Intruder Ch. 09


"We were just heading out, by the way." said my rapist, finally breaking the testosterone saturated silence before I had to.

"Yes, of course, I don't want to keep you from anything important," Dean glanced down at the intruder's name tag, "'Greg'." Then he quietly stalked away with his head held as high as he could, giving me a softer glance as he did so.

"Who the fuck was that?" asked my rapist, making me look up at him in surprise as I had never heard him swear before.

"Dean Kaczynski, he's a colleague of mine."

"I don't think he likes me."

"I can't imagine why."


We made our way to the ground floor of the hospital, with my rapist guarding me like I was the president. When we got to the front desk, I saw David in his white coat speaking with some other staff, and I politely interrupted his conversation with a happy smile.

"Dave, I'm heading home now, are you coming?"

"I can't," David replied apologetically, "doctors work longer hours, remember? Sorry."

"Oh, well I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Have a good night, Leah." He gave me a kiss on the cheek and I went back to the intruder who had been patiently waiting for me – and looked none too pleased at my friendship with another guy.


"Another colleague of yours?" my rapist asked with narrowed, predatory looking eyes.

"Yeah, that's David, Dr. Hatfield." I explained blithely, "he's a close friend of mine. In fact he lives on the same floor as me."

"I see," my intruder acknowledged suspiciously. I stepped slowly into his personal space and gazed up into his eyes.

"Your eyes look green today," I said softly.

"My eyes are always green." He replied obtusely.

"No, I mean they look a lot greener than they did when I last saw you."

"Wait, you think I'm jealous?" he said, wrong footed by my turn of phrase. I smiled mischievously at him and led him back home.


I led my rapist back to my apartment like an excited teenager returning from her first date, immune to the doublethink of having such feelings towards the man who had raped me and left me alone for so long. We had dinner together and I let him caress my pregnant belly whilst I told him about life as a single mother-to-be. He in turn told me all about his California adventures. His story was far stranger than the fiction the media had been led to believe.

"Her own mother paid you to rape her?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes she did." He confirmed.

We were lying naked on my bed with him spooning me from behind. I was nestled into his arms as he slowly caressed my pregnant belly, no doubt feeling very proud of himself for his physical conquest of my body. The mixed feelings I had for him were still there, and would probably always be there.

"No one deserves a parent like that." I said, shaking my head.

"No argument here." My intruder replied in agreement, "Zoë needs a father, not a rapist."

"And yet you raped her anyway." I pointed out.

"I know that's incredibly hypocritical of me, but..." he didn't finish the sentence, and I'm not sure I wanted him to. A slightly awkward silence fell.

"Why me?" I asked after a pause.

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you choose me?"

"I came to this city for a summer break from things, and went to the big gym on the high street," he began to recount, "and I saw you there, working out on one of the Stair-masters. You were the most attractive woman there, with nothing on but jogging shorts and a sports bra; and your belly piercing was on full display. I had to resist the urge to just rape you right there on the floor of the gym."

"Uh, OK," I said a little dis-concertedly, "why, may I ask, did you not simply walk up to me and ask me out to dinner?"

" might have said no." he answered hesitantly. I guffawed, not quite believing what I was hearing.

"THAT is your excuse for raping me afterwards? You were afraid I might reject you?"

"I wasn't afraid, but you telling me 'no' was a perfectly real prospect."

"Are you kidding me?" I snorted in disbelief, "With your accent, I'd have spread my legs for you on the first date."


"Of course! In fact with a body like the one you have, coupled with your British accent, you could have pretty much any woman you wanted – me included – just by seducing them the normal way, i.e. the legal way." My rapist paused in thought, his hand drifting down towards my womanhood. I closed my eyes and let out a silent moan as he touched me.

"Perhaps," my rapist mused as he touched me, "but it's so much more fundamental than that. When a beautiful woman makes me horny, it would be a hundred times more satisfying to just act on those urges. To fuck because my instincts tell me to, rather than go through the long process of courtship and seduction, it just feels so much more natural, more manly, to do that, even if it is against the woman's wishes."

"And yet you plan out your rapes in such detail," I said, at once disgusted and fascinated by his rapist's mentality.

