Chapter 8
It was dark in the garage, except for the light streaming in through the garage door windows from the streetlamps, outside. Amanda turned to see Ambrose staring at her. The glitter in his eyes was hard, and for the first time she began feeling nervous.
"What's wrong?" she taunted. "Change your mind? Come on! Let's go back into the house."
"Not yet!" he replied, making her feel cold inside, implying that this was precisely what he intended doing. "We're gonna talk firs'."
"About what?" she asked, feeling more than a little uneasy and deciding she didn't like his different attitude.
Surely, she was able to handle him, and when he was either thinking very clearly or totally befuddled she was able to control him to some extent, even if control in one instance meant having to suck his cock in order to make him bring on her own satisfaction. But at the moment he was halfway between sobriety and drunkenness, not thinking too clearly at all, but not muddled enough for her to outwit him. She -edged toward the door, ready to yank it open and jump right out.
"Hey now," he said, smiling. "You thought you were pretty smart, conning me into letting you go. By the way, if you're thinkin' 'bout jumpin' outta the car, forget it. Door's 'lectronically locked."
Moving with what seemed like incredible speed, the stocky man reached out, yanked her toward him, and suddenly hoisted her up and into the rear of the car. She landed on the rear seat, then her head slid off and thumped on the carpeted floor. By the time she had righted herself, Ambrose had pressed a button that caused both front seats to fall back so that even though she was bunched up on the rear seat, the interior of the car looked like one big bed.
"Now," Ambrose said to her, wrapping a strong arm around her slender shoulders and drawing her to him, "you and I have more than a little to discuss, don't we. Like we're gonna talk about the different ways I'm gonna fuck you, honey."
He yanked her slender young body all the more firmly against his own muscular form, then planted his mouth firmly on hers, almost swallowing half her face with his drunken kiss. Amanda felt herself drowning in it. God! The stink of liquor was heavy on his breath, overpowering her. She was ready to pass out. She wriggled, trying hard to pull herself away from him, not really able to do so. Even now, it was the liquor and what it was doing to him that Amanda feared more than the man, himself.
"Uuuuuummmmmppphhhhhhhh! No! No!" she screamed, and she began beating at his broad chest.
She was gasping, her face red as blood rushed to her cheeks. He was finally succeeding in frightening her.
Ambrose realized she was afraid. Why wasn't he more pleased? Son of a bitch! What was it? Maybe she still wasn't scared enough.
"What is it?" he taunted, hoping to intensify her fear in the hope of being able to enjoy her that much more. After all, when he and fucked her mouth he had finally enjoyed himself one helluva lot. "Why the hell are you acting so uptight, honey. Even if you haven't ever been fucked before, s'time for you to know what it's like to have that li'l ol' tunnel of yours dug into by a spade-headed cock that knows its business."
"Not this way," she gasped, pleading. "Inside, in the house, I'll do anything you want. But get the smell of liquor off your breath. I hate it! I hate it!"
"Who the hell d'you think you're kidding?" he asked. "Other women think liquor on a man's breath is real sexy, and you're trying to tell me you don't like it? And you think you're too good to be fucked in the back seat of a car? Shit! This is a Rolls-Royce. It costs more'n a lot of houses. How many women d'you know of can boast they lost it in the back of a Rolls? Now either you do like I say back here, or I'll fuck you any which way I can. Either way, I'm the one gonna have a ball. It's up to you whether or not you do, too."
"Not in here, not in a car," Amanda insisted. "And not with liquor on your breath."
"Yes, in here," he told her. "What's the matter? Afraid I'm gonna take somethin' for nothin'? Well you can ask any other chick I've fucked. I pay 'em all off."
She remembered something Ruth had said. Ruth had claimed she would teach Amanda to make men pay for the use of her body, but not with money. Money made a woman look cheap, no matter how much was offered. Money put a price, a value on that woman. Amanda didn't want to be classified as a woman worth a specified sum of money. There was an old joke about a woman being offered a million dollars to go to bed with a man and she had accepted. But when the man had offered her only one dollar, she had countered with, "What kind of woman do you think I am?" To which the man had replied, "We already know that. All that remains questionable is the price."
"Here, now!" Ambrose insisted, and reaching into his pocket he pulled out a roll of bills and tried stuffing them inside her blouse. "There," he snapped. "Keep it! That oughta pay for your cunt, even if it is the very first time."
Amanda had been able to accept his initial desire for her earlier because in spite of his rudeness, there had been an underlying quality about him which she had liked. She hadn't recognized it at first, but some subconscious part of her had made her aware of it, and as a result, no matter how he had shamed her, she had accepted it. But this was totally unacceptable. She knew it was the liquor talking and not the man. Even if he had wanted to humiliate her earlier, when he had spoken to her, it was with a tone to his voice that let her know his intent was humiliation, and this had amused her more than a little. But now, under the influence of alcohol, his offer of money wasn't to merely humiliate her. No, he was seriously thinking of her as some kind of tramp who would sell herself if enough money was offered. She knew it was the liquor talking and not the man, but she also knew liquor was what had destroyed her parents' relationship, and she would not have anything to do with a man who drank.
Reaching into her blouse, she took out the bills and shoved them into the top of his shirt, saying, "Keep your money. I'm not some cheap tramp you can buy. You want me? This time you will have to rape me. I'm not going to simply acquiesce to your demands any longer. Before, you attacked me because of a flaw in your own character. You weren't able to help yourself. God knows, I even felt sorry for you the entire time you were forcing me to fellate you. But his time you're trying to fix me with the flaw, and I won't accept it."
"You're tryin' to play hard-to-get," he drunkenly snorted. "Well I'm gonna fuck you, honey, and it's gonna be with liquor on my breath and here, in the back seat of a car. I brought you home to be fucked, and fucked you'll be, and by me."