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Cheyenne’s Revenge Ch. 01

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(Note: This story develops rather slowly, so please be patient.)

Chapter 1 (Setting the Stage)

I was finishing a rather disappointing date when I saw her. I was walking away from the door of the woman I had found so little in common with. She was picking herself up off the floor, some sort of laughter disappearing from our environs. She looked around as if she was lost. From what I saw, I wanted to keep walking. She wasn’t my problem. She was all kinds of trouble, and I knew trouble. She was naked, hair damp, and something on her face, neck and chest that I assumed was cum. She wasn’t crying, or high, or really anything except shock. My logical mind told me to turn around and walk the other way, but then she saw me and I met her eyes. Sometimes I hate myself.

“Can I help you?” I asked as I came up to her. I could now smell the urine on her. Just great, she had pissed off what I could only imagine to be a group of people enough to use her as a cum dumpster and urinal.

“I … I don’t know,” she murmured. I could see the weight of what had happened starting to rush in.

“Come with me,” I told her. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. I slipped an arm around her waist and began steering her down toward my car. “My name is Taylor.”

“I’m Cheyenne,” she said, looking as if she was seeing me for the first time. I could tell my name meant nothing to her, which was a pity. I’m not much of a looker. I’m not ugly, just average. It actually worked in my favor in my line of work.

“I know. You are the office manager here. We’ve met about a half a dozen times.” She looked like she was trying to recall me, but couldn’t. Again, I’m unremarkable.

“I’m sorry,” she responded after a moment. I now knew she was fucked up. Normally Cheyenne was a total bitch, stuck up and arrogant as they came. I didn’t hate her. I didn’t know her, and frankly never thought about knowing her though she was smoking hot with her seductively breast that were perfectly formed – a C-cup heading for D. Her hair was auburn and came down to the small of her back. It normally smelled lightly perfumed, but now it smelled of piss. Nice lips, not too big, long legs that came up to a sculpted ass that was to die for. Too bad she was a totally bitch that screamed out high maintenance.

“Don’t worry about it. You have had a tough night. Want to tell me what happened?”

“I was raped,” she told me, biting her lower lip. She wasn’t bad at lying, but I’ve been lied to by better.

“Listen, you don’t want to tell, me, and then don’t tell me. Lie to me again and I will leave you right here.” That statement made her stumble. She was ashamed and in denial. I really didn’t care. I was more than happy to go home alone. Internet porn doesn’t nag you or make you feel guilty about doing what you want to do. She kept looking at me. Had she been less of a bitch she might have been better at judging people.

She started laying it out for me. She’d done a stupid thing. She had compounded that by doing an even more stupid thing, and that had led her to a room full of strange guys who used her like a cheap whore. Well not exactly like a whore. You pay whores. Her main antagonist had dirt on her, a recording of her being a self-righteous bitch when she should have been pleasant. When confronted with this, she had fucked him and his girlfriend, and they had video recorded the act. Using that, they had lured her to the room for the gangbang. Seriously, the girl should have quit her job. The job market wasn’t that bad for someone of her looks.

The cherry on the cake was that as she was taking all comers in the room, her fiancé arrived, fucked her in every hole, pissed on her, and taken the ring. Her life was on life support and the outlook was not good. It seemed she lived with her fiancé, who lived in the same complex. He wasn’t likely to give her a good job review. The only good thing out of her confession was that I now knew what I was up against. See, I’m a problem solver. It is a rather ambiguous way of saying that I make my living by applying force, either mental or physical, to people who have pissed people off. I do if for a paycheck. I’m no saint.

We arrived at my apartment; I opened the door, and began gently nudging her inside. She pushed back against my hand, afraid to come in.

“You are wearing my coat. You are coming inside,” I commanded. Her resistance folded bahis firmaları up and she let me herd her inside. I moved her straight across the living room, down the hall, and into my bathroom. She looked around at the features as I took off the jacket. It needed to be dry cleaned now.

“You’ve made illegal alterations,” she gawked. She was right. I’d put in a richer tile and knocked out a closet to put in a walk-in shower. That is what I was heading for now.

“Are you going to turn me in to … you?” Her eyes widened and she stared at me with an open mouth. I turned and cut on the water in the shower. It would take about fifteen seconds to get to my pre-selected temperature. Cheyenne giggled. It was a bit hysterical, but it was progress. The water started steaming up and I started taking off my clothes.

“No,” she said softly.

“No, you aren’t going to turn me in, or no, you don’t want to see me naked?”

“Huh?” she responded, clearly confused.

“Get in the shower,” I commanded as I pushed her in before me. This time she didn’t resist my direction. I took those seconds to study her closely. Yes, she had been fucked up the ass so hard she’d bled. I stepped in after her and shut the door. She faced me, so I had to reach around her for the shampoo. As I poured out some into my hand, she looked on in fascination. When I looked up from the gloop, something misfire went off in her mind. Cheyenne turned away from me, leaned against the wall, and stuck her ass out. I groaned. It was a nice ass. Cancel that, it was a great ass.

