I got home late that night. I was very tired. I unlocked the door and went straight through the apartment to the bedroom, not bothering to close the blinds first or to pull the drapes. All I wanted was to fall into my bed and go to sleep. Along the way, doing a striptease for whatever neighbor might be up at two a.m., I arrived in the bedroom completely naked.
"Murphy?" I called out. "Where are you, boy?"
I looked under the bed, behind the curtains, inside the walk-in closet, but found no cat. Then, as I pulled a nightshirt out of my dresser drawer, there was a rustle behind me on the bed and, despite knowing exactly what it was, I jumped and gave a little yip. It was the cat.
"Murphy!" I admonished him savagely. "You scared me!"
Pulling the nightshirt on over my head--then removing it again and turning it rightside out--I joined Murphy on the bed and stroked his back. "I really should get up and close the bedroom blinds," I confessed to him. Like all the other blinds in the place, were wide opened. "But I'm too lazy."
Murphy purred at me, fixing me with his weird yellow eyes, seeming to say that I could prance around naked all I wanted to--which is usually what I did--as long as I understood the consequences. I had long ago come to grips with the fact that I was an exhibitionist, and, as a consequence of that fact, that I might someday come to trouble for it.
I just didn't expect it that night.
Pulling back the covers and slipping beneath them, I set the alarm for eight o'clock, turned off the light, and settled against my pillow. I turned on my left side as I always do so Murphy could snuggle into the small of my back. Perfect, I thought, except for one tiny thing.
Was I asleep?
Something had startled me awake, and when I put my hand back to check for Murphy's presence, he was gone.
He jumped off the bed, I thought sleepily, and woke me up.
Only that wasn't true.
Standing beside my bed was the shadow-camouflaged figure of a man. I had just gotten a sharp inhalation of breath into my lungs when he flung back the covers and jumped on top of me. His hand silenced my screams.
"Don't make a fucking sound," he said hoarsely "or I'll kill you, understand?"
Terrified, I gave a tiny nod. His other hand was on my right breast and squeezing it very tight. Tight enough to make me wince. It wasn't until I loosened up and lay beneath him, unfighting, that he slackened his grip.
"That's better," he said. "You all right?"
I had never been less right in my life.
"What are you going to do to me?" I pleaded into his hand.
I repeated my query.
Again he didn't hear it. Lifting his hand an infinitesimal amount, he asked me again.
"Please don't rape me!" I begged.
He laughed. "I'm in your bedroom at three o'clock in the morning and I'm not going to rape you?"
I shook my head. "Don't hurt me, then, okay?" I knew I'd be raped.
He continued fondling my right breast. I thought of the open bedroom window to my right. I thought of all the open windows in my place.
Slowly, keeping his eyes locked on mine--they were very blue, I decided, beyond the black of his ski mask--he let go of my breast and slipped his hand inside the v- neck of my nightshirt, finding it again. He asked: "What size bra do you wear?"
I blinked at him in confusion. My bra size? He wanted to know my bra size? "34B," I said.
"You don't feel like a 34B," he said. "You feel smaller."
Well, excuse me, I thought. I'm laying down. And stupidly, I felt embarrassed.
He got off me then, sat straddling my legs, and motioned me to sit up.
I struggled into a sitting position. My heart beat very fast. When he motioned for me to remove my nightshirt, I pulled it over my head, then held it clutched defensively in my lap, absolutely petrified. I was beginning to shake.
"Drink this," he said, holding out a metal flask. "It'll calm you down."
I shook my head no.
His lips curled into a smile. "Take my word for it," he said softly. "I have no intentions of drugging you."
I smelled the flask and decided it smelled like very good whiskey. I took a sip and choked.
"Easy," he said, taking the flask away. "It's pretty strong stuff."
I coughed half a dozen times into my open hand, then coughed harder into them both. Finally, I caught my breath. "What is that?" I croaked.
"West Virginia bootleg whiskey," he said, laughing. "You want some more?"
Eyes watering and my nose threatening to run, I shook my head no. He cajoled me into another sip.
"Better this time?"
I wiped my mouth. I was so confused. Did all rapists offer their victims a drink?
For a time, he just stared at me. Then, reaching out with his right hand, he placed it over my left breast, and then over my right. Self-consciously, like a thirteen year-old dealing with a boyfriend for the very first time, I tried to fend him off.
He laughed again.
"Stop it," I said, feeling more like a thirteen year old than ever.