"I only do that to avoid getting caught afterwards," he explained, "otherwise, I would love to be able to just claim any woman I wanted simply because I can, and leave behind a permanent reminder of my masculine power over her."

"You must have had a very interesting childhood." I murmured to myself.

"And now you're thinking I was abused as a child and that's why I do what I do, aren't you?"

"Well no I...OK I was," I admitted to him, "but I know so little about you, it just seems know what, forget I said that."

"Well, I suppose you've earned the right to know. My father was a colonel in the Royal Marines and my mother was a civilian administrator for the Royal Navy."

"That sounds like quite a couple." I smiled.

"He was there at my birth, but I never actually met him. He was already married, and with children." My rapist continued, "But he was never that faithful to his wife, in fact he was something of a predator." My rapist paused in mid-flow before continuing, "I was conceived on the floor of my mother's office."

"Wow, talk about lust at first sight."

"It was for him; when I was older, my mother admitted that it wasn't totally consensual."

"You were conceived through rape?" I asked, unable to hold back a tone of mild horror as my sense of female solidarity keened for the mother of my rapist.

"Legally speaking, yes." My rapist continued, "But she always downplayed that fact and spoke about him in such awe. How he saw her and wanted her, and just claimed her on the spot, because he wanted her, and how I was the result."

"How do you feel about it?" I asked, fascinated by this journey into my rapist's motivations, "the fact that you were conceived that way?"

"I've never quite been able to come to terms with it," my rapist answered frankly, "the fact that I owe my existence to such a brief moment of masculine lust, and how my mother happily and dutifully bore the consequences for years afterwards. That...that kind of power, I still find it awe-inspiring."

"So you did the same thing to women because you thought it would bring you closer to your father?" I was afraid to press on into this subject, but raging curiosity drove me forward.

"I didn't become a rapist because my father was one," my intruder answered categorically; "I chose to do that. But every time I take a woman, when I spill my seed inside her...the knowledge that I can deliver the spark of life into her simply by thrusting my hips forward, and that her body is designed to bear and raise the consequence of such a simple act on my part, whether she wanted the act to take place or not... it's hard to describe how intoxicating that feels for me. In some ways it's better than any orgasm could feel."

"Of course," I said unhappily, "rape is about power."

"In many ways it is, yes." He finally admitted.

"How many women have you 'overpowered' that way?"

"I've impregnated at least 54 women so far," he told me, "including you."

"And all because you can't take responsibility for your urges," I said, my mood swinging rapidly into resentful misery.

"It's an extraordinary power," he started to say.

"It's a selfish power!" I snapped, "Your father became horny for a few moments and satisfied his urges on the first receptacle he saw, and your mother had to go through the pain of childbirth and all the inconveniences of pregnancy and parenthood all by herself; and all because of your father's selfish need to relieve himself!" I burst into tears in my rapist's arms as he tried to comfort me, clearly rattled by the passion of my emotional outburst.

"I don't think you're talking about my parents, are you?" my rapist ventured.

"No I'm not!" I wept, "You raped me in my own bed, robbed me of my virginity, and after keeping me as a sex slave in my own home, you left me here with a pregnant belly for two months, and I missed you the whole time. Why the fuck would I miss the man who did such things to me?" My rapist didn't answer, how could he have done? Instead, he waited patiently for me to calm down, which eventually I did. I rolled over a little to face him.

"I'm sorry about that," I sniffled, wiping the tears from my eyes, "this pregnancy is giving me all kinds of mood swings, and that is your fault."

"I thought about you all the time I was in California," my rapist said with surprising compassion in his voice, wrapping his powerful arms around my body and embracing me close to his chest, "that's never really happened to me before. Having you for that period of time made me start to care for you as an individual, and I do care about the well-being of my children and the women who carry them, even though you're the first woman I've stayed with."

"So, you're not going to rape me for talking back to you?" I asked apprehensively.

"I don't rape women out of spite or as some form of punishment," he explained, "I do it out of lust. Right now, I'd rather take care of the mother of my child."