I took my handful of shampoo and placed it on the top of her head. She started slightly from the cool liquid. I took both hands and began massaging her scalp, making greater and greater circles, taking in more of her hair, and rinsing out the cum. Cheyenne pushed off from the wall against me. Not being made of stone, my penis began stretching out to its full nine inches. It rested against her firm ass cheeks. She began rubbing up and down, wedging my shaft deeper into her crevice.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” I whispered into her ear. She looked over her shoulder, confused.

“I thought …” she murmured back over her shoulder.

“Cheyenne, your mouth was until recently encrusted with cum from multiple sources, your pussy looks like someone took a jackhammer to it, and your ass is bleeding. You are attractive, but I think you have had enough fun for tonight.”

“Oh,” she whispered. She turned her head forward again, but kept her ass firmly pressed against me. I gently pushed her into the shower stream, cleaning the shampoo, and other stuff, out of her hair. Next I reached for the liquid body soap. It was a bland cucumber scent that I liked. I pulled her out of the stream, poured some soap on her shoulder, and began rubbing it over her back, neck, and eventually, her face. I slowly worked my way around her, cleaning her up, getting everywhere. She tensed and moaned slightly when I cupped her abused nipples. I was as gentle as I could while still scrubbing the cum clean.

“I’m going to finish cleaning you up, but I know you are sore. Put your hand on my shoulder and squeeze if the pain is too much.” I knelt beside her, cupped some more soap, and began rubbing her pussy. Her thigh twitched and her fingers dug into me, but I finished it up. I turned to her tortured ass. I cleaned out as much as I could, slightly entering her. She dug in enough to draw blood, but she was moaning in near orgasm too. I sighed. I kept one finger inside her ass, and placed my thumb upon her clit. As I moved my finger in and out, I made soft circles on her clit until she had a body spasm, gasped, and did her level best to crack my collarbone. After that, her legs were easy. I turned off the water, stepped out, and pulled her along with me.

“Here, dry your hair,” I said, handing her a thick terry cloth towel. I took another one up and began toweling down the rest of her body. I was as gentle as I could be. When I had finished, I dried myself off. She had made some progress on her hair.

“Enough,” I said calmly. I handed her my brush. I then took her hand and led her out into the hall.

“What now?” she asked.

“Bedroom.” Seeing her confused yet again, I explained, “I keep clothes in the bedroom, like most people. I have some stuff from less than successful relationships. I assume you want to put something on.” She nodded and let me led kaçak iddaa her into my bedroom. I have a king-sized bed because I like to sprawl out when I sleep, not because I expect much traffic. I sat Cheyenne on the bed and went to the closet. I could feel her eyes on my now, taking in my body. I work out a good deal, eat okay, and come from good genetic stock. Ladies tend to like my physique. I rummage through my closet and didn’t come up with much that would fit. I handed her grey workout pants, a lavender blouse that was only one size too small. No underwear though. I offered her some of my boxers, but she declined. We got dressed together.

“What now?” she said hesitantly. It amazes me how so few people plan ahead.

“We go to your place, get your clothes, and come back here. Tomorrow you start putting your life back together as best you can.”

“Can I stay here with you?” Damn, she didn’t waste much time.

“Cheyenne, what is my last name?” She gave me confused look, but I could see her mind working. She gave up and gave me a pitiful look.

“As far as you know, I could have brought you back here, tied you to my bed, and kept you around a few weeks as my personal sex toy – unless I decided to share you with some friends. Has that occurred to you?” By the look on her face, it hadn’t.

“Are you?” she whispered. She was afraid again.

“No, I’m not. My last name is Eden. My name is Taylor Eden, and I have no desire to fuck you over, figuratively or literally. Now let’s go to your place and get your stuff.”

“How are we going to get in? I don’t have my key and he hates me,” she groaned. I took a deep, patient breath.

“I’m going to do what normal people do. I’m going to knock.” I stood up and headed for the door. She followed close behind me. I was beginning to have a flicker of hope for her. The fiancé wasn’t too far away. We arrived at his door quietly. I placed Cheyenne out of sight of the spyhole. Then, I knocked. These apartments had decent soundproofing so I wasn’t sure he was responding. I counted to ten, knocked again. I repeated the process twice more before the door swung open. I could smell the alcohol.

“Who the hell are you?” he slurred. “Are you here for the whore? She’s out getting fucked!” I applied sufficient pressure to his body to stagger him back.

“I’m well aware of where you left her,” I responded calmly.

“What the hell …” he started to say. Cheyenne came in behind me.

“Shut the door,” I said in a pleasant, even tone. Cheyenne did so. Now I could raise my voice to the Asshole if I needed to. “We are here for Cheyenne’s clothes. We will take them and leave you alone, and if we are lucky, you will never have to see Cheyenne again. Please be reasonable.” See, I said please. I always try to be a nice guy. It doesn’t cost you much to be nice.

“Is she fucking you too?” he blurted out. This guy was feeling hurt and betrayed and had good reason feel so. I wasn’t here to deal with him though. I was here to help Cheyenne with her problem.

