Not Alone at All

She entered the stairwell and launched herself at the stairs, taking them two at time. She reached her apartment in no time, and was soon inside her place, locking the door behind her. She shed her clothing as she moved through the apartment, freeing her long, dark hair. She shook her head back and forth gently, causing the ends to caress the soft skin at the small of her back. She shivered slightly, nipples hardening, and made her way to the phone. She dialed her best friend's number and started to sing as it was answered.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you-"

"Okay, okay!" Her best friend laughed. "I get it! When will you be here?"

"I'll meet you at the bar," she said, "by eleven; i want to take a nap first." She said her goodbyes and hung up the phone, satisfied, and smiling. That gave her four whole hours before she'd even have to leave the apartment; plenty of time. Still full from a late lunch, she headed for the shower. Stepping inside, she turned the hot water on full, slowly adding cold until the stream from the faucet was just slightly cooler than too hot to handle. She redirected the water and jumped slightly as it came out of the shower-head cold, her nipples hardening further. Soon, the spray was soothing her body and her mind began to drift. Thoughtlessly, peacefully, she lathered her hair, breathing in rosehip and jasmine. Twenty minutes later, she emerged, bright red and scrubbed clean, feeling refreshed, relaxed, and sleepy. She rubbed at her scalp with a soft, fluffy towel and squeezed her wet hair nearly dry. She patted her warm skin and hung her towel, and reached for her moisturizer. She was still massaging it into her arms as she padded through the kitchen to the bedroom.

She surveyed the tidy room and considered picking out her clothes for the night. 'Nah,' she thought, 'time for that later,' and pressed play on the CD player. The sound of the Flower Duet from Lakmé filled the room as she rolled her yoga mat onto the floor. Technically, the music should be soft for stretches, but she didn't care, she loved Lakmé; besides, it wasn't so loud that the neighbours would hear it, though they wouldn't be surprised if they did; she often played her music loudly, but only before 9pm. The waves of sound rolled through the room, and she swore she could feel every voice, every instrument, washing over her body. She sat, cross-legged, closed her eyes and allowed herself to float with the sounds around her. She combed her hair with her fingers, enjoying the tugging on her scalp as she negotiated the tiny knots in her soft, fine strands. When her hair was smooth, she got on her hands and knees and arched her back high, tucking her chin against her chest, stretching her neck, as well as the muscles down her spine to her tailbone. She loved the cat stretch, always had, and while she'd never admit it aloud; it always made her slightly horny, reminding her of being taken from behind. Her sex dampened, and she arched her back forward, reversing the stretch, and sighing, counting the days, rather, months, since she'd last had sex. She sighed again, and decided that if masturbating counted, she was getting it more often than most married women she knew. She giggled to herself and reversed the stretch again; inhaling and exhaling deeply, releasing what was left of the day's stress, and feeling a sense of calm flood her body and mind. She thought again about being penetrated, and enjoyed the rush of warmth which flooded her sex. 'Perhaps I'll pick up,' she thought, then laughed to herself softly. 'Perhaps not,' she decided firmly. She couldn't stand the thought of bringing a stranger into her home, and there was no way in hell she was going alone to some unknown man's place. 'I must be really horny,' she thought to herself, as she imagined she felt something brush her ass. She chuckled again and was halfway through reversing her stretch, her back parallel to the floor, when a big hand landed hard on her bare ass, the slap resounding throughout the room. Too late, she realized what she'd earlier missed; she was not alone at all.

A big hand fisted in her hair and yanked her to her feet. She filled her lungs and diaphragm with air as she rose, and prepared to scream. With her projection, she was sure that the entire block would hear it. As she opened her mouth, a second hand clamped around her throat, rendering her sound useless, squeezing her windpipe, just slightly. She began clawing at the arm which held her throat and kicking with her bare feet at the shins behind her, making contact, but in no way moving the assailant.

Her head was yanked back forcefully, and she found herself staring at the ceiling, as she was dragged backwards just a few inches against a broad chest in what felt like a cotton blend dress-shirt. She renewed her struggles as her ass came to rest against a hard erection, barely contained by a pair of men's dress pants. A cold belt buckle met the small of her back, which she arched forward, trying to get away. The hand at her throat tightened, and she felt a pair of lips touch her temple, then her ear.

