tagInterracial LoveBreaking and Entering

Breaking and Entering

bybeaugueste©

As I approached my front door, I smiled to myself. It had been a fantastic day -- probably my best in the six weeks since I'd moved to the big city! My morning train had been on time and uncrowded for once, my bosses (all three of them!) had signed off on my proposal, and after work I'd had a productive session on the treadmill at the gym. On top of all that, the dice game that seemed to be going at all hours on the stoop of my building was even absent tonight, and I had the rare experience of entering my building without cat calls and come-ons.

I climbed the stairs to the second story, turned right, and walked to the end of the hallway and the door to my apartment. Mine was a quiet unit, isolated from other tenants at the end of a long hall. I reached into my bag for my keys as I approached the door, buzzing with the happy energy of my day.

I inserted the key in the lock with my right hand; turning the knob and pushing the door open I reached up and took out an earbud with my left. I shut the door, turned, and was confronted with a scene that turned my good day one hundred eighty degrees: three giant men, dressed in black sweatsuits and ski masks spun around to face the entryway.

In the living room, two of them were attempting to detach my television from the wall, my blu-ray player already on the floor next to them. The third stood at the door to my bedroom, my laptop folded under his arm. Behind him, I could see the open window; they had apparently climbed up the fire escape and pried open the window that I always left cracked for ventilation against the onslaught of a brutally hot summer that had extended nearly into October. I stood with my hand suspended at my right ear. The only sound in the apartment was the creaking of floorboards under the shifting feet of the intruders as they paused momentarily at my unexpected(?) arrival.

All I could see of any of the three was the black skin around their eyes and mouths, visible through the holes in the ski masks.

"What the... FUCK!" I finally managed to yell, furious and shocked at once.

"Oh shit!" one of the men in the living room responded, stepping away from the wall and grabbing the blu-ray while they both turned to the bedroom burglar, apparently seeking guidance. He placed the computer on my desk and stepping towards me, more confident than the other two who walked past us into the bedroom towards the open window.

"Well well, looks like you came home at the wrong time, Lil' Red!" he chuckled to himself, pulling within inches of me and addressing me by my auburn hair, which was tucked in a ponytail after my workout. He bent over so that despite our nearly one foot difference in height, we were almost eye to eye. I clutched my phone behind my back while I frantically reached for the doorknob with my free hand. He drew closer still, I could feel his hot breath on my neck; his muscular chest almost pressing into my large breasts, which were compressed against by body by the yellow sports bra beneath my loose white t-shirt.

"Just go. Get out, please! Please, I promise I won't call the police, just leave and don't hurt me!"

"Oh, you're right you're not gonna call the cops!" he hissed, firmly grabbing me by the sleeve of my thin white t-shirt, "Cause if you do, we're gonna come back. And we won't be taking no TV when we do!" He moved his hand down the length of my torso, roughly squeezing the left side of my ass in his massive hand, two of his long probing fingers reaching between my cheeks and lightly grazing the rim of my asshole through my yoga pants and exercise thong. He paused like that for a moment, holding me there by my buttocks, our faces inches apart -- his hot breath smelling of coffee and cigarettes, flowing over me as I strained to look away from him.

"You got a hell of a nice ass for a white girl." He grinned and leered down my shirt at the cleavage above my sports bra. Then he pulled away abruptly, moving back through the bedroom to the window, grabbing my camera and computer off my desk along the way. As he stepped through the portal, he turned and looked back at me, holding my gaze for a few brief seconds that felt a thousand times longer. Then he smiled again, winked, and ducked down the fire escape into the dark night.

I stood, stunned and paralyzed for a moment, my world and sense of security splintered by this intrusion. Gradually, I became aware of my senses and surroundings; in my ear, Huey was finishing "All alone with you, All alone with you..." God, he was so right; I was completely alone in this city and so vulnera- no! I wasn't going to let this happen to me. I shook my head, ripped the earbud from my ear, and marched through my apartment, surveying the damage and assessing what had been taken. My fear transitioned to indignant rage. How dare those men come into my home, take my things -- touch my body in that way! -- and think that because they issued some threat, I wouldn't call the police!?! I turned off the music and dramatically punched 9-1-1 into my phone.

