tagNonConsent/ReluctanceThe House Ch. 01

The House Ch. 01


Chapter 1: Welcome Home

Author's note - this story series is a fantasy of non-consent, including rape and kidnapping of a woman by many men and in many orifices. Stay away if these are triggers for you, and enter joyously if these are your turnons. Luckily, a thorough embrace and enjoyment of these fantasies doesn't in any way endorse or imply approval of them in reality. If, after a wank to the happily crafted and entirely imaginary perversions below, you feel like doing some good in the world to alleviate such shitty realities, throw a couple bucks towards rainn.org and/or endhumantrafficking.org. Regardless, please enjoy!


It doesn't matter where exactly the house is, or how it came to serve its current purpose. It only matters that it exists, and it serves. As does one of its seven inhabitants, at any given time, in just about any given way.

It's a beautiful old house, three stories tall, in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded completely by a tall, wrought iron fence that's lined by a nearly opaque, impeccably maintained boxwood hedge. The fence and hedge even line the driveway, with only a single gate penetrating the perimeter. Several graceful old trees - willow, birch, oak - loom their stately heads from the front and back yards, though their branches are kept carefully pruned well up the trunks. A practiced eye might infer that the owners are both energy and security conscience, as the windows have all been replaced with brand-new, double-pane affairs - most of which are kept covered with heavy blinds almost all the time. Signs for a state of the art security system are posted unobtrusively but obviously near the driveway and the gate, which itself has not one but two locks. Less visibly, all the exterior walls have been carefully, heavily insulated, and a set of cameras and motion sensors keep watch on the perimeter of the property.

The six nice young men who appear to be the houses' entire number of occupants come and go, on different but normal enough schedules - some clearly work weekdays, some work evenings, some weekends, and one occasionally works graveyard shifts, though all seem to be home on Tuesday and Friday evenings. All six are unfailingly friendly and polite to their neighbors - waving and exchanging amiable conversation when they encounter someone while retrieving mail (the locking mailbox is just outside the front gate), driving carefully and slowly for children and pets in the road, and generally following all the rules of propriety expected by their community. At least a couple of them are sure to attend the regular neighborhood barbeques, meetings, and so on. The town is not a large one, but it's not small enough to find the idea of a group of unrelated young people living together particularly odd; when any of the housemates are asked about their relation to one another, they simply smile and relate that they are good friends, and have been for years. Parties seem to be held in the house from time to time, in that additional cars will park nearby - always legally and carefully - and disgorge additional respectful, handsome young men who enter the house in the early evening and leave at some point after all the neighbors have gone to bed, but these affairs never give cause for complaint - no booming music or loud shouting, no drunken antics in the street, no revving engines in the middle of the night. The house and its grounds - what little can be seen of them - are kept in excellent condition. The only thing that could possibly be noted as odd - other than the utter lack of oddity from a house inhabited by half a dozen men in their mid to late twenties - is the fact that none of the neighbors, if asked, would ever be able to recall seeing a woman enter or leave the house at any time.

Which is not to say that there are no such comings and goings. Only that they aren't visible.

About every six months, and always on a Tuesday, an unseen pick-up takes place, followed by a similarly unseen delivery. One of the two cars shared by the group of young men - eco-friendly, indeed! - will arrive home, at a perfectly normal time such as 5:30 in the evening. The car pulls into the garage. Fifteen minutes later, that car will depart - must run to the store for milk, perhaps? Another thirty minutes go by, and that car returns, followed shortly thereafter by the other vehicle. Both pull into the garage. The garage door closes.

Both drivers emerge from their cars. Almost inevitably, the driver of the second car is Evan - medium height, powerfully built - he lifts, probably?, with lovely, pale hair that speaks of Scandinavian ancestry. He likes to joke that his ancestors must have been Vikings. He's nicely dressed, clean jeans, a tastefully patterned button-up shirt - looks like he came straight from work, though today that isn't the case - he made a stop on the way home. He opens his trunk.

The driver of the other car - the first car home, which has returned twice now - is usually Eric, whose graceful frame and almost delicate features - half Japanese, it looks like? - bely a powerful set of muscles, built over years of playing soccer and basketball. He may still be sweaty from practice, still clad in jersey and shorts. He steps up to the other side of the open trunk, and with Evan, helps lift a long, heavily wrapped bundle from the trunk. Carefully, carefully, they carry the bundle together to the back door - which is opened from the inside.

The bundle is carried into the living room and placed in the center of the floor. All the blinds are up. Some classic rock is playing a a moderate volume - not anywhere near enough to annoy the neighbors, or to make conversation in the room particularly difficult, but enough to cause any sounds made in the room to blend together with the music into an inaudible blur from the outside. Not that many sounds would make it past the insulation, extra thick windows and double-weight blinds, the yard, and the hedge. But there's always a little extra risk, right at this time.

The other inhabitants of the house are already here, waiting. Jacob, whose round, olive complected face and soft brown curls have regularly been called "adorable" by neighbor women in their thirties, is reclining on the couch, a beer in hand and a smile on his face. He's still a little sweaty from work, his jeans and his shirt a little dirty from the site he works at. Drew, on the other hand, has not sweated all day, having spent most of it in his office upstairs online, banging out code for a variety of freelance security projects. His ebony-dark face is expressionless, as it often is, but he's cleaning his glasses - the rest of the boys know he wants to see what happens next as clearly as possible.