"Shut your mouth unless I tell you to open it," the voice told her, calmly demanding. "And stop kicking me." Each word was delivered as though he expected, implicitly, to be obeyed. "Do you understand me?" He asked, as the hand closed more tightly around her throat. She nodded quickly, repeatedly, and began to tremble. She was anxious to breathe once again. Her assailant must have been satisfied, though, because the hand loosened, and she gasped, gulping for air.

"Turn it up," he told her, and shoved her forward until she stood in front of the stereo. She reached for the volume and complied immediately. The hand at her throat nearly flew through the air and landed low on her left ass check, stinging it hotly. "Louder than that," he demanded, still calm, in control, but irritated. She hurried to oblige and was rewarding with being half-flung, have-shoved across the room to her bed. She landed hard on her stomach, the air rushing out of her lungs as he landed atop her. He grabbed her wrists tight and pulled them behind her, pinning her with one hand as he raised the weight of his chest off her back.

He dragged her back against him until her ass met his groin once again, his erection even harder now, and she noted somewhat dully that he must not be wearing any underwear as he pushed down on her back, sinking her torso slightly into the mattress. With his free hand, he snapped open his belt, and quickly undid His pants. Her suspicion was confirmed as his cock sprang forward and came to rest against the crease of her ass.

She tried to dance away, embarrassed. 'Embarrassed?' she thought, 'What the hell? I should be mortified! Horrified! Angry!' She began to fight wildly, struggling against him as a myriad of thoughts floated to her consciousness. These, she fought even more wildly. He bent over her and slipped his hand under her face, covering her mouth, and blocking her nostrils, cutting off her air once again.

"Relax," he demanded, speaking into her ear. "Relax," He said again. As she did so, he moved his hand to allow her to breathe through her nostrils, which she did, gratefully, deeply.

"Get used to the feeling, slut." She winced as she thrilled at the word. "This cock is going be all over you and everywhere inside of your body before I'm done with you. You might as well deal with it now." He stood once again, removing his hand from her mouth, and yanked her ass against him. "And nice height for your bed, by the way, slut."

She almost laughed out loud when he said that. She had designed and had a friend custom-build the bed frame, expressly so that when she stood, legs straight, and spread wide, she could rest her torso and chest comfortably on the bed, making it easier for her lover (she'd always planned on taking another one, eventually) to take her from behind. Or, in the event that he wished it, when she straightened her legs and drew them together, her ass was a few inches higher than her shoulders, giving him easy access to her sex. The headboard and footboard of the bed frame, which appeared to be collections of thick beams and dowels placed randomly and vaguely artistically, were actually specifically designed to suit a number of bondage positions she'd always imagined she'd try. Her friend didn't know this, of course, when he'd built it for her, but she'd suspected somehow, that he'd known. Even in her embarrassment over that thought at the time, she just had to have it built. The irony of this being her first sexual encounter in her dream bed did not escape her for a second.

The sound of his belt snapping fiercely in the air brought her attention back to the present. His pants were off, and she could feel his hard, naked thighs shoving their way between her own. She clenched her muscles, trying desperately to disallow him access. She bounced on her toes, thinking to make it up onto the mattress, and somehow escape this assault. He laughed as she squirmed, and she realized that her futile efforts to get away were only causing him greater pleasure, the tip of His sex thudding hard against her sacrum, his testicles mashing against her cheeks. She stilled and he leaned into her once again, and this time she made way for him, grudgingly, to stand between her thighs, his own legs parted slightly, hers, parted wide, the balls of her feet and her toes, just barely gripping the floor.

"Now there's a good little slut," He told her, chuckling, as He leaned on her back to speak in her ear once again. "You do learn quickly, whore." She stiffened, dismayed at the wetness in her sex as He said such things to her, His tone, alarmingly familiar, as though He'd known her all her life. She wondered if they'd have been lovers, had she met him, in some other way; then quickly and harshly chastised herself for even thinking such ridiculous thoughts. Her conflict raged on as He yanked at her elbows, extending her arms, pinning her wrists easily with one hand against the mattress. She realized how pliant she'd become and began to struggle again, just on principle. She kicked her legs wildly and twisted her torso, jostling him back and forth atop of her.