He took my wrists in his hands and held them apart. My breathing was ragged and my heart slammed in my chest. My God, I thought. Am I actually getting excited?
"I want you to kiss me," he said.
"Lean forward and kiss me, Krystal."
I sat there, wrists captured in his hands, heart banging in my chest, my ears roaring with blood. I wanted to scream but I also wanted to kiss him.
Slowly, closing my eyes, I leaned forward and sought his mouth. He kissed me on my lips and I drew back again. I opened my eyes.
"That was nice," he said. "How about another?"
I did, and this time I opened my mouth and we began to French kiss. He still had my wrists in his hands and I liked that very much. I thought I must be insane. My heart was thudding hard and incredibly, between my legs, I was becoming wet. I wanted to fuck him.
"I need another drink," I said.
He gave me the flask and I drank half of it down in one big gulp. Again he laughed, this time like a man with a slightly idiotic, but very passionate lover. Which is exactly how I felt.
"I don't want you to rape me," I told him suddenly.
He studied me, replacing the cap on the bottle. "That's to be expected," he said slowly.
"No," I said, shaking my head. "I mean: I don't want you to rape me."
He was silent a moment, then said: "What am I supposed to do with all this stuff?"
Digging into the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, he removed an eye-opening assortment: A pair of chrome- plated handcuffs, a ball-gag, a device that I determined was meant to hold my jaws apart while he fucked me in the mouth, a complete set of leather restraints for my ankles and wrists, a blindfold, a very large black vibrating dildo, anal beads and a black leather paddle.
"That's a lot of stuff," was all I could say.
I was eying--of all the damned things--the black leather paddle. It made me want to fidget. "You were planning on spanking me?" I asked.
"Only if I had too," he said. Then, as a tease, "I still could."
My face got very hot. "Who are you?" I whispered.
He looked pointedly out my bedroom window. I looked out it as well. Visible across the parking lot were the outlines of two other apartment buildings; a handful of lighted windows stared back at us.
"You should really learn to close your bedroom blinds," he said.
My face grew even redder.
We were silent a time, during which my embarrassment did anything but diminish. Because, if he had seen little Krystal getting her bottom severely reddened across some man's knee, then he had seen what had come afterwards too.
I finally just asked him. "What is it you want me to do?"
He looked over his assortment, some of which I had never used. "We could have some fun," he suggested.
"Fun." he repeated
I leaned forward, picked up the chrome-plated handcuffs, and examined them: "These are real?"
"As real as they get."
"Made just for women?"
I turned them over in my hands. They were the genuine article, all right. I know from experience. Once you put those scary things on, you can't wait to get them off again. Having fun, or no.
"I'll let you do this to me," I said slowly, "willingly, if you'll let me stop when I ask you to."
His crooked little grin resurfaced. "Depends on just how bad you want to stop, Krystal."
Not quite believing what I was about to do, twisting at the waist, I put my hands behind my back and presented him with my wrists. He shackled me up. Immediately, I wanted out.
"Please, sir," I whined pitifully to him, "don't make me do this!"
Laughing, he fumbled everything back into his pockets, then took my head and brought it down to his lap. Unzipping himself while I made pitiful mewling noises, he extracted his erect, alarmingly big penis from the front of his jeans, and put it in my mouth.
"Mmmmnnnnffffff!" I protested as my mouth went up and down his shaft.
"You know what, bitch," he said in a gruff and threatening voice. "I'm going to fuck you in every hole you've got!"
If he meant to fill me with fear, he did. With my head in his hands, my mouth stretched almost painfully wide, being alternately choked and then gasping for air, I seriously began feeling raped. If not in reality, then in state of mind. I was paralyzed.
"I want you to deep-throat me," he said, letting go of my head.
Panting, my mouth still wrapped around his cock, I slowly worked myself down. His glans--mercifully small compared to other cocks I had sucked--slipped into my waiting throat. I forced him in deeper.
"You like this, don't you, Krystal?" he asked. He had the sides of my hair swept back from my face so that I could see him better. I met his gaze with my left eye and grumped my agreement.
"That's good," he assured me, "because I'm really enjoying it too."
He then proceeded to fuck me as deeply and thoroughly as he could, keeping me between his hands as he used my mouth and my throat until I thought I'd just die. But I never said stop.
Just when it seemed he would come in my mouth, he pulled me off his cock and sat me up. I sat there, gasping, my mouth a total mess, slobber all over my chin and my cheeks. It dripped down onto my chest. When I coughed, rivulets of semen and spit flew out of my mouth.
