In the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

Disclaimer: I do not own the Matrix.

Summary: A hapless woman comes across Smith's path while he is in his sexually frustrated/aroused state and pays a high price because of Bronwyn's humiliating and erotic teasing of him at the restaurant.

WARNING: This chapter has an explicit description of rape and sodomy, so turn back now if that sort of thing bothers you. It also includes some terms that a man should never use to a woman, so you are warned about that now, too.

Shots from a Desert Eagle revolver shattered the front windows of "Moby Dick's," causing the glass to explode inwards and send its customers scurrying for cover. Screaming and panic filled the dining room as guests and employees hit the floor trying to escape being struck by the flying bullets.

Only one person in the ensuing mêlée remained calm and relaxed. At the back of the room, Smith rose from the booth and unseen or unnoticed by anyone, left the restaurant.

Once outside, he informed his first clone that his task had been completed most satisfactorily and that his services were no longer required. The copy nodded once then melted into the shadows, as if he had never been present.

Sirens of several emergency vehicles could be heard coming closer and Smith wanted to remove himself from the vicinity to avoid any unpleasant questions with the local law officials that were on their way.

Angry and sexually frustrated, he drove his car for several blocks towards Bronwyn's apartment, deep in his own dark and twisted contemplations until the car stopped at a red light, and he heard a woman's sultry voice accost him from the passenger side window.

"Nice car," she said appreciatively, running her hand over the smooth and highly polished surface.

Smith had been on the verge of ordering her to take her hands off his automobile when a memory of what another woman had said regarding his car came to his mind. Persephone had once used those exact words with him, and his lip curled in anger as he remembered what she had said—and done—to him, that long-ago day in the parking garage of her restaurant.

Persephone had teased and excited him then, just as Bronwyn had done tonight and the thought of two ex-prostitutes, Persephone and Bronwyn, taking and using him for their own amusement incensed him even more.

As it was, he surveyed the woman's figure and face in a leisurely perusal as the woman leaned forward in the passenger window. She was wearing a scooped neck top that gave a most tantalizing glimpse of her ample bosom. That outfit is similar to what Bronwyn had been wearing when I took her on the table in the interrogation room the night our child was conceived, Smith recalled fondly. This woman has definite possibilities, considering what I want from her, he thought.

The woman caught him staring at her breasts and grinned at him seductively. "They're all mine, too. Nothing artificial here, handsome." Her voice was low-pitched and breathy, whether by design or if she spoke that way naturally, it did not matter. It reminded him of Bronwyn's accent and it was pleasing to Smith's ear.

As for her face, she was not what one would call a pretty woman, but for what Smith had planned for her, he would not have to look at her face anyway. He had a specific sexual act in mind where she would not be looking at his face either, for that matter. If Bronwyn can do it to Jones, then this woman can do it to me, he thought.

She peered at him more closely, taking in every detail of his appearance missing nothing, and even though she could not put her finger on it, there was something strange, something off about this man that didn't seem quite right to her. Maybe it was the fact that he was wearing sunglasses at night, or maybe it was the way his mouth turned down at the corners as if he was angry about something, she wasn't sure.

However, one thing was certain: this well-dressed, mild-mannered man was bad news and someone it would be best to avoid. I don't think I want to know what this guy is willing to do to a woman to satisfy his current state of arousal; some chick left him with the mother of all hard-ons, that's for sure, she thought, apprehensively.

Smith could sense her hesitation and saw her begin to pull away. Growling impatiently under his breath, he reached into his jacket and took out his billfold to show her that he could easily pay for whatever service he wanted from her at least ten times over and above her usual asking price.

He watched with scorn as the woman widened her eyes in surprise and greed when she saw the amount of money he was willing to pay for the use of her body.

Humans, he thought with a sneer, are so predictable. Especially the women. They couldn't care less if I was Adolph Hitler, Jeffrey Dahmer or Norman Bates all rolled into one—they would willingly put aside any misgivings they might have about having sex with any man, as long as he waved enough money under their noses.

"Get in the back," he ordered brusquely. She bit her lip, uncertain what to do. It was just so much money, she thought, more than I've had for a long time. It would get that sleaze of a landlord off my back for the rent, that's for sure. She complied at last, grateful to get off her feet in their uncomfortable high heels for a while. As soon as she closed her door, he stepped on the accelerator and the powerful car took off so quickly that she was pressed backwards into her seat.

From time to time, Smith would glance in the rear-view mirror at her to make sure she wasn't touching anything, but she just sat in her seat with her hands folded in her lap and stared out of the window.