“No,” I said gently. “I found Cheyenne were you left her; in the hall, naked, and covered in the bodily fluids of a half-dozen other people. I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to get her clothes and get out of here as quickly as possible. Sit down, take another drink, and let us do what needs to be done.

“Fuck you!” he muttered. He looked at me. He looked in my eyes. Maybe this afternoon he might have had the willpower to take me on. I don’t know. I know he’d been trampled on pretty hard tonight. That is what mattered. He staggered out of my way and went over to the chair, the end table, and the bottle of vodka on it. I motioned for Cheyenne to get moving. As she scurried off to the bedroom, I took a seat opposite Nicholas, the fiancé. He took a swig and glowered.

“She’s a fucking cunt,” he growled.

“That’s not my problem,” I responded calmly. “Trust me; I want to be gone as soon as possible.”

“She’ll fuck you over too. She lies. She stabs you in the heart.”

“I don’t want to be with her. Tomorrow she is going to find her own place and be done with me,” I told him.

“Why?” I assumed he wanted to know why I was helping her.

“She’s a woman in distress. A man helps a woman in dire straits. It is why we are men. We don’t leave a woman naked, battered and alone without hope. Seeing her that way, this was the only decent thing I could kaçak bahis do.” That stung him. His manhood had already been diminished by tonight’s festivities, and from what Cheyenne had let slip, it hadn’t been all that impressive before that. A man shouldn’t judge himself by his penis size; that is why God gave us fingers and a tongue. Before things could become more awkward, Cheyenne called out for me. I got up and went to the bedroom. The problem was plain to see. She had two suitcases, a carry on, and a dress bag that was bulging at the seams. I took up the bigger suitcase and the dress bag without protest. Cheyenne shouldered the other two and followed me out. We passed Nicholas and made it to the door before Nicholas said anything.

“Fucking bitch,” he slurred. “They are going to keep fucking you and fucking you. You will never get out.” Cheyenne flinched. I didn’t. I already knew the score. Again, this was not my problem. With luck, she would be gone from my life come morning.

When she finally came into my apartment and slumped down with her bags in tow, Cheyenne broke down and started sobbing uncontrollably. I sighed and put on some coffee. I cut up two apples and brought a plate of them over to Cheyenne.

“Here, have some.” She looked at me. I could tell I was losing ground. My first instinct was to toss her out. I have a simple, uncomplicated life and a woman was the antithesis of that.

“Stop crying. It is pissing me off,” I said without heat, belying any real anger.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” she sniffled. She took an apple and chewed on it. Now, I pride myself on judging people and figuring out how trustworthy they are. I did the social arithmetic and made my choice.

“Cheyenne, do you have any idea what I do for a living?” She looked me in the eyes then shook her head. “I solve problems. More precisely, I solve delicate problems involving difficult people. Cheyenne, do you want me to solve your problem?” She didn’t know what to make of that. I let her mull it over.

“I … yes, please,” she said hesitantly.

“I get paid for what I do. The only thing I want is you. By that, you stay with me for as long as I want you. You will do what I tell you to do. If you fail, or leave me, I will make you pay. Can you live with that?”

“But … what choice do I have?” she whimpered.

“I won’t whore you out. I will look out for your best interest. As you have discovered, the world can be an unforgiving place. I’ll be there for you to keep you safe. You have to trust me, and with very little reason to do so. After all, you don’t know me, but you do know the people who now have hold over you. Do you want that to be the thing that happens again and again for as long as they find you amusing?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Will you do what I ask? After all, you are asking a great deal of me. I am risking much for nothing up front.” She studied me intently, warring with her pain and betrayal versus some small hope that she would have even limited freedom.

“Yes. I will. I promise.”

“Okay,” I nodded. I studied her intently. She was telling the truth. “I have some calls to make. Put your clothes in the spare bedroom.” I had some work to do and some people whose help I needed. Five minutes later I was ready to head out. I told Cheyenne to get some sleep and that I would be back in an hour and a half.

When I did arrive, I found her asleep on the sofa, and not either bed. She stirred when I approached her and gave me her first smile.

“Oh, I didn’t dream you,” she said sleepily. I stroked her cheek and brushed an errant hair away from her brow.

“I’m hardly someone women dream about,” I joked. “Now, I have two things for you. I brought out a pill packet and a baggie with five pills. I opened the baggie and took out one pill. “This is a Morning After pill. You won’t get pregnant, which would suck for both of us.” I held up the packet. “This is birth control. This will tide you over until you can go to an OBGYN. Take them.” She took and swallowed the Morning After pill right away. She regarded the birth control packet with less enthusiasm.

“I don’t want a child. I don’t wear a rubber, and I want to come inside you,” I explained. She nodded. She was making that final plunge. She began to open it, but I stayed her hand. “Read the instructions.” She gave a lopsided grin to that. “Now, I want you to go to my room and get some sleep. Set the alarm for six-thirty. I’ll need you. When you dress, wear a blouse, bra, and short skirt. No underwear. Okay?” Cheyenne nodded with hardly a blink. I got up and left. I still had work to do.

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