That was the sweetest thing I had ever heard him say, and I snuggled contentedly into his powerful embrace, feeling safe in his arms. The sense of security I felt with him no longer bore the slightest bit of irony, in spite of the fact that he had forced his baby into me against my will. Now, I wanted to have him with me, and I wanted to have his baby. He could have saved us both an awful lot of trouble if he had seduced me in the gym, but I didn't care about that now, I just wanted to fall asleep in my rapist's arms.


I've been trained and conditioned in such a way that I only require four hours of sleep at a time, and I awoke in the dead of night with Leah nestled into my arms. The feel of her naked body nestled against mine gave me a powerful sense of masculine pride, bolstered by the fact that she clearly felt safe in my arms. The touch of naked female flesh against my skin was also incredibly arousing as we spooned together, and my manhood slowly rose to attention as my masculine urges began to take charge.

For some reason I didn't want to take her by force as she slept. In the past part of the thrill of taking a woman against her will was to do it when she least expected it, in a place where she felt safest, such as her own home. That had been my MO for most of my targets before finding Leah, and the sense of conquest was always exquisite. But somehow that same sense failed to materialise within me, and instead I leaned forward and kissed Leah on the neck, gently waking her for some nocturnal sex.

She stirred gently in my arms and I reached down and slipped a hand between her thighs, gently rubbing her clitoris and causing silent gasps of pleasure to escape her mouth. She lifted her leg a little to give me greater access and I lifted it further, lodging my knee into the gap before talking hold of my manhood and lining it up with her pregnant sex. Leah gasped softly as the head of my hard-on made contact with her moist labia and I rubbed it up and down to get her juices flowing before entering, sliding my member in between her damp folds, and pushing all the way up to her cervix.

Leah let out a soft and audible moan as I began to pump her. My thrusts were gentle, a lot more gentle than usual. Leah's passageway was moist and smooth, and gave my cock no resistance as it stretched to accommodate me. But somehow it wasn't very satisfying. I started to pump a little faster, with a little more aggression, assert my masculine dominance over Leah and her beautiful feminine body.

"Slow down a bit, darling" murmured Leah softly, snuggling closer into my chest.

I obligingly slowed down, going for depth and intensity instead. My urges told me to be more aggressive, to be a man, and fuck her like one, but this tempo was making Leah happy, so I continued to make love her to that way. Leah, in turn, reached down to the point where our bodies connected and began to rub her clitoris, moving two fingers in quick circles over her love-button as my cock sawed into her.

I kept up my steady rhythm of fucking until Leah moaned aloud as she came, and I felt her vagina soak my thrusting cock with extra lubricant. In response, I increased the speed of my strokes just a little, and put a little bit more aggression into them. Leah didn't seem to notice, or mind; in fact she reached further down and found my testes, taking a gentle but firm grip on them as I continued to fuck her.

Memories of the treacherous femme fatale Katrina Zeigler put me off the development slightly, but I continued to perform. Leah was far gentler with her handling of my junk, caressing them softly as my own pleasure began to build in my groin. Leah's testicular massage was certainly having an effect, and I felt a sensual tingling in my balls as my orgasm neared. I increased the speed of my fucking just a little bit more as my pleasure went from a tingle to a blaze and surged up from my groin and out the end of my cock.

I held myself inside Leah as I unloaded the virile contents of my balls into her pregnant love-tunnel, and she moaned again as my ejaculations sent her into a second orgasm. I felt her cunt muscles contract in rhythm as they massaged the length of my cock, milking my seed from its tip and drawing into her body. My load was as large as any I had deposited, but the sex hadn't quite been as satisfying as I would have liked. Leah seemed to disagree, and closed her legs around my cock as it stayed buried in her depths whilst taking my arms and wrapping them around her like a blanket in winter. At least she was happy with our coupling, and I obliged her by kissing her on the neck and giving her a wholehearted embrace.

As I mused about my preference for non-consensual sex, Leah's earlier comments kept popping up in my mind. It was indeed hypocritical of me to empathise with Zoë's fatherless upbringing whilst siring so many children without any thought to helping raise them. Leah was the first, and would probably be the only, mother for whom I had directly cared. The doublethink was much easier to simply avoid, but I couldn't help feeling a little guilty over it.

But why on earth should I feel guilty about it? I'm a man. Surely fathering as many babies as possible without any thought towards the logistics of raising them was my evolutionary birthright? Men who did concern themselves with such things were betas and sissies. I had never been a beta-male and I had no intention of starting now.

