Jenny told her it was a bad idea.
But Claire needed to go to the library, and she had field hockey directly after class, and then drama practice, and then dinner, and Mrs. Sherman's essay assignment wasn't going to write itself in the free time she decidedly did not have. So evening study session it was. Ms. Carlsson at the front desk waved her in, and she holed up at her favorite table in the corner with her laptop and a stack of textbooks and tried to focus on the history of the Silk Road. The sky outside was grey and heavy but it would be a while yet before it was truly dark and anyway, her first class wasn't until nine the next morning. Plenty of time to get some work done.
She slid her earbuds in and pulled up her word processor. The blinking cursor stared back at her, and she groaned, dropped her face into her hands. Stupid essay. Stupid history class. Stupid, stupid Claire, who didn't retain anything about the class lectures because she was too busy daydreaming about the weekend. Jenny had promised to take her into town, show her the spots where the girls of St. Mary's hung out. It was the first time she'd felt like she was making a friend. Most of the girls had come up through school together since kindergarten; no one was actively mean, but Claire was the obvious odd one out. Stupid parents, sending her to a boarding school three states away.
So she threw herself into extracurriculars, sports and drama and debate club, and her efforts were rewarded after a few weeks when Jenny and Anna and Chrissy started palling around with her, sitting with her at lunch and cheering her on at field hockey practice. They were older girls, seniors, and she kind of got the sense they saw her as a pet project more than an equal, but it was better than being left cold on the sidelines. Jenny in particular seemed to think of Claire as a mentee, always giving her advice about how to get on her English teacher's good side or which cafeteria options were worth it and which ones were, like, so gross. And about not going to the library alone in the evening. But Claire didn't really have a choice.
Maybe she should've asked Jenny to come with her. Study buddies were a thing, right? But, no, that would be super lame, and Jenny would think Claire was a baby and wouldn't want to take her shopping on Saturday, so, fine, Claire would just go on her own. St. Mary's was a good school, a safe campus, Jenny was just being paranoid. Superstitions were probably common in places like this. Maybe the library was supposed to be haunted.
With a soft flutter of paper and a muted thump, her notebook slid off the table and on to the floor.
Claire strangled a scream and jerked back in her seat. She looked around wildly - one of the older girls trying to play a trick on her? Ms. Carlsson telling her it was time to go back to her dorm? But there was no one around. One of the windows a few tables down was cracked, the curtain blowing slightly. Must have been a strong breeze. The weather here was colder than she was used to.
She picked the notebook up and refocused her attention on her laptop screen. Right. Essay. She couldn't keep getting distracted; she'd come here to focus. Her thick textbooks and the notebook, pointedly devoid of actual notes from the lecture, stared at her from the table, and she guiltily pulled up Wikipedia.
That helped; gave her a jumping off point, and she started making some real progress on her essay. She'd have to go through the textbook later and back-engineer some sources, but the bulk of the writing was going well and she settled into a groove pretty quickly. By the time she next looked up at the clock, she realized she'd spent the better part of two hours writing and it was well past dusk outside.
Humming with a sense of accomplishment, she deemed her progress good for the night and started packing up. She'd gotten her math homework done in study hall earlier, so she for once had some time to do whatever she wanted before bed. Maybe watch one of the shows Jenny and the other girls were always talking about, that way she could contribute to the conversation next time instead of just lurking awkwardly on the edge.
She swung her bag over her shoulder and made to head to the front door of the library when she realized the window from earlier was closed. The curtain hung flat and limp, although she could hear the wind really getting going outside. She hadn't noticed anyone come in.
Claire shook her head to knock away whatever this stupid anxiety was that was taking her over. Ms. Carlsson probably just came in to close it while she was too engrossed in her paper to notice. It was nothing. She waved goodbye to Ms. Carlsson as she passed and stepped out into the covered walkway outside the library.
Her dorm was, of course, all the way across campus, and it was, of course, pouring down rain. Hell. She didn't have an umbrella and her jacket was just a thin hoodie because it'd been bleakly sunny out earlier. Goosebumps raised on her bare legs under her uniform skirt. The direct way would get her soaked, but if she wound her way through the covered garden walkway she should be able to avoid most of it. It'd just take a little longer.
She hiked her bag further up her shoulder and set off, shivering slightly. The sun had set fast and the garden didn't have much in the way of artificial lighting, but at least the path was clear and mostly dry. She traced her way through carefully, trying to remember which building she needed to turn out to get to her room the quickest - was it this one or one further? One further, she was pretty sure.
Whatever it was that hit her, it came out of nowhere. She toppled forward, catching herself on her hands and knees, and her bag swung off her shoulder and into a puddle off the side of the path. She made to scramble after it but something held her down.
