Chapter 4

It was raining. Again. For three days, it hadn't stopped raining. Neil said it was Maine's wettest August ever.

At first, Allie was thrilled. Bad weather meant no forced trips to the beach, and no awkward encounters with the perverted old man next door. She had all the time she could want to lay in bed and avoid the world.

Long quiet days, though, meant way too much time to think. Her summer had gotten progressively more humiliating, and she really didn't need endless time to reflect.

But that's what she did. For three days, she hid inside and relived all of it. The shower, the horrible thing on the deck, the awkward dinner and the humiliating spectacle under the stars that followed.

It wasn't the things he'd done to her, some of that was actually kind of fun, it was the way he'd done it. First he'd beaten and practically raped her on the porch. Then he'd played with her, mentally and physically, until he'd broken her down into a pathetic, pitiful slut and made her beg him to fuck her. And then, in some twisted act of mean spirited, mind-fucky assholeness, after he'd pushed her to the point of actually begging him to take her, he just came in her face and called her names.

How could she not hate him for that?

Of course, while she was busy hating him, she was also obsessively fixated on the things he'd done to her body and the things she wished he'd done. Was she really so pathetic that she still wanted the sick creep to have sex with her? The thought of it made her want to vomit.

She stretched out on the creaky pull-out mattress and seriously wondered if anyone would care if she didn't get up at all.

She heard her dad's voice downstairs, talking to someone, (probably Neil since the boys wouldn't be up yet). He'd hardly been home in days, just making occasional pop-throughs to be sure his offspring hadn't starved while he spent every waking moment with Karen. Allie was honestly happy to see him so happy. He and Karen had progressed from hello to the honeymoon way, way too fast, but her dad hadn't had a girlfriend in years, so he was entitled to make up for lost time. And Karen seemed awesome, except for her sleaze bag father.

Too awake now to sleep, Allie lumbered down the steps to say hello. The rain wasn't letting up, and there'd be time to go back to bed later.

"Look who's up!" her dad shouted as she wandered into the kitchen. For 9AM, he was entirely too giddy. He probably had sex again.

"Look who's home!" she sassed back. "Did someone forget about his curfew?" She poured herself a cup of coffee, only partly to see if he'd scold her for stunting her growth. He didn't.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "I don't mean to neglect you guys. It's just..."

"It's ok, Dad," she said. She took a slow sip of the coffee and smiled. "You need this. Really!" She hoped she wasn't too drowsy to sound genuine. "Besides," she said, "Neil only offered to sell Jeremy to those meth heads. They never finished the deal."

Neil laughed, too. "Those creeps tried to low ball me."

The three of them made small talk and sipped their breakfast for a while then. There was an almost eerie sense of happy-calm in the cabin that Allie, after the tumultuous days that preceded it, kind of dug.

"So," Neil finally asked. "What do you and the lovely Miss Karen have planned for today? Or are you slumming with us little people for a change?"

Allie's dad took a deep breath. "That sort of depends," he said. He paused a beat and Allie got nervous; pauses always mean trouble. "Karen and I talked about driving down to Bangor to see the Stormont Museum. She's never been, and, it's really unbelievable. I really want to take her down. But, you know, that's sort of an overnight trip."

Neil shrugged. "It's cool, brother. I can watch the kids again. Didn't expect you to be spending the night anyway."

Her dad smiled gratefully. "Thanks," he said. "But Karen's dad's actually the bigger problem. He had this heart episode thing a few months back. Not a heart attack, but something like it I guess. She worries about leaving him alone, which is why she's up here staying with him."

Neil laughed. "Paul's a tough old guy. She shouldn't worry so much." "I know," he said. "But Karen worries, and she's the one I have to convince." He turned ominously towards Allie, and she felt her stomach knotting up before he even spoke. "We were sort of hoping you'd be willing to keep him company, Allie Cat. He really seems to like you, and it'd be a huge, huge favor for me. Think you might be able to help me out?"

Allie was, of course, mortified. That perverted old man had almost raped her (even if she'd technically almost raped him first, but that wasn't the point) and left her a disgusting cum covered mess on his porch. And now her dad was suggesting she spend a night, alone, in his cabin? It was absurd!

Of course, her dad didn't know about any of that. He thought Paul was a harmless old man who liked watching stars. Explaining the reality of it would be very, very awkward for everyone involved.