I gave my name and address to the operator. "I'd like to report a robbery." My voice cracked as I forced out the words to the woman on the other end of the line, and told her my story. "I came home from work and there were men -- three men -- in my apartment, and they took my computer, camera, blu-ray player... I don't know what else. ... No, they aren't still here, they left. ... No, they didn't touch me," my mind strayed briefly to the assailant's grip on my butt as his fingers came dangerously close -- closer than anyone had been allowed -- to penetrating the barrier of my asshole. "He said I had a nice ass." I thought and blushed at the absurd memory as I continued answering questions. "No, I'm not hurt" I continued.

"Ma'am, if you haven't been hurt and the assailants -- you said there were two of them?"

"Three of them!" I corrected angrily, already sensing where the discussion was going.

"Yes, three, ma'am. Look, if the burglars are no longer in your home and you aren't in any danger, you need to understand that the force is stretched thin and can't respond immediately to non-dangerous situations such as yo-"

"NON-DANGEROUS?!" I nearly screamed at her. "There were three giant black men in my home when I came back from work! How is that not dangerous?!" I had entirely lost the buzz of my good day, as well as my patience with the emergency dispatcher. Was everyone in this city so callous?!

"Ma'am, if you will please calm down, I will send a car to your address as soon as one is available. The officers will examine your home, take a statement from you, and file a report for you so that your insurance company can begin processing a claim for you in the morning. Are you ok, ma'am?"

I took a deep breath; there was no need to lash out at this... person. I was rattled from my encounter, but like she said, the intruders were gone and the danger was passed. "I don't have insur-... nevermind. Yes, I'm all right, I guess. Do you have a rough estimate when there might be a car free in my area?"

There was a weighty pause. "There should be a unit to your apartment by ten o'clock tonight."

I almost exploded again. "TEN!?! It's barely seven!" I tried to gather myself again, taking a deep breath and exhaling dramatically. "Ok. Again, it's apartment 207."

I hung up and looked around the mess of my bedroom. The books from my shelf were scattered across the floor, the papers from my desk strewn about the room, and the drawers of my dresser were torn out and laying upside down on the bedroom floor, their contents billowing out in a reversed cloud of t-shirts and underwear beneath them. "Guess I can't clean up any of this," I said aloud to the empty space, collapsing on my couch, "They'll need to dust for prints or whatever."

I sat there, thinking about the abrupt turns my life had taken the last three months: graduation from college in June, a brief return to my parents' home in the sticks for a few weeks of limbo, and then I landed my job and moved to the big city. My parents' had had reservations about my living alone, a pretty (their word), naïve (again, their word) twenty three year old on her own for the first time, with all those... strangers around! I'd been unable to find a roommate (one who wasn't a complete nightmare), and had found an apartment I could (almost) afford in a neighborhood that wasn't a complete warzone. There was no talking me out of it, my parents had known that and so had given up arguing, and resorted instead to sending weekly cards containing earnest well-wishes and clusters of twenty dollar bills.

No one in my neighborhood seemed to notice me anyway, whether it was the Russian lady at the corner market, or the Middle Eastern flower vendors. The only people who seemed to see or remember me were the guys who played dice on my stoop, who unleashed a string of sexual invitations any time I wore anything more revealing than a baggy sweatshirt. The sight of a white girl with a big ass, small(ish) waist, and large, pronounced breasts wasn't something they seemed willing to miss, as they were almost always on the stoop no matter what time I was returning home, waiting with a barrage of graphic "compliments" ("Bet you know how to use that fine ass, bitch!" "I'd love to put my twelve inch cock between those beautiful tits." and "Gorgeous mouth like that, I bet you can really suck a dick."). Above all else, they seemed to love the days when I didn't change out of my tight exercise pants after my workout; they would be disappointed to have missed my black yoga pants today, I thought.

"Maybe Anastasia wasn't that bad after all," I sighed, recalling a potential roommate who had sewn her own wardrobe... and a matching one for her cat. "Ugh, I need a drink."

I walked to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of cheap white from the fridge. I knew I had to be sober to give the police a statement, but certainly no one would begrudge me one drink to calm my nerves after that ordeal. I poured a more-generous-than-intended glass and moved back to the couch, putting my running-shoes on the edge of the coffee table and taking a healthy gulp of wine.

