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The tensions seemed to have relaxed in the quiet of the night and Eve, feeling cold, decided to lay down under the old bedspread. She wasn’t ready to face him, let him meditate on his blameworthiness till tomorrow, then they...
Suddenly the quiet was shattered, by the rattling of the doorknob and Peter’s strident voice: “Open this damn door.” Followed by incessant pounding on the door.
She froze in sharp terror. Looking about the small room, she searched for something to put by the door, but there was nothing beside the bed but a conspicuously frail night table. She hid herself in the built-in closet. She knew that it was foolish, but she had to hide. The attempt was stupid and futile, but it was the next best thing to crawling into a hole, and that concept helped steady her nerves, however mildly. She also tried to breathe quietly, as if it would make any difference. In vain, she wished that her heart would beat less fiercely. What had she done to deserve this virulent wrath? “He is going to kill me. Help me God,” she said to herself, then began praying, silently, only her lips moved feverishly. “Our father who art in heaven...”
The pounding increased along with his menacing verbiage. “Open the blasted door or I’ll break it down!” The door was hit or kicked with brutal force.
There was more kicking, more banging. Frightened, Eve recoiled further into her hiding place.
“Our father who art in heaven...” she started over. The image of the flimsy looking bolt keeping the door locked fleeted through her mind, “hallowed be thy name...”
Eve was still praying silently when the door burst open with a big bang. Eve’s blood went cold in her veins, realising the futility of her hiding. Panic, scorn and exhaustion struggled in her heart. “Oh my God, help me,” she cried to herself, horror-stricken, aware that there was not a door – locked or not – that would keep her safe from her monstrous tormentor, who was ready to pounce on her any second.
She had never seen or heard him this irate before, but then, she had never defied his authority to this extent either.
“Get out of there.” Peter bellowed, when he found her crouching in the bottom of the closet.
Eve, paralysed by fear, remained motionless.
“Get out of that closet, damn you.”
Frightened, she stared at him, eyes brilliantly wide, yet, as if riveted, she was unable to budge.
“Out, out!” He hollered pulling her by one arm.
Eve resisted, and her arm slipped out of his grasp.
“God damn you.” He fumed, irritated.
Once more he pulled her by the arm, and once again she freed it.
He went berserk. Grabbing both her arms this time, he brutally yanked her out of the closet and, pulling her across the broken down door, which covered most of the floor area in the maid’s small room, he dragged her savagely out to the billiard room while she kicked away aimlessly.
Right there, he roughly threw her down onto the floor, then with beastly ferociousness straddled her over her waist, so she could not move her body. Taking each breast in his hands he began to brutally knead them. Eve fought fiercely, trying to push his hands away while her legs continued to kick the air in frustrated helplessness. Eve was quite unaware of how much she was perspiring from effort, or how red her face had become, or how detached her soul had become. Looking at the man above her, she saw only a complete stranger, a perverted monster who was trying to ravage her.
With one swift motion he ripped off his satin robe exposing his engorged penis. Peter then slid down to below her pelvis, and resumed trying to pry her legs apart with his bony knees.
Obstinately, Eve worked with all her might to keep her legs together, and succeeded for a while, muscles firm from years of ballet training. Peter finally managed to wedge one knee between her thighs, defeating all her efforts. She felt crushed. Without the use of her hands or arms, with his knee between her legs, it was hopeless. Peter and Eve had been equally steadfast, but now Eve had no more endurance left. ...
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