Come to think of it, I wasn't so sure how much of that I actually believed and how much of it was a crude emulation of my father, whom I had never even spoken to. My mother had been a more than capable single parent, and had never been anything but supportive of me – although perhaps she didn't need to know about my rape sprees and other sexual adventures – but I honestly didn't know how things might have turned out if my biological father had at least paid regular visits, or indeed if I had had any father figure other than the wide-eyed paragon of manliness my mother said had fathered me.

I wondered briefly how many of my illegitimate offspring had begun to ask their mothers where daddy was, and how those women tried to explain to their children how they had been conceived. For some reason I didn't feel guilty about the trauma my actions inflicted upon the mothers; after all I hadn't physically harmed them, only psychologically, which was unavoidable. It was only the thought of how they were coping raising children they hadn't consented to have that tugged on my mind, like a persistent itch that wouldn't go away.

As Leah drifted off back to sleep in my arms, I couldn't help thinking that maybe I had a chance here. If I actually stayed around to be a father to our child in more than just the biological sense, he or she might have a far easier upbringing than I did. I had returned to Leah's arms for her and the unique attachment I felt towards her; but now that I was back, I felt a genuine attachment to the life I had planted inside her.

If I left Leah now, she would find someone else, if she hadn't already in the time I'd been gone, someone who wouldn't care that she wasn't carrying his baby. I'd be damned if I was going to lose her to some pusillanimous, beta-male prick; she was my woman, and she was carrying my child, I should be the one to be there for her. Perhaps it was time I started.


I was having the most beautifully sensual dream when I was awoken in the middle of the night by a gentle kiss on my neck. I glided pleasantly into the land of the waking, basking in the feeling a powerful masculine body against the skin of my back, the only masculine body who had ever gotten this close to me. It felt beautiful to be naked and pregnant, being spooned by the man who had made me this way, regardless of the circumstances surrounding how this had come to be; or perhaps I was too sleepy to care.

I felt a hand slip down between my thighs and rub my love-button ever so gently. A silent gasp of pleasure escaped my mouth and I instinctively raised my leg a little to give him greater access. My intruder propped my leg up with his knee and I felt his masculine tool slide across the skin of my inner thighs and make contact with my womanhood. I gasped again as I felt his manhood touch my feminine gateway, and he rubbed the head up and down my labia, making my juices flow with the pleasure.

I moaned aloud when he slipped his member inside me, and I felt the head of horse-prick touch my cervix. He was so big and filling as he began to pump his cock into me. His thrusting was slow and gentle; it was just the right pace for our nocturnal love-making. He spoiled it a little but quickening his thrust too early, though.

"Slow down a bit, darling." I murmured softly, snuggling closer into his chest.

My rapist obliged and decreased his speed, thrusting into me slowly and deeply. It felt perfect. There was a repressed urgency to his movements inside me, like he wanted to fuck more aggressively but was restraining himself. It was a wonderful notion, so gentle and yet brimming with dormant strength. I reached down between my legs and began to pleasure myself to complement his strokes, and did this until I came for him.

In response to my orgasm, my rapist increased the speed of his strokes ever so slightly, possibly hoping that I wouldn't notice. I didn't mind. In fact, I decided to encourage him just a little by reaching down a little lower until I found his testes. I gave them the gentlest massage that I could, feeling a mischievous sense of pride that I finally had my rapist by the balls, the virile wellspring of the life that grew inside me.

No, I was not tempted to squeeze. He may be a rapist, but the gift of life he had given me was a beautiful one, and his particular gift might yet keep on giving, if I could convince him to stay.

As I massaged my intruder's testes, I felt the intensity of his thrusts grow gradually stronger until finally I felt him thrust himself deep into me and his cock twitched and pulsed as he semen spurted into me, depositing his liquid virility deep inside me. The sensation drove me into a second orgasm and I moaned aloud to declare it. I closed my legs around my rapist's cock, keeping it buried inside me, whilst making sure that his balls weren't squeezed, and snuggling into his arms. He seemed to like that, and reciprocated with a manfully protective embrace.

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