Intruder Ch. 07byStealthBreeder©
Now that I knew everything I needed to about the Ziegler home's security systems, I could proceed against my original targets. Katrina and her daughter Zoë were particularly tantalising. If what Maria had said was true, then Zoë was a teenage virgin with piercings in her cunt and navel; merely picturing Zoë naked was enough to make me instantly hard and positively bristle with the need to sexually aggress. Young Zoë would be very pliable once I had 'broken her in', and might even come to bond with me the way Leah had done.
That being said, the female half of humanity had been programmed by evolution to be mortally terrified of rape. As much as I liked the idea of my victims developing Stockholm syndrome, I knew perfectly well that the chances of Zoë acquiescing in such an intimate intrusion of her body were extremely low. It had taken weeks to emotionally subdue Leah, and even then she still harboured perfectly natural misgivings about the feelings she had developed towards her rapist. Although forcing her into physical submission would be easy enough, there was absolutely no guarantee that I would be able to replicate my success with Leah when I finally did conquer Zoë.
Katrina, however, would be an entirely different game. Imagining this toned, fitness-conscious MILF naked was just as exciting as picturing her daughter. The feisty, short-tempered divorcee was no less likely to resist, but I got the distinct feeling that her resistance would be a lot more physical. I felt an excited tingle in my groin at the thought of some rough sex, particularly a struggle for dominance in which I would triumph through raw, virile strength, but there was also the likelihood that Katrina would get really violent in fighting me. I didn't want that, not least because I would have to physically injure her if she did; I may be a rapist, but the idea of beating a woman still offended the gentleman in me.
In any case, raping and impregnating two women over the next few weeks, with all the associated risks, would be an interesting challenge. It was only the second time I had tried this MO, and it was certainly a step up from keeping a woman prisoner in her own apartment. My exit strategy was prepared and the Ziegler phones had been tapped and the necessary settings "adjusted". The Martinez women had been an exciting detour, but the Zieglers were my original targets, and thanks to Maria Martinez I now had all the information I needed to get started.
Having grabbed a few hours of sleep after my Friday night activities in the Martinez home, I showed up for work the next day to clean the Zieglers' swimming pool. Katrina met me at the front door as usual, wearing her Capri jogging pants and sports bra, her toned, tanned stomach on full display and making me hard on sight. She gave me the keys to the shed as usual and left me to do the simple job of cleaning the pool. I was finished in all of fifteen minutes.
As I made my way back to the house I heard that something was wrong, there was shouting coming from the kitchen. The walls were clearly not soundproof, and I recognised the voices of Katrina and Zoë in heated argument. Instead of re-entering the house and potentially interrupting the argument, I lay down in a deckchair in the shadow of the house, out of sight of the kitchen window, and listened intently whilst pretending to bask in the afternoon shade.
"You know damn well why you've been grounded, missy!" yelled Katrina.
"I took a break with some friends, mom!" Zoë protested in response, "and they fired me for no fucking reason."
"The whole point of you doing this community service thing was as part of our deal on you taking a year out before going to college, and you've gone and lost it!"
"I don't want to go to college, mom! Don't you get that? I don't want to spend four years of my life studying some bullshit subject--"
"You are not gonna spend your life lounging around this fucking house just because we're loaded, you little brat!" the irate New York MILF screamed.
"Why the fuck not?!" Zoë screamed back, her teenage voice not nearly as aggressive as her mother's, "dad paid us a giant pile of cash when he dumped you, why can't we just use it?"
"We're going to use it to get you an education!"
"I don't want to go to college--"
"Oh, just go to your room." Katrina snapped, her patience worn out.
"I'm not a little girl anymore," Zoë objected, "You can't send me--"
"GO TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM!" Katrina's screech was so loud I actually jumped in my seat. That woman had strong lungs, almost as strong as her thighs, I imagined.
"Fine!" Princess Zoë shouted back defiantly, "maybe I'll just run away and get myself pregnant, you fascist bitch!"
The argument ended there as Zoë presumably stormed out. I slowly rose from my seat and quickly sat down again in startled surprise when the door shook as Katrina punched it hard; maybe boxing would be a better outlet than yoga. I stood up again and opened the door, striding into the kitchen as though I hadn't heard a thing.