It felt like someone was leaning their hand on her back, pressing her shoulder blades to the ground. She twisted her head to see what it was, who it was - Jenny? Anna? - but there was nothing there except a slow, inexorable force, putting more and more pressure on her until her hands slipped forward and her chest dropped onto the sidewalk.
She watched, struggling in mute terror, as her hands pulled together in front of her. She couldn't move them apart, couldn't stop them from pressing into the concrete, but there was nothing moving them. There was nothing there.
A soft exhale of breath brushed over her ear. "Good girl."
Claire screamed, and the sound was immediately muffled by what felt for all the world like a hand clamping over her mouth, although she could see no arm attached to it. The pressure on her back expanded, no longer a hand but the weight of a whole person, much larger than Claire. Something bumped against her thighs, something that felt terribly like someone else's knees.
The voice in her ear chuckled quietly. "Claire, Claire. Didn't the other girls warn you not to go out at night?" How did it know her name?
She whimpered behind the hand-pressure over her mouth, trying wildly to crane her neck around. If she could just look, there had to be some explanation. This would all make sense if she could just see behind her. Finally she managed to wrench her chin away and twist her head back as far as it went, until she had a clear view of the space behind her, where she could feel the pressure and shifting of a warm, heavy body.
Empty.
The hand that had been over her mouth pressed over her face again, gentler this time. She was vaguely aware of a terrified litany of soft cries spilling out of her mouth, but her attacker didn't seem too concerned with muffling them. It - he? - stroked over her trembling lips, pressed what felt like a large, strong thumb against the hinge of her jaw until it popped open and the feeling of thick fingers invaded her mouth. They dragged over her tongue, tasting of nothing, and then hooked in her cheek experimentally, pulling her mouth open wider. Teasing her. She couldn't make any noise but a sob.
The hand on her face slid down, and the one pinning her wrists readjusted, and suddenly her torso was being lifted off the ground a few inches, the buttons on her blouse popped with a practiced speed and she shrieked and tried to buck away but the weight was too heavy and she only ground herself further into the invisible force. He laughed again, almost just a breath against the skin of her throat, and suddenly the fabric of her undershirt was pulled up in a sharp motion and her bra was exposed.
Claire'd felt quietly, sheepishly proud of her cup size, thought it made her look older, fit in better with the other girls. She didn't feel that way anymore, not with a broad, unseen hand tugging one of her tits out of the cup and kneading it roughly. The voice in her ear turned heavy, almost panting, and she whined as her attacker rolled her nipple between his fingers. "Good, good girl," he crooned.
Hot, fat tears hit the pavement below her, and she tried to scream again but all that came out was a hiccuping whine. The hand on her chest slid over to pull out her other tit and squeezed them both together. "Which one do you think is bigger?" he asked, and giggled like he'd told a joke. Claire tried to pull the scattered pieces of her thoughts together, come up with some way to get out of this situation before it got any worse, but they kept catching like a skipping record. There's nothing there. There's nothing there.
All the evidence pointed to the contrary when her attacker shifted his weight back and suddenly the pressure on her back was lessened. Without the heavy covering she had a moment to remember how cold it was, but she couldn't tell if her shivering was because of that or because of the hand now sliding down her side to her hip. Teasing fingers played with the top of her skirt, dipped into the waistband of her panties just enough to brush an invisible fingernail over the sensitive skin and make her squirm. She tugged futilely at the grip still holding her hands down but nothing budged and all she achieved was scraping the side of her palms on the concrete.
"I love these skirts, you know." The voice was almost conversational, as the roaming hand pawed at the fabric covering her ass. She flinched away as best she could. "So charming. Makes it look real classy when you girls all get together, like proper young ladies, but…" He flipped the skirt up over her back. "It also makes it real, real easy to do this."
The implication of the words rang through her, leaving her even colder than the droplets of rain blown into the covered walkway. Whatever this was, he had practice. She wasn't the first one this had happened to.
Was this what Jenny had been trying to warn her about, trying to keep Claire safe without looking like a crazy person talking about invisible gropers on campus? She wouldn't have believed her if Jenny'd told her. Had this happened to Jenny too? She tried to imagine Jenny as a freshman, pressed down in this very spot, squealing and crying as strong, cruel hands toyed with her. To an outsider it would've looked insane, a girl writhing on the ground half-naked. Like she'd just lost her mind. Who'd believe Jenny? Who'd believe her?
She was brought sharply back into her body as a hand landed on her ass, smacking her firmly over her panties. She braced herself for another blow but instead the hand crawled up, thumb dragging over her soft flesh until he could hook his fingers in the waistband of her panties and tug them down.
Claire bucked hard, her knees stinging where they were pressed into the concrete. No, no, no. He couldn't be. Everything else was bad enough, but was he really going to - ? Even with all her struggling, the unseen attacker kept her pinned, and she let out a heaving sob as her pussy was exposed to the cold air. He dragged her panties down around her knees. She tried to clamp her thighs together but there was nothing she could do to stop him.