Still, there was no way she could do it. She knew that. It was easily the worst idea anyone ever had.

"Allie?" he asked. "You ok?"

She hadn't said anything, she realized, for way too long. Awkward. She'd have to answer eventually. And what she'd say was no. It had to be. But the sad, pleading puppy dog look her dad gave her made it ... damn it ... way too hard to disappoint him.

"You owe me," she said sourly. "Like expensive toys owe me. Computers and cars. Possibly jewels."

He was already gleeful and grinning. "We'll talk," he said. "But, thank you. This really means a lot."

"I know," she said. And she did. Which is the only reason she hadn't told him right then and there what a horrible person Paul really was.

Allie spent the rest of the morning and afternoon talking herself into it. She told herself it wouldn't be so horrible. He'd already done his worst, and she'd survived. If anything, this was a good thing; with no one there to hide behind, she could demand answers for the things he'd done. It'd clear things up and let her move on with her life. There was only a very small chance he'd rape and murder her, and if he didn't, they could just move on. Piece of cake!

Hours later, though she was standing frozen in the rain outside Paul's cabin, getting drenched and dreaming up excuses.

She was determined to keep herself covered, so she'd borrowed a sweatshirt from her dad that was way too big; it hung almost to her knees on the bottom, and the sleeves were way longer than her arms. It managed to cover her from her knees to her neck behind a shapeless grey blob, but, she now realized, it was also very, very absorbent. Soaked with rain water, it felt like it weighed more than she did.

If she didn't go inside, eventually, the stupid sweatshirt would crush her. It would be the dumbest possible way to die. But for now, she was willing to risk it.

She had no idea what the night would hold. Well, no, that wasn't true. She had a really good idea what the night would hold if Paul had his way; she'd be naked and at his mercy ... all night. The only mystery was what twisted mind games he'd decide to play.

"Aren't you coming inside?" Paul was standing on his porch, with an umbrella, one story up from where Allie stood frozen. He was smirking, of course.

"Maybe," she shouted. In her head, it sounded defiant. "It's drier inside," he said.

"Maybe I don't want to be dry," she answered.

"Don't worry," he said, and chuckled. "I'm sure we can keep you wet." Allie groaned. Had she really walked into that one?

She stopped responding and hated that he probably took that as a win in whatever mental contest he thought they were having.

"The sweatshirt," he called, "when it's wet like that, it really hugs your tits so nicely."

"Things like that," she shouted. "That's why I'm not coming in."

She watched him roll his eyes. "I'll be inside," he said. "Be careful on the steps when you do come up. They can get slippery."

Allie seethed. That smug asshole. She knew how to work steps.

She thought about turning around and going home, but she knew as well as he did that it wasn't a real option. It would mean having to tell her dad what happened, and there was no way she wanted to do that. Standing in the rain wasn't accomplishing anything, though, it was just making her wet. And not even the fun kind of wet.

She took a deep breath to steel her nerves, and reminded herself that the pervy old man wasn't in charge. She didn't have to let him control her. He owed her explanations and she'd make him give them.

So she went in.

Just like that, counting down from three and charging up the stairs. Her knees didn't even quiver until she was standing inside, dripping wet and standing face to face with a grinning, triumphant Paul.

But then, as quickly as it had come, the confidence subsided and left nothing but panic. This, she knew, was a very bad idea.

"About time," the old man said, nonchalantly. "I was starting to think I'd have to come fuck you out in the rain."

He was standing in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine and looking over at her in the big open living room. They were a dozen feet apart, but Allie still felt too close, like he was hovering on top of her. She couldn't respond or move. She just stood there, dripping wet and seething.

Finally, she mustered up enough self respect to wipe the water out of her eyes and pull back her hair. "Don't make fun of me," she snapped sternly. "This isn't a fucking game."

"Isn't it?" he asked. "The performance in that shower? The writhing around on my deck like a whore? All of that was somehow very, very serious act of seduction then?" He took a long sip from his wine. "Forgive my ignorance, then, Allie, I thought for sure this had to be a twisted, slutty little game for you."

She choked back curse words as her cheeks burned red.

"No," she stammered meekly. "No! You ... you practically raped me. Not even 'practically.' On the porch, that's exactly what you did. You raped me!"