"Ms Ziegler? I'm done cleaning the pool." Katrina had pulled out a bottle of wine, downing an entire glass in one go.
"Oh, hey there." she acknowledged me wearily, pouring herself another glass, "I'll get you your cash in a second."
"I'm guessing something's wrong." I ventured cautiously.
"Congratulations, buddy." Katrina shot back sarcastically, "you get a fucking medal for guessing what's totally fucking obvious. My daughter is a lazy, spoilt little brat who misses her daddy; so she acts like a bitch thinking that it'll get his attention, like he still gives a shit about her, about us. I'm telling you, don't ever have kids; and if you do, give 'em up for adoption. It's bad enough carrying 'em around inside you for months on end and then spending hours in pain while you squeeze 'em out between your legs -- well you're a guy, so you probably don't give a shit about all that -- but then you have to spend years raising 'em, only for them to treat you like dirt and act like their king or queen of the fucking universe as soon as they hit puberty."
Katrina took a deep breath and regained her composure, then downed another half a glass.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Katrina continued apologetically, "you don't have to listen to me and my fucking problems. But it's not every day your own daughter calls you a bitch." She finished her second glass and reached for the bottle to pour herself another one. I put out a hand and stopped her.
"You'll get a headache if you drink anymore." I counselled.
"I already have one!" Katrina snapped irritably, then relented and sealed the bottle before returning it to the fridge, "I don't know what the fuck to do with her."
"I'm sure she'll calm down in an hour." I reassured Katrina confidently, not at all convinced by my prediction.
"No she won't," Katrina contradicted me, "you guys have it easy; when you have an argument, you beat the crap out of each other, and afterwards you're friends again. Us girls, though, we've got a ritual to follow. We get angry, scream and yell, maybe pull each other's hair out, then storm out, ignore each other for a few days, the whole nine yards; then we kiss and make up. She ain't gonna calm down, and neither am I. Not for a long while."
As fascinating as the trials and tribulations of the Ziegler household were, they didn't alter my original plans. It was time that I collected my cash and left.
"I've gotta get going." I announced, "Do you have my cash?"
"Sure, follow me."
I followed Katrina out of the kitchen to an exquisitely furnished living room where she had left her handbag. I ogled her ass as she bent over to retrieve my payment. She pulled out a 300 dollar wad of cash and handed it to me. Then suddenly, and completely without warning, tears started to form in her hazel coloured eyes.
"I don't know what to do with her," Katrina sobbed, her tough, no nonsense, blunt-talking New Yorker's exterior melting away before me, "she was the sweetest thing before her ass-hole father left us for some harlot half my age. Now she's a stubborn little bitch who never does what I tell her to."
All this soul bearing was making me uncomfortable, and sapping my initiative. I stuffed the cash into my pocket and took a nervous step backwards. Then suddenly, Katrina grabbed my face and kissed me full on the lips.
"Fuck me." She whispered.
"What?" I said, taken aback at this emotional ambush.
"Did I stutter? I told you to fuck me." As if to emphasise the point, Katrina reached down and took a firm grip of my masculine equipment, I went instantaneously from uncomfortable to alarmed "I need to feel a cock inside me again."
Katrina began to massage my crotch, squeezing and relaxing ever so gently. It took a conscious effort on my part not to squirm in response. I had been ambushed once again and this time I was totally powerless to refuse sex. Yet despite the uncomfortable sensation of acute vulnerability I felt, Katrina's manual stimulation was strangely pleasurable. A flutter of pleasure grew in my groin as my cock began to harden and grow in size. At the same time, Katrina nuzzled her face into my neck, kissing and sucking hungrily as my manhood responded to her ministrations. I decided to grow a pair and take charge.
"Get on your back." I commanded, whispering huskily into Katrina's ear.
"What?" Katrina asked me, pausing her groping.
"Did I stutter?" I replied sternly, "I told you to get on your back."
Katrina pulled back slowly, leaning back slightly as though to obey my command, then yelped in surprise as I pushed her onto the couch behind her, pulling aggressively at her Capri jogging pants like a horny rapist. Katrina eagerly helped me, divesting herself of her jogging pants and underwear in one go, and revealing an exquisitely formed womanhood. She had been rendered totally hairless down below by a Brazilian wax and her sex resembled a teenager's, looking ripe and ready for the taking.