Unexpectedly, he stepped from between her legs to stand beside her thigh. She ceased struggling a moment, in her confusion, and he began raining hard blows on her ass, spanking her hard with his open hand, leaving stinging welts all over her bottom. She cried out, and resumed her fighting, aware she'd been betrayed by her own sex, wet and slick and convulsing as he continued to beat her ass soundly. She was desperate that he should not know, but somewhere in there, her hips too, betrayed her, as did her own voice, which she thought she had mastered. A cry at one point, turned into a moan, and a jerk of her hips, an undulation. He continued the spanking, and she was sure he had missed it. Relieved, she continued to struggle against him, her ass on fire, and warmed by his hand.

He pushed his knee between her thighs, applying pressure against her sex as he leaned over her once again, laughing in her ear.

"You like this, you fucking whore," he said to her, derisively, but not overly so.

"I do not!" She screamed, "You're a beast! You're a fucking animal! Let me go!" She fought harder than she'd ever fought, as though her very life depended on it, and just as she was shaking him off of her back and working her way out from under him, he threw his weight atop of her and removed his knee from between her thighs, plunging two fingers swiftly and deeply all the way in to her soaking, bald cunt. She gasped loudly, a shuddering two-part breath, as much from the sensation of his thick, long fingers crashing in and out of her sex, as from sinking into the mattress beneath him.

"No!" She cried, from somewhere deep inside, and bucked and kicked and twisted futilely. She was impaled upon his hand and something within her began to crumble. She felt she needed to protect that something, though she could not have named it, and continued to fight him, harder still, as tears began streaming, embarrassment overcoming her.

"Please," she sobbed, "Stop," hot tears spilling across her cheeks, soaking into her mattress. "Stop, stop, stop," she pleaded, "Please, please, please stop." He didn't stop, but he slowed his movements, keeping them just as hard, lengthening the intervals between his knuckles, curled thumb, and other fingers slamming against her outer lips, all coated with her own reviled wetness. He yanked his hand from her sex and she accidentally whimpered. He replaced his knee between her thighs and brought his fingers to her mouth, rubbing the wetness on her lips, forcing his fingers past her teeth, pushing them down, onto her tongue, which flattened. She bared her teeth and bit down. He released her wrists and dragged her head back against him by her hair. Before she could really sink her teeth in, he was speaking in her ear softly, his tone dangerously clear.

"Don't you fucking, dare." He punctuated every second word with a small slow jerk of her otherwise still head. She ceased biting down immediately, but didn't remove her teeth, her breathing fast, and feral. She swallowed hard, unwittingly licking his fingers as her tongue convulsed. Her frown was deep and menacing, and desperate, her face contorted with a rage she didn't understand. But despite her intensity, she realized with surprising clarity that this was the first time since the ordeal began that she felt she was in imminent danger.

"Open... your mouth," he said, "Now." He spoke to her commandingly, slowly; barely containing a grievous anger, an outrage that crushed her more succinctly than his weight. She complied, quickly, removing her teeth from within the flesh of his fingers, just nanometers from breaking the skin. She swallowed again, hard this time.

"Now clean them, and do it well, whore." He muttered it, menacing, jamming his knee into her sex, as though reminding her, he held all the cards. She hesitated, marginally, which he took as a cue, and pulled straight up on her hair, trapped within his fist, follicles popping as they released their strands, giving them away to the strength of his hand. She swallowed again and started to move her dry, cold tongue against the invaders, his right index and middle fingers. Her breathing slowed and her mouth moistened again, without the fast wind in and out to dry it. Her juices had glazed hard on his fingers, and the stickiness took many licks to remove. Somewhere in there she detected the faintest flavour of blood, the metallic sensation causing the muscles in her jaw to tighten. Afraid, or perhaps just wiser now, she forced the convulsion to open rather than close her mouth. She was a fighter, but she was no fool, and she would not risk this man's wrath with another attempt to crush his control over her. 'Not right now,' she thought, 'at least, not like this,' stoking her rebellious fires for some later, more effective use.

He stood up swiftly, releasing her hair, and freeing her mouth from his presence there. She cringed as she realized just hairs before, what was about to happen to her poor ass.

He attacked her viciously this time, and too late, she realized, he'd been holding back. Her ass became a series of welts upon welts as her blood rose fast to the surface, swelling and heating every place that he punished.

