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly, her eyes squeezed closed, pretending that he wasn’t there. Reaching down, he slowly started to rub his dick through his briefs, making little grunts and whispers under his breath, and at his noise she opened her eye to watch him.
In any other time she might have been aroused, this was a new game they were playing - this could end up with both of them well satisfied, panting for breath and chuckling about how neither one of them had done that before. Something told her that only he would leave here satisfied.
Untying her legs he picked her up and carried her back to the tub, holding her tightly despite her squirming, her screams from in the back of the gag - everything he ignored till he lowered her into the warm water that he had filled the tub with.
She could smell the sharp tang, the sterile smell of the cleaning products he had used to the floor and sides of the tub. He set her up against the back of the tub and she looked around, breathing hard and searching for some sort of clue that would let her know if he was going to actually kill her here.
There was nothing there, no reassurance, no damning evidence - for all she knew; he would let her live a few more hours. Before he stepped into the tub, he pushed his briefs down, and then off, stepping out of the pathetic pile of fabric and into the water.
Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes as she looked away from him and pretended that this wasn’t going to happen. There was no way to ignore the fingers on her hips and the water enveloping her as he penetrated her.
She would have screamed but the water and the gag covered her mouth and throat - instead she tried not to panic, she tried to keep her head above water and steal some precious breaths of air before falling back under the water again. Robert Goren paid no attention to her panic and her thrashing, he grabbed her ankles and continued to fuck her, to pound in her, grunting and groaning as she fought for her life.
There were a few moments where Olivia managed to get her elbows under her, to hold herself up for water before gasping for breath where, despite the situation, it actually felt good. Between coughs and gasps for breath she groaned, and peered blearily at him as she hated herself. He remedied her self loathing by shoving her head back down under the water and continuing to use her as he wanted.
When her lungs screamed for air, and everything seemed to be shutting down, she and her fighting diminished significantly. There was nothing left for her to fight with, all her oxygen had been used up and it was going to her brain, on the verge of passing out he grabbed a hand full of her hair and yanked her head up out of the water so she could breathe.
He keened and whined as he came inside of her, while she gasped for breath, she clamped down hard around his erection in the oddest, most indescribable orgasm she had ever had. Everything felt more intense without oxygen, her body craved stimulation and him pounding inside of her gave her that - and her body simply reacted.
Of course, for Liv that was not what happened, she had been used, and she had liked it - so out of it and guilty about the whole thing she still couldn't bring herself to say the word rape when it came to what he did to her.
Sagging back against the grip on her hair she sobbed helplessly, her vision blurry, everything swimming in front of her as fat tears rolled down her cheeks and she lost control of her attempt to still be level headed. This was betrayal, pure and simple, the fact that she had trusted Bobby simply made it worse.
Still gulping for breath, Bobby lent forward and tugged the gag down from around her mouth, allowing her to breath easier and let her frustrations come out in loud sobs. Not untying her, or making any sign that he recognized her emotions, he gathered her up and walked her back to the bed where he deposited her, unceremoniously on the sheets. She was once again strapped to the bed before a blanket was pulled up around her and he left the room. Apparently she was allowed to live one more day.