I pulled off my shoes and socks, tossing them into a corner. I could feel the alcohol calming me, combining with the exhaustion of my run to relax my tense nerves. Without noticing, I had downed nearly the full glass and was on the verge of drifting off when I heard a sharp knock at my door. I checked my watch: 7:33. It was impossible that the police would already be at my door, but when I peered through the peep hole, I saw three large male forms in the reliable blue.

"Thank God you're here! I wasn't expecting you for a few hours!" I exclaimed, looking up at the three black giants in police uniforms.

"Yes ma'am, can we, uh, see some identification, please?" the one in front said. Reading the tag on his chest, I learned his name was Kennedy.

"Oh, of course," I stammered. I hadn't expected to have my identity questioned at the door to my own apartment, but it made sense they would want to make certain I was who had called. I turned and walked into the apartment to find my bag containing my wallet. Locating my license, I turned to find the three officers standing in the entryway between my living room and bedroom. "Oh." Was all I could manage, staring up at the three men, each standing well over six feet tall, and well muscled.

Kennedy took the license from my hand and inspected it. "Ok... Sarah... what's going on here?" he turned and handed the license to the man to his right, Dunbar.

"I came home from work, and when I got in the do-" I was interrupted by the third man, Hicks.

"You came home from work, dressed like that? Is that how you dress for work?" he indicated at my workout clothes, a white t-shirt over bright yellow sports bra and tight black yoga pants.

I was taken aback at the interruption, but tried to continue, "No, I went to the gym after work and when I came ho-" again I was interrupted.

"So you found men in your apartment after you came home from the gym?" Dunbar clarified.

"Yes. After the gym -- after work -- I came home and there were men in here. Is that particularly important?" I was getting flustered and between the emotion and the wine, I could feel a flush creeping up my chest towards my face.

"Ma'am -- Sarah -- we're just trying to get the story straight. No detail is too small. Remember, your insurance company is going to prepare their assessment off of this report, so it needs to be thorough and honest." Kennedy was taking notes in a pad as he spoke.

"I don't have insura-" I started, but was again interrupted by Hicks.

"And you say the intruders came through this window in here" he said as he walked into my bedroom. "You know, you really shouldn't leave your windows open." His last line was delivered in a chuckling, scolding tone. "Never know what or who's gonna come in with that fresh air!"

"It was only open a crack to allow some air flow to the roo-" but Kennedy, interrupted again.

"Ma'am, did the suspects touch you at all?" Kennedy was sizing up the sleeve of my shirt, smudged where I had been gripped by the robber not even an hour before.

"Oh yes. I almost forgot," I lied, thinking again about the man's strong fingers as he gripped my ass, "One of them grabbed me by the sleeve of my shirt, and told me not to call the police 'or else'." I tried to chuckle, but none of them laughed with me.

"One of them grabbed you, threatened you if you called the police, and you still called 9-1-1?" Dunbar seemed concerned as he approached to inspect my arm over Kennedy's shoulder.

"Well, yes, but" I didn't know how to finish the thought. "... I hope you'll be able to keep me safe...?"

"To be frank, Sarah, the men who were here are most likely from the neighborhood and have a familiarity with the building, you, and your habits. You should be careful in a neighborhood like this."

Kennedy continued to examine the smudged sleeve of my shirt then turned to face me. "Ma'am, we're going to need to take this garment for evidence."

"You... want to take my shirt?" I looked around the room as the three of them nodded seriously. "But... I'm not wearing anything under this. I'll go change in the bathroom." Hicks stood in the bathroom doorway, barring my entrance.

"Ma'am! We need to preserve the integrity of the crime scene, so you can't leave our sight while in possession of evidence."

I considered this, and thought about my sports bra which covered my breasts thoroughly and compressed them quite a bit so that they stood out less noticeably from my body. I carefully slid the shirt over my head, being careful not to disturb any potential evidence on the sleeve.

I handed the t-shirt to Kennedy who passed the garment along to Dunbar. I stood in the center of the room in my brightly colored sports bra, feeling three strange sets of eyes -- eyes that should have been looking for clues -- seemingly peering through my remaining clothing. Even in the full-coverage performance garment, I could feel the tops of my breasts pushing to peek over the top of the fabric; their heft and size fighting the elastic to free themselves. I was blushing again.