"OWWW!!" She screamed as he landed his fingers, just curling against her wet sex. He grasped the fattiest part of her ass, a cheek in each hand, and hauled her up to kneel on the bed. She scrambled to follow his lead, and gave no resistance as He pushed at her knees, exposing her glistening sex. He vaulted atop the mattress, and she realized with horror, what was about to happen. She struggled, frenzied as he straddled her back facing her ass and gripped her arms where they met her shoulder blades, squeezing with his knees. He raised his hand high above his head. He brought the hand down with such accuracy and speed that the stinging in her sex nearly allowed her to jump from beneath his weight. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she renewed her pleading, somehow believing, or needing to believe, that there was something she could do to stop this.

"Please!" She cried out, "Owww! NO! No! Please," she cried again, "No." Her cries fell on deaf ears, though, or so it seemed to her, as the punishment dragged on and on, each slap landing exactly where the one before it had, turning her damp lips crimson, and setting her whole sex ablaze. His slaps rocked her right through her core, and she rocked, back and forth, but was otherwise still. Her tears and cries, punctuated now, with great, heaving sobs from her gut. The mattress was thoroughly soaked with her tears, her eyes jewel-green in their crying, by the time that he moved to her thighs. Again, each slap was painfully hard, but he moved around more, setting fire to the tops of her legs. As he retargeted his blows to connect with her ass, they became a wild offbeat staccato, varying in impact, as well as in placement. She soon felt some feather light taps that lit upon welts to deliver the fire deep inside. Occasionally, he'd cup her ass, or her sex, which was still burning painfully, but slick once again with her juices.

She couldn't describe it, she refused to try; the diatribe, otherwise incessant within her, was finally quiet, at rest. Her sobbing continued as the cupping increased, and soon it was more of a shuddering, convulsive pattern of breathing, than an outright cry. Just as she began to take her deep breaths, to calm herself once again, he climbed off her back and grabbed her long hair a folded fist's length from the ends and tugged, jerking her head as he climbed off the bed. Since the alternative was having her hair ripped from her head, she followed, trying her best to keep up. She stood on the floor just a second after he did, and obligingly followed him the few steps from the bed where he stopped, released her hair, and pushed her to her knees before him, eyes level with his long, hard sex. She averted her gaze and eventually found herself looking up into a dark, handsome face.

"That was your punishment for biting my fingers," he said, his voice vaguely shaky, looking for the first time down in her shimmering, cried-green eyes, "and now, you are going to say sorry." She looked up at him, slightly confused, and began opening her mouth to apologize. She opened it wider as immediately, he speared her mouth with his rigid sex, plunging fast, past her molars to the back of her palate, gliding swiftly across her gag reflex, and with a minute angle adjustment, deep into her well surprised throat. He cupped her head in his hands and held her there a second. Surprised, she tried to swallow, but gagged, so she tried a shallow breath through her nose. Her sinuses reeled as the scent of him filled her consciousness, and he pulled her away from him, allowing her a moment to breathe freely. Quickly, he speared her again, deeply, over and over, as she looked in his eyes. A part of her tried to place the face and the eyes she thought she knew, and another part simply held her jaw open and got lost within those eyes. Clear, lucid, hazel, framed by dark lashes and thick, austere brows, she found nothing she had expected to there. Those hazel depths held no trace of malice, no rage, no bitterness, not even judgment. She wondered at his motives for being in her apartment, for taking her like this. She saw him watching her back, assessing her; and the stare became much too much, his scrutiny too intense. She felt like he was gauging her soul. Blinking rapidly, she cast her eyes downward, breaking the gaze, confused. She missed the successive flashes of emotion passing through the hazel depths: pleasure, protectiveness, pride, even a brief glimpse of possessiveness. She stared at his retreating groin, seeking answers to the many questions she suddenly had for her wildly leaping heart. She felt his hold on her head shift almost imperceptibly, and she knew something important had transpired between them; she just couldn't say what it was. Or wouldn't; she wasn't quite sure. She lost coherent thought to the sensation of him sliding her rapidly onto and off of his sex. He was engorged, thick and long, and he filled her throat each time he thrust her down upon him. She quickly got the hang of inhaling sharp breaths each time he pushed her away, exhaling only shallowly, so as never to run out of air. Her gag reflex settled, and her mouth and throat relaxed. Her jaw felt heavy, and dropped, rather than forced as wide as it was. She recognized a wave of passion, washing through her, slicking the bare, swollen lips of her sex, and started, reminding herself of the fact that this intruder had broken in, that she had not consented to sexual relations, that he had, in fact, forced her.