Neither of them said anything for quite a while and the woman noticed that the car was headed to the outskirts of the city.

lllllllllllllllll

Smith slowed down and brought the car to a stop, shutting it off before getting out and opening the rear door and getting into the backseat with her.

lllllllllllllllll

He kissed her forcefully and was pleased when the woman beneath him responded in kind. He brought his hand up to her breast and caressed it. Something about this man is seriously scary, she thought, unable to suppress a shudder when she felt Smith begin to touch her. This guy could even give Hannibal Lecter a run for his money in being able to give a woman "the creeps."

She had told him the truth when she told him that they were real. They are almost like Bronwyn's, he thought. Almost. Soft, warm, and yielding to the touch. Not at all like Persephone, whose breasts had turned out to be as fake as her fingernails.

With one hand, Smith grabbed the woman by the hair on the back of her head and jerked her face upward so that he could look into her eyes. Using the crudest words he could think of, he told her exactly what he wanted her to do to him.

"I want you to unzip my fly, take out my dick, and put it in your mouth and give me what you humans refer to as "a blow job." When I come, you will swallow every drop of what I give you. You will then put it back in my pants and zip me up. and then you will get your money. Do you understand?"

The hooker nodded nervously. She had performed this particular act on countless men, but this was the first time she had been this afraid of the john she had agreed to service in a long, long time.

"And if you even think of biting me or doing anything to displease me in any way, you will get a bullet between your eyes, got it?" he hissed.

She nodded again and her hand was trembling as she slowly unzipped his fly and freed his erect penis from the constraints of his pants. When he felt her mouth around him, he groaned with satisfaction and anticipatory pleasure. He let his head fall back until it rested against the back of the seat and closed his eyes as he imagined that it was Bronwyn performing this act on him. He groaned again as he felt her talented and experienced tongue swirl over and around the head of his member and the sensations of that simple act excited him even more. He drew his breath in sharply when the woman added just the perfect amount of suction as she drew him in deeper into her mouth.

Smith could feel his orgasm building and knew that he was going to come very soon. He grabbed the woman with a hand on either side of her head and began to move his hips so that he was thrusting his entire length inside her mouth.

But it just doesn't feel right, Smith thought. This woman isn't Bronwyn and no matter what she does, I know it is not her.

Ever since the night we were together, I haven't desired to be with another woman in the least. Persephone doesn't count; my body wanted her, but my mind did not. All I want is to be with Bronwyn again—to feel her body under mine, to taste, to touch her flesh over and over. I am the one who should be with Bronwyn, not Jones. Bronwyn is the only woman that I have ever felt truly satisfied with, either emotionally or physically. She is the only woman I want—the only woman I will ever want.

However, the fact remained that he was in a dangerous state of arousal and before he could think with a clear head, he needed his release. Now.

But no matter how hard he tried, Smith found that he simply wasn't able to climax.

No matter how much I try to pretend that it is Bronwyn doing this to me, it is not her. Everything about this woman is wrong: her body shape is wrong, her perfume is wrong, and her hair feels rough and coarse, not silky and fragrant like Bronwyn's.

She is the one I want. She is the one I should be with, not this nameless, faceless, painted whore, he thought savagely, pushing the woman away off him and ignoring her expostulation of annoyance at his unexpected and sudden rough treatment towards her.

"Damn it!" he swore, more angry at himself than the woman who was now surreptitiously wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and making a point of not looking at him or even in his general direction, in case she incurred any more of his displeasure.

She had been with enough men in her checkered career to know that men, who for one reason or another, were not able to climax, were very dangerous and if she was lucky, she might get out of this guy's car with her life and only have a split lip or a black eye to show for it. However, that does not mean that I have to wait around until he decides to beat the crap out of me. With her right hand, she cautiously and very slowly felt her way along the door panel until she found what she was looking for: the latch. Without a second thought, she pulled the handle of the door and almost made it outside before Smith grabbed her by the foot and wrenched it until she yelped in pain.

"Get back in the car or I will break your goddamn ankle," he snarled. To drive home his threat and show her he meant what he said, Smith twisted his hand sharply causing her such agony that she knew that he would not hesitate to break every bone in her foot if she disobeyed.

"All right!" she shouted.

As soon as she was back in the backseat of the car, Smith forced her onto her stomach and straddled her, one knee on either side of her hip. He flipped up her skirt until her buttocks were exposed. "Just like Bronwyn," he murmured, "you're all whores, the lot of you."

"I'll be whoever you want me to be, you're the one who is paying," the woman said, and Smith could hear how shaky her voice was.

"No," he said silkily, pleased that this woman was afraid of him, "it will be you who will pay for what she did to me."

"But what did I ever do to you? I just met you, for Chrissake!" she protested vehemently.