I pulled down my trousers and underwear, and released my solidly erect manhood for Katrina to see. She gasped at the size of it and hungrily spread her legs to invite it into her depths. Taking my throbbing cock in hand I pressed the bright purple head up against her opening and forced it in without ceremony. Katrina gasped at the sensation and arched her back reflexively as I drove my manhood home. She was moist enough but would need some work.
Katrina began to thrust back at me even before I had begun, grasping at my shoulders, and looking at me with ravenous eyes. I thrust long and hard into her, making her moan in semi-sated appreciation. Her passage was getting wetter as my man-rod filled her up, rubbing against the little nub that could only be her g-spot. Katrina was driven to new heights of lust by my stimulation of her most intimate depths, she didn't yelp like a powerless rape victim, she didn't squeal like a violated virgin, she wrapped her arms around my back and moaned like a woman.
I fucked her more ferociously now, overtaken by masculine lust, but also driven partly by anger. This woman had held my most precious possessions in the grip of her hand and held the power to squeeze them. The sense of vulnerability, even of personal violation, ironically enough, had rattled my sense of masculinity. I had to reassert my power and physically reiterate why men were dominant over women; so I fucked this presumptuous MILF like a driven animal, rutting her back into her place with my male weaponry.
Katrina, oblivious to my self-consciously chauvinistic philosophising, continued to thrust her hips back at me, clawing at my shoulder and back like a feral cat and moaning at the top of her lungs like a professional whore. When her orgasm came, her moans turned to squeals as the ecstasy caused her body to twitch and jerk violently. Poor Katrina probably hadn't been laid since she got divorced; if so, she was gorging herself like a starving refugee at a buffet dinner.
Without warning, Katrina wrapped her already airborne legs around my waist and used her hips to roll me over onto my back. Now Katrina was the dominant one, and she acted like it. She rocked and rolled her hips backwards and forwards making it hard for me to hold my own impending orgasm at bay. Maria had been very talented at cowgirl the previous night, but experience and two years of weekly yoga classes meant my little Hispanic slut had nothing on this cock hungry New York tiger-mother.
Katrina's sleek feminine abs rippled as she rocked, while the woman herself reached behind her back and undid the sports bra holding her massive bust in place. The plastic surgeon who did Katrina's operation had certainly earned his fee; Katrina's breasts had been inflated to a luscious, but still natural looking size with a pair of dark areola almost an inch across. They bounced as we fucked, and her rocking motions became more vigorous, demonstrating her eagerness for the final act.
Finally, I could hold back my own pleasure no longer. The orgasmic churning in my groin reached the point-of-no-return and I seized Katrina's hips, holding her firmly in place and preventing her from unplugging my cock from her womanhood. Then I thrust up into her as hard as I could, lifting her several inches into the air and snarling as I did so. Katrina threw her head back in bleary eyed ecstasy, revelling in our coupling as my cum spewed up and into her depths like water from a geyser.
I suspended her on my hips like that for a whole minute as the virile contents of my balls were dumped into her before lowering my groin downwards again and allowing her to collapse forward onto my chest with my deflating cock still buried inside her. I wrapped my arms across her back and she reciprocated, sliding her arms underneath my shirt to grasp the breadth of my torso and snuggling into my bear hug.
"Was I good?" Katrina asked me silkily.
"You fuck like a goddess," I said in response. I would have preferred to ambush her in the night, but the compliment wasn't far from the truth.
"Good to know," she replied contentedly, "I've been out of practice for two years. The last two things my ex-husband gave me before he left was a big fat cheque for our divorce settlement and the second-best screw of my life."
"Well, you just knocked it down from first." Katrina answered in admiration, "Plus, your junk is a helluva lot bigger than my ex-husband's."
"Good to know."
"Sorry for crying like a little bitch just now," Katrina continued, resting her head on my shoulder, "it's just hard raising a teenage girl who acts like a spoilt brat because she misses her daddy; or maybe I'm just a crappy parent. In any case I'm out of ideas."
"You think she'll follow through on threatening to get pregnant?" I prompted, hoping to have Katrina corroborate Maria's stories.