"So how long have you lived in the city, Sarah?" Kennedy was again writing in his notebook, directing attention back to discussion of the robbery.

I crossed my arms in from of my chest as I responded. "I've been here about six weeks. I moved here after school for a job." Answering questions calmed me as we got back on topic.

"Ok. You know many people here? Have many friends? A lot of boyfriends?" Kennedy continued.

"No. I have some girls from work I go out with sometimes... but no boyfriends at all since I moved here."

"So you're saying that a pretty girl like you with a body like that hasn't gotten any attention since you been here? I find that hard to believe!" Dunbar interjected loudly, blatantly staring at my chest. I tugged at the top of my sports bra, trying to cover more of my breasts. Kennedy seemed to pick up on my discomfort.

"Sure you haven't had a 'boyfriend', ma'am? Not even one in the month and a half you've lived here?" Kennedy restated.

"No. No! And what does this have to do wi-" My indignant response was cut off again.

"Damn shame." Kennedy clucked and redirected the conversation again before I could respond. "Did you get a good look at any of the intruders? Any chance you could recognize them if you saw them again?"

"No. They were wearing masks. I could only see a small patch around their eyes and mouths. They were black guys; tall, big, black men, that's really the only description I can give."

"Interesting. Ok." Kennedy scribbled in his notepad.

"Three big black guys? Sounds familiar!" Hicks joked from behind me as he took pictures of the 'evidence' pouring from my dresser drawers strewn across my floor, paying special attention to the colorful assortment of lace bras and panties scattered towards my bed. Suddenly his tone shifted. "Ma'am! Did any of the intruders touch you besides the shoulder as you described?!" I turned my head to see he was staring directly at my ass.

"Um, yes, the same one who grabbed me by the arm grabbed me, um..." I got shy thinking of the earlier groping.

"Where did he grab you?" Kennedy was all business, turning me by my shoulders and bending me over at the waist to look intently at the backside of my yoga pants. I grabbed the back of a chair for balance as I was inspected.

"He grabbed me on my left buttock..."

"Did he do anything else to you?"

"What do you mean...?"

"Did his fingers touch you anywhere else other than your left buttock?"

I was breathless with embarrassment at this question now. "Um...." I didn't know how to answer.

"Ma'am, remember, we need to make a full report."

"Well, he had really large hands, and while he was grabbing me... two of his fingers lightly touched my..." I paused, uncomfortable answering another personal question, bent over a chair in a room full of strange men.

"He touched your vagina, ma'am?" Kennedy paused his note-taking, looking up at me from behind.

I blushed and looked away from Kennedy, staring at the wall in my humiliation. "No... two of his fingers were... they lightly touched my asshole." I blurted the last out, rushing the answer shyly and hoping the conversation would move on.

"And had anyone before this man touched your asshole before, ma'am?" All three of them looked intently at me in my compromised pose, awaiting my answer.

"I... no, not re-, NO! What is the point of all this anyway?" I was really flustered now.

Kennedy ignored my indignant question and continued his inspection. "Well, ma'am there are smudged fingerprints on your pants, similar to those we found earlier on your shirt. A clear thumb on your buttock, and what may be a few finger tips closer to your crack and near where he groped you." Kennedy reached up to the waistband of my black stretch pants and began to pull, "So we're going to need this garment as evidence, as well."

"...now you want me to take off my pants...?" I hesitated, very suspicious now.

"No ma'am, we don't want you to do this. We need you to turn the item in question over to us for the purpose of our investigation." Kennedy took a very serious tone. Hicks and Dunbar looked up from their work at my dresser contents and nodded their solemn agreement that this was necessary.

"Ok..." I sighed and helped Kennedy pull the tights to my ankles, then stepped out of them as he folded the garment. My full, firm, cream-pale cheeks were now bare, accentuated by the firm grip of my grey workout thong. As Kennedy stood up his face was merely inches from my bottom, and he seemed to pause in rising, shifting his gaze to take in the view.

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bybeaugueste© 7 comments/ 29040 views/ 13 favorites

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