His fingers were gentle, almost teasing, as he slid them over her slit. His huge palm spread her thighs enough for him to curl his fingers in, dragging them over her clit and sending an involuntary shudder through her. He did it again, kneading her clit the way he had her nipples, and she felt her hips wriggling beyond her control, caught between abject terror at the situation and the undeniable physical sensations coiling low in her belly.
"Please," she begged, managing to find her voice at last. "Please, don't, I'll give you whatever you want, I'll - I won't tell, I won't tell anyone, I promise. Whatever you want." Was this how Jenny had escaped? Bargained with the invisible man, her freedom for her silence?
The man chuckled again, and slid his thumb down from her clit to part her labia gently. She could feel a slickness gathering there, wrung out of her by his careful hands, and it made her stomach turn.
"Oh, but Claire," his voice was close again, like he'd leaned over her back just to breathe in her ear. "I only want one thing."
A finger slipped inside her and she keened wildly. She'd never done anything like this, never had anything inside her pussy. His finger stroked her tenderly, charting the geography of her body from the inside, and she shuddered as she felt herself growing wetter by the moment. She wanted nothing more than for this to stop but her attacker seemed to know every button to push, every place to stroke and grind to wring desperate, shattered whimpers out of her raw throat.
He slipped in a second finger, and she felt the stretch as he worked her over. His hands were huge, and her pussy was still tight even as he slowly, steadily, pried her open. Her head drooped between her shoulders until it was resting on her straining biceps, still held in front of her by his vice grip on her wrists. She shuddered when the movement, borne of exhaustion and despair, rocked her hips back further and let his fingers slide in a touch deeper.
"Are you a good girl?" he asked in her ear, making her flinch. Claire struggled to concentrate, between the hard knot of fear and anguish in her chest and the physical pleasure being forced on her from behind, but after a moment of listening to him breathe, harsh and hot against her neck, she nodded.
"Can you say it for me, Claire?"
"I - I'm a good girl." Her voice felt tiny and depraved and her eyes slipped closed, tears smearing down her face.
"Good. I know you are, Claire. That's why you're going to be good for me when I let go of your hands, right? Because you're a good girl, and good girls don't want to be punished." She whimpered. She didn't dare think about what a punishment would look like, if this was how good behavior was rewarded.
She nodded again, cleared her throat and squeaked out, "I will."
"Very good." True to his word, the pressure on her wrists lifted and he used his newly free hand to pull her shoulders up so she had her arms under her again. The hand took its time migrating down her back, toying with her bra strap through her shirt and hoodie, petting over her ass before it reached its match between her legs and a third finger entered her. She cried out at the feeling of impossible fullness, and again when the fingers pulled carefully to either side, leaving her pussy open and exposed to the air. He held her there for a moment, like he was admiring her with unseen eyes, and then the second hand retreated and she was left panting with just the first two fingers thrusting gently.
Finally the fingers pulled out entirely and she realized through a haze that nothing was touching her anymore. She could still feel the heat of his body behind her, hear his ragged breathing, but there was nothing pinning her to the ground except her own terror. Should she try to run? How would she even avoid being caught again by something she couldn't see? He'd already threatened a punishment - what would he do if he captured her again before she reached help? Her mind whirled and her limbs trembled, braced for movement. Should she?
The choice was taken from her by the hands once again landing on her bare hips, shoving her skirt further up her back and tugging her towards him. Her breasts bounced painfully and she yelped, tensing, as the weight leaning over her returned, this time accompanied by something much, much worse.
His length slid up between her legs, forcing her thighs apart and dragging through her shamefully soaking folds. She didn't have a frame of reference but it felt huge, much bigger than the fingers, hot and twitching and eager. He gave a husky, mocking laugh behind her, and thrust forward a couple of times, clearly enjoying the way she shook and sobbed beneath him. A desperate stream of please, no, stop poured out of her but he paid it no mind, moved his hands to her asscheeks to tug them further apart and leave her bent over, exposed, her slick pussy teased and taunted.
Claire tried desperately to retreat from her body. If she just let him get it over with, she could leave. He wasn't going to kill her; that would bring far too much suspicion down on the school for him to keep up this little game. If she could just get out of her head, distract herself until it was done - but every time she felt herself manage to drift away a little, the bulbous head of his fat, leaking cock dragged and caught on her clit and sent a spasm of horrible pleasure through her pussy. He wasn't going to let her get away like that.
He pulled back again, until the only points of contact were the heavy pressure of his hands on her hips, but she had no illusions of escape anymore. She braced herself, curling her trembling hands on the pavement, but nothing could prepare her for what came next.