"Nah," was Katrina's dismissive reply, "girls scream all kinds of bullshit at each other when they're pissed. Besides, Zoë's still a virgin, and that's not gonna change anytime soon."
"She's a virgin?" I asked.
"What, you think because a girl dresses like a whore that means she is one?" Katrina asked me rhetorically. That was exactly what I thought. "Let me tell you something, buddy; girls dress up to get people's attention and to make themselves feel sexy. My little girl is trying too hard, and failing at both. Most of all, she wants her daddy's attention, except he's not around to see what happens to a spoilt teenage girl with no father, so she takes it out on me. That's her biggest god damn problem. Luckily, she has enough sense to know that she's not gonna get respect by spreading her legs for every guy she meets."
Katrina paused for breath and thought whilst I digested all of this useful and freely given intelligence on my target.
"Sometimes, though," Katrina mused, "I think she needs to get laid, so she won't be such a high-strung, insecure little brat." I looked forward to carrying out Katrina's proposed cure for her daughter's attitude with lecherous anticipation whilst questioning the logic behind it. Then Katrina looked up at me with her hazel coloured eyes, and I detected an uncharacteristic glint of intrigue in them.
"How would you like to make a woman out of my daughter?" she asked me. I knew exactly what she meant, and yet it still took several seconds to process.
"How would I like to what your daughter?" I asked, thinking I'd misheard.
"How would you like to fuck my daughter?" Katrina repeated slowly.
"You mean rape your daughter?" I asked, still not quite sure that it was possible for a mother to make such a request against their own child.
"Rape, fuck, screw, have intercourse with, call it whatever you like," Katrina answered dismissively, "you heard me loud and clear. I want you to take that horse-dick of yours, shove it up my daughter's spoilt, unspoilt little pussy, and fuck her till she screams, then keep fucking her till she's been filled to the brim." She paused to let the words sink in.
"Why?" I asked, still in a state of disbelief over Katrina's request.
"Because I want you to knock her up," Katrina said bluntly, "once she's gone through all the trouble I went through to have her, she'll be a bit more mature about her life choices. When my ex-husband got me pregnant with Zoë I had to change everything about my lifestyle, and I ended up the better for it."
This was definitely not part of the plan. I had never even heard of such a proposal, and was genuinely lost for words at what Katrina was asking me to do to her own daughter.
"But the trauma of rape must be horrible to go through, you can't seriously want that done to your own daughter, can you?" Under any other circumstances I would have laughed at the spectacle of me, myself an unrepentant rapist, protesting on behalf of rape victims about the trauma inflicted by the men who attacked them. It was true that I liked to think of myself as a comparatively 'gentle' rapist, i.e. concerned with sexual dominance of my victims and not degrading and humiliating them for the sake of it; but I wasn't a sex offender for hire, and I certainly didn't do what I did to 'teach my victims a lesson'.
"I told you, I'm out of ideas," insisted Katrina, "besides, it's about time she had a real cock inside her, instead of the stupid dildo she uses. But I'm serious; I will pay you to fuck my daughter from now till the end of next week if that's what it takes. She's on my health insurance plan, so she can't get the pill or an abortion without my written consent. You do the fucking and I'll do the rest."
"Ok," I said very reluctantly, "how exactly would this work?"
"Come over at midnight, tonight. I'll make Zoë go to bed before then. I'll let you into the house and direct you to her room. Then just do to her what you did to Maria." My head shot up at the mention of Maria's name.
"What about Maria?" I asked suspiciously. Katrina smiled like a succubus.
"My yoga class was cancelled last week, so I came home to get a shower and change into something more comfortable, only to find the pool guy screwing my daughter's best friend in the shower. I even had some private time outside the bathroom door whilst you two fucked." Katrina drank up my obvious discomfort with gusto. "So you can't plead to me that you don't like barely legal teen pussy."
Maria was a consenting adult, so there was very little blackmail value in this somewhat embarrassing revelation. Even so, I felt very exposed and vulnerable to Katrina, even though she was still sprawled naked across my chest impaled on my cock.
"Anyway, if you won't do it for an ageing single mom, then at least do it for some extra cash," Katrina continued, determined to pursue her plan, "I'll pay you 1K for each time you cum inside her. How's that sound?"
"That sounds...like a deal." I replied tentatively.