He walked closer, close enough that he could've reached out and touched her, but he didn't. Instead he stood and stared, the same infuriating sneer on his face. "Did I?" he asked. "That's funny. Your memory starts to go when you're my age. But I distinctly recall that day. I went over to Neil's place and made some dumb little tart cum so hard she screamed about it. Then she sucked me off like a good little whore, just like she'd done the day before. When she thought I was helpless and senile."

He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. Allie couldn't stand to look him in the eye.

"But, like I said, my memory isn't what it used to be."

Allie fought back angry tears and stared off at the wall behind him. How dare he try to compare what she did with the horrible things he'd done to her!

Paul let her stew silently, and found a seat on the long couch opposite the kitchen, angled so he could see her from all of ten feet away. The distance didn't matter; wherever he was, however low he sat, they could both sense that he was towering over the little girl in front of him.

"But I have to know," he said. "If it isn't a game, and I really did 'rape' you, then what in the world are you doing here now?"

Allie started to stutter a defense, but she still couldn't come up with one. "Go to hell," she muttered.

"Soon enough," he smirked. "Though I don't think a girl like you will be too far behind when I get there." He made a point to stretch out very casually, letting her know in no uncertain terms how lightly he was taking all of this.

Silent, Allie had nothing to say, so she stood there, trembling, humiliated and...

For a few moments, there was silence as Paul seemed to enjoy letting her stew in the awkwardness. Allie thought about just leaving. No one would blame her for escaping this monster, and even having to explain her own sordid role in the affair would be worth putting an end to further humiliations. But, she didn't move. Something in the back of her mind kept her frozen in place in spite of her better judgment.

Seemingly bored with the one-sided standoff, Paul stood up and walked away into the hallway at the back of the big living room. He returned a moment later with a folded bath towel, which he tossed to Allie. "It's going to be a long night," he said, "you may as well get out of those soaking wet clothes."

Allie scoffed. "In front of you?"

Paul shrugged. "Unless you prefer to shiver."

She cringed. With the air conditioner blasting inside the cabin, the heavy, wet clothes were only getting more and more uncomfortable.

"But if I take my clothes off," she said, "how do I know you won't ... you know."

Paul smiled. "You don't," he said. "Funny thing, that. You're young, healthy, in fantastic shape, but even the feeblest old man can overpower and mount you if he decides he wants to. Being a girl must be awful."

Allie got chills at that, mostly because it was a terrifying thing to say, but she also couldn't entirely ignore that the crude severity of it got her ever so slightly excited, too.

"But," Paul continued, "I don't think you'll make me rape you. You're still standing there because something in the back of your mind is so eager to be filled up by me, that you're willing to risk every horrible thing I might do to you, everything I almost certainly will do to you, for a chance to get fucked by me. Admit it or not, I know what a slut like you wants."

Another long silence followed. Allie still didn't know what to say. Was he right? Is that what she wanted? The other night, on the balcony, she'd certainly begged for it. And before that, on Neil's porch, sure he'd basically raped her face, but before that he'd made her cum like such a dirty slut. And even before that, in the shower, she was the one who started all of this.

Her heart was pounding and her knees were weak. She couldn't explain the way he made her feel. How could she be so simultaneously eager and terrified?

When she finally forced herself to look up from the floor, Allie found Paul still staring through her still, relentless and unfazed by the long silences. She was too on edge to think straight, almost nauseated and overwhelmed. But not him. For a feeble old man, he sure was sturdy.

Allie took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and reached around to unsnap her shorts and lower the zipper. She started to tug them down, and Paul smiled as the wet fabric clung to her smooth teenage thighs, forcing the little girl to gyrate and wiggle them loose until they finally slid below her shaking knees.

She tossed the little brown shorts aside, and it felt somehow like a triumph. Then, in spite of the anger and fear, or maybe because of them, she actually smiled.

The giant grey sweatshirt was next. It would have been so easy to just leave it on, it hung over her like a blanket, but she'd crossed a line in her mind, a point of no return. Escaping under a blanket was no longer an option. The wet shirt weighed a ton, soaked up with all of that rain, but she lifted it straight up over her head and let it fall by the shorts with a wet, soggy, thud.

The white tank-top beneath it had soaked straight through. It clung to her like a transparent, second skin. She knew Paul could see the bright red bra straight through it. The matching panties were no better, soaked as they were, and clinging tight to her pussy.