He shrugged. "You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now shut up," he said through his teeth as he positioned himself behind her. He undid his belt and zipper, pulled his pants down and when he was ready to begin his assault, he tore her panties off and penetrated her anus quickly and roughly, causing her to cry out in pain.

Snaking his arm around her shoulders and neck so that no matter how hard she struggled, she was unable to get away. Her frantic attempts to get free only enhanced Smith's pleasure and he felt her scratch and claw at any exposed skin on his hands, face, and neck she could find.

"Little wildcat, aren't you? You like pain? How about this?" he hissed in her ear between thrusts. She screamed when she felt his mouth and teeth bite down hard on the sensitive area between her neck and shoulder.

Her moan of pain brought her tormentor to his climax, and she waited until his body ceased to shudder against hers before she judged it safe enough to try to get out of his embrace. His arms tightened around her and she could feel him getting hard inside her. When he was erect again, he pulled his penis out of her rectum and forced himself into her vagina as hard as he could. Smith could feel that she was completely dry inside and he knew that with each thrust, he was causing her excruciating pain, but he didn't care.

He was oblivious to everything except how good it felt to possess a woman sexually again, to hear her cries, to know that he was hurting her and at the same time, taking his revenge on Bronwyn out on this poor, misused member of society who lay whimpering and sobbing beneath him.

However, it wasn't enough for Smith. Some part of him needed to hear it as well. He leaned forward until his mouth was against her ear and whispered what he wanted her to say.

"Tell me you love me, Bronwyn."

"I love you," she said, in a flat tone, and if Smith had been paying more attention, he would have heard the complete lack of emotion with which her words had been delivered.

"What about Jones?"

"Jones could never make me feel the way you did---I never loved him, I swear." That's true enough I guess, the woman thought since I do not have a fucking clue who this Jones person is.

"So what will you do now?"

"I'll leave him. Tonight. We can go away and leave this city. Just you and me. We can be together the way we were meant to be."

He groaned in pleasure and he could feel his orgasm was very close. The woman could feel that he was almost there as well—his breathing was quick and shallow and he was thrusting inside of her with more force; the agony each stroke caused becoming more difficult to endure, making her most intimate flesh throb in pain.

When he spoke to her, his voice was hoarse; from desire and lust, as well as from the effort of keeping it in control.

"You know I want to hear! I want to hear you say it—TELL ME YOU LOVE ME!"

"I love you, Smith, NOT Jones! You are the only man I want!" Tears of pain and humiliation ran down her cheeks and she could not continue speaking because of the lump in her throat from suppressing her tears. When, when would this guy be done, she wondered frantically. NO guy has ever hurt me this much; I don't know how much more of this I can take!

Wise beyond her years in the ways of men, instinct, expertise, and resourcefulness took over for a mind that refused to function because of the pain and agony Smith was causing to her body without a trace of mercy or gentleness. She said the words he needed to hear; not from her of course, but from this Bronwyn, whoever she was, things she had never told him, but what he had always longed and ached for her to say to him.

"I love you, and only you, Smith. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through, for hurting you and leaving you the way I did. I would like the chance to make it all up to you, if you will let me. Can you forgive me?" her voice was no longer full of fear, but honesty and sincerity. It's amazing what barefaced lies a woman can utter in the heat of a man's passion and make him believe anything she says, the woman thought to herself. At last, this guy is finally going to get off--and if I'm really lucky, I'll get out of this car with my life.

As she had hoped, Smith came almost immediately afterwards, groaning Bronwyn's name over and over again. Panting heavily, it was a long time before Smith felt able to move.

"I'm sorry, Bronwyn. I hope I didn't hurt you or the baby, I didn't mean to," he murmured remorsefully, when he heard the woman under him hiss sharply when he withdrew from inside of her.

Cautiously, he felt around to where their baby should be resting and felt….nothing. There was no response from within her belly; it was as if the baby wasn't even there. Her stomach was flat, and not distended anywhere close to where it should be considering Bronwyn was nearly eight months pregnant.

This woman was not Bronwyn—it was someone else. Disgust and rage flooded through Smith's body and mind. The words she had said, everything, was a lie. This woman, whoever she was, was the latest in a long line of whores who had used him for her own purposes and discarded him.

Bronwyn had used him to get her pregnant, Persephone had used him to amuse herself, and this woman had used him for his money. However, since he could not take his revenge of Bronwyn or Persephone for the time being, he could punish this whore, this cunt who was beneath him, both socially and logistically.

Smith fumbled the clothes on the lower part of his body into some kind of order before shoving his hand into her back, replicating himself for the second time.