Leon is the picture of corporate culture, still in suit and tie, his dark hair only a little mussed - since he's gotten home and settled in the recliner with his own brew, he's allowed himself to indulge his eager/nervous habit of fussing with it. And it's brown-skinned, brown-haired Michael who pulls the knife out of the pocket of his khakis, grinning as he crouches down and slits through three layers of canvas to reveal their new prize.

"Oh, nice tits!" is the first thing out of his mouth. Evan nods and gestures for Michael to step back as he kneels down in front of the girl. Her breasts are, in fact, quite large - probably triple-D. The last girl was a B cup, and the girl before an A, so everyone had decided it was time to have something more substantial to play with.

Her face is twisted with panic - breath coming sharply through her nose. Shoulder length red hair - someone had requested red hair, too, and Drew had found a match - tumbles around her face, sweaty and tangled. She's no doubt been struggling inside the canvas, especially as the air got worse inside the layers of cloth, crammed in the trunk. But not one of the girls had passed out from the journey, yet, though everyone agreed that might present its own set of fun. Duct tape, of course, covered her mouth, and behind it a perforated ball was stuffed inside, forcing her jaw wide (while preventing her from choking on her own tongue - fainting was one thing, death would certainly spoil the game). Her hands are tied behind her back - which makes her boobs even more prominent - and her feet are tied together too. She's wearing a cute top - a green thing that shows some nice cleavage - and a knee length black skirt, with tights underneath. She struggles, manages to flip herself onto her stomach, and now her butt is up in the air, skirt slipping. Eric's staring at it, grinning. "Nice ass, too."

"Just hold the fuck on, asshole." Evan retorts, grabbing her shoulder and shoving her back over so she's face up. He gives her left cheek a hard slap, just to make sure she's looking at him. Time for the spiel.

"Welcome to our house. You're going to be our fucktoy for the next six months, as well as our housecleaner, cook, and whatever the fuck else we tell you to do. No one is going to look for you. Drew -" and Eric gestured to the slender black man, who makes no visible acknowledgement - "has done a lot of research on you and we know for sure not a soul is going to notice you're missing." The panic in her eyes jumps an order of magnitude - how can they know enough about her to know this?

"You belong to us until we let you go. I'd threaten to kill you if you fuck up too much, but instead I'm going to tell you that while Drew was doing research - he's really good with computer shit - he's also gotten every single piece of information about you and your living relatives - who you almost never talk to, but you might care about - or not, whatever. In any case, he's got enough that he can fuck up your life and theirs - you'll never get another job, they'll find themselves in crushing credit card debt - hell, he can make you into a convicted fucking felon if he feels like it. By some miracle of god you get out of here, you'll be in prison within 24 hours and you can get raped there for the next 20 years instead of here for the next six months.

"You following me? Do you understand? Are you going to be a good little bitch for us?"

She looks around - surrounded. Eric's already stroking his cock through his exercise shorts - that started as soon as she flipped her ass in the air. Jacob's gone ahead and unzipped his jeans, though he's still sitting, sipping. While the rest of them aren't there yet, there's not a pair of pants in the room that isn't showing an erection, not a pair of eyes in the room with the barest ounce of sympathy.

But she doesn't nod, and while she looks freaked out, she looks pissed off, too. She hasn't really taken it in - which, hey, that's okay for now. It's not fun if they give up too soon - the last girl was in tears by this point and it really took some of the joy out of this night, the first night.

Michael stands up and heads briefly into the kitchen, returning with six straws.

"You can try to fight now - in fact, if you want to be a bitchy little bitch for the next couple of days, that just makes it funnier for us. We'll have you broken down by Saturday morning, I expect." Michael is pulling his knife back out, taking three of the straws and cutting them slightly short. Leaving the girl in the middle of the floor - her name is Kari, which they all know, given that they have everything from her social security number to her birth certificate on Drew's harddrive - all the boys stand up, circling around Michael, who has taken over talking with a clear sense of lewd joy.

"So here's how it's going to work tonight. Three short straws, three long straws. Three of us are gonna fuck you tonight, so you can start learning what it feels like to be our little whore, but not so much that we wear you out. We'll go one at a time, nice and easy, though the others might... help... a little, if they feel so inclined. First one to draw a short straw gets to pick which hole he wants, but he fucks last. Last short straw gets whatever's left, but fucks first. Drew, mister matchmaker, why don't you draw first?"

Drew reaches in, draws a straw. Long. He steps back, sits down, still impassive.

"He works from home, you know, so he'll be helping keep an eye on you all day tomorrow. I don't feel too bad for him. Driver Eric? Your draw?"

Eric reaches in, his slanted eyes narrowing further as his hand hovers above the bunch. "Dropoff was a pain in the ass this time. I better get a fuckin' straw." He plucks - and draws a short straw.

"Ass." Eric states it immediately eagerly, at the same time the rest of the men echo it knowingly. Kari shifts, still pissed, but nervousness starting to take hold again. It's hard to keep her rage up with all of them standing there, acting like this is... normal, with her body being bartered up like a piece of meat.

"Driver Evan?"

"Why don't you all go ahead?" Evan smiles, stepping back. "I