His hands moved to the backs of her thighs, prying them apart, and she felt the head of his cock fetch up against her, just the first inch spreading the folds around her opening, barely penetrating. He stayed there for a moment, grinding against her, before his hands crept up to her hips and using them as handles, dragged her down onto his cock in one sure movement.
She screamed. The fingering, the teasing of her clit, the lubrication, none of it had prepared her for how big he was. He pulled her to the root and she felt his balls slap against her. Her quiet crying turned into hysterical sobs, but he hardly seemed to notice.
One hand stayed on her hip, guiding her in a steady rhythm as he began to hump into her. The other wound into her hair, tugging it gently like a leash, chiding her head up. What must she look like to an outsider? Tits out, pussy gaping around nothing, hair flopping in an unseen hand. She moaned weakly and felt saliva and tears smear down her chin.
The man inside her was grunting softly with the effort, riding her with a practiced smoothness. How long had he been doing this? He knew exactly where to push, where to prod, how to bend her to his will. How many of the other girls had this happened to? How could the teachers not know? She thought of Ms. Carlsson, the kind young librarian who always looked a little sad when she smiled at Claire. She was an alumna of St. Mary's, right? Had she been a victim herself, years ago, too afraid to leave now out of fear of punishment?
Her pussy ached from the rough violation, but when a hand reached down to toy with her clit she couldn't mask the revulsed shudder of pleasure that coursed through her. She didn't want to come, didn't want to let him win like that, but he laughed that damnable laugh in her ear again and murmured, "I'm not going to finish until you ask for it."
She choked off a wail and felt a fresh wave of tears spring to her eyes. Finally, an end was in sight, but that was the cost? She had to humiliate herself on the cock repeatedly prying her open? He rubbed fondly at her clit with two fingers, dipped down to smear them with some of the wetness he was fucking out of her and brought them back to stroke over it again. Claire shuddered and moaned and tried to let herself relax into it.
The hand in her hair wrapped around the back of her neck, pushing her head and shoulders down and her ass further up in the air. For a hysterical moment, Claire's mind flitted to a dog being bred. That's what this was; she was being used, like an animal. She vaguely registered a speeding up of the thrusts, his hips smacking harder into her ass, and the adjusted angle sent the fat head of his cock sliding up against something inside her that made her squirm and whine.
"Please," she slurred around a tongue that felt impossibly heavy. The hand on her neck squeezed fondly.
"What was that? Speak up, Claire." His words were punctuated by every driving motion forcing his heavy cock into her slick hole, breathless and teasing.
"Please," she gasped. A particularly hard thrust made her yelp, her clit twitching under his fingers. "Please, make me come." Disgust crawled up her spine.
"Well, if you insist." He slammed in to the hilt and caught her clit between two knuckles, kneading it as he ground his cock deep inside her. He held her there, suspended on the edge, for a long moment before it was too much and she crashed into orgasm.
Her pussy clenched almost painfully around the thick cock stretching her, and she could hear herself making shameful little ah, ah, ah noises as the pleasure made her limbs tremble and her eyes roll in her skull. He was laughing at her, calling her a good girl and patting her flank. Her arms slid entirely out from under her but his hands on her hips kept her ass up, kept him still buried deep within her. She just wanted it to be over.
But he had other plans. Claire was still crashing through the aftershocks of her orgasm when he began to move again, this time at a feverish pace. Her clit was neglected except for the stinging, oversensitized slap of his heavy swinging balls against it every few thrusts, and that was just a side effect of his frenzied thrusts; he'd abandoned all pretense that this was ever about making her feel good.
He used her hard for minutes that felt like hours or days, until finally he drove his cock in and stayed there, rolling his hips in tight circles and clutching fingerprint bruises into her skin as he sighed through his own orgasm. His come poured into her, sticky and hot.
At long last, he pulled away, and she felt his come smear down her thighs, no longer stopped up inside her by his cock. Without his hands holding her up she collapsed into a weak pile on her side, knees tangled together by her panties still caught around them. She reached a hand between her legs and gingerly felt inside the rim of her loose, abused pussy. There was so much come inside her it was oozing out in a steady pour, and when she lifted her hand to her face she realized with a start that she could see it, a creamy and viscous mess on her fingers. Somehow that was the most alarming part - what had just happened to her was real, tangible.
"You've been a very, very good girl," his voice cooed from above. Like he was standing over her, she thought deliriously, admiring the raped-out trophy sprawled on the pavement in front of him. The rain splattering her skin here and there felt good, cool where she was overheated.
Her head lolled to the side to watch as she heard footsteps moving away, meandering in no hurry up the path. There was, of course, nothing there, but as the sound passed between two of the walkways she caught a glimpse, for a split-second, of a clear silhouette in the rain.