"No, please!" I wanted to protest. Then I did the last thing he would ever have expected me too and glued my mouth to his.
"Yuuuckkkk!" he exclaimed, pushing me away. He wiped his mouth. "Krystal Leigh!"
I just had to laugh.
"Jesus Christ," he spat. Wiping the crap off my face with the palm of his hand, he then glued our mouths back together and made it a marathon kiss. I began to orgasm. When he dragged his mouth away from mine a minute later, I didn't want to let him go. I fought to get it back.
"No!" I protested loudly. "Don't."
But he had other things in mind.
Flinging me onto my back, he pushed my legs apart and dived on me face-first, like a man in a pie-eating contest going down on a blueberry pie. I immediately began to warble and come.
"Oh, God!" I trilled. My eyes were big as china plates and so was my mouth. With my feet and head and nothing else planted on the mattress, my back arched so deeply I thought it would snap like a wishbone, he proceeded to put his tongue through me all the way up to my mouth. By now my eyes were totally bugged-out and my orgasm had gone nuclear. I didn't think I could come any harder, but I was wrong.
Levering my rear end in the air, my knees planted right beside my earlobes, he attacked my rear end.
"Oh, God!" I wailed. "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, Gooooodddddd!"
And then he was atop me and in my mouth, his tongue gnashing against my own tongue, letting me taste myself as he watched me stare at him in disbelief.
And then he fucked me.
It was four a.m. and I couldn't move. I was tied to my bed, on my stomach. I couldn't talk and something foreign was in my ass.
"Mnnnnuuugnnhhh!" I objected.
I went, "Mnnnnuuugnnhhh!" even louder and shook my bottom.
He stopped what he was doing. "Am I hurting you?"
"Mnnn-huhhhh!" I answered emphatically. "Ehhh-oooh- aarrrr."
In my behind he had the very large black dildo, vibrating gaily. He was making me take it all, or as much of it as I could manage. Right now that felt like about two feet.
"I could prop you up more," he said, talking about the stack of pillows beneath my hips. I was ass-end in the air as it was. I didn't need to be any higher.
"Nnnuuuuhhhh!" I said.
"What then? Should I take it out?"
I shook my head slowly. "Eeebbbb-iiiihhhh-uuhhowwnn," I grunted.
"Leave it alone?"
He left it alone.
Earlier, after deranging me with his tongue, he had spread my legs and slipped inside me. I was in a frenzy by then, my orgasm a raging inferno. I had never been so hot. The instant his erection slid into my vagina and began to stretch me out, I arched up against him. It hurt, but I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted his cock.
"Fuck me!" I had begged him. "Please, please, fuck me!"
Under his guidance, I planted my feet on the mattress and raised my ass. Taking as much weight off me as he could, he tucked his chin into the hollow of my neck and shoulder, wrapped me about the waist with his arms, and basically pile-drove himself in and out of my pussy. He had my handcuffed wrists in one hand and my ass in the other. I was beyond any sense of propriety now--I just wanted to fuck.
"Please!" I whined frantically into his ear. "Please, please, please!"
I wore him out. I wore myself out. I never even gave him a chance. When he came in me some sixty seconds later, I wrapped my legs around his waist and let him hold me in the air, filling me with his sperm. It was just so fucking wonderful. It was so hot. And now, an hour later, I was all tied up, defenseless . . . and ready for more.
"That's very, uh. . . sexy," he said, watching my wagging ass.
"Iienggg-gaaaa-oooo-iiigg-id," I told him.
"I'm glad you like it, too," he said. He clicked the vibrations up one notch.
Somewhere, down in the nether reaches of my severely elongated rectum, the dildo vibrated against the ledge of my pelvic bone. And that, if you've never experienced it before, is very weird.
And then I woke up.
I looked around, confused and hopelessly lost. I was in my bedroom, but it was dark, I was alone and the clock read three a.m.
"Oh, God," I moaned, turning beneath the covers. It was a dream--just a fucking dream. I was still in my bed, still in my nightshirt. There was no dildo up my ass, no recently deposited sperm in my vagina, no intruder to have placed it there.
"Not fair," I whimpered to the room. "It's just not fair."
And then, from across the room, from deep within the shadows of the bedroom doorway, rumbled a stranger's voice.
"You're absolutely right, Krystal Royer. Life's not fair at all."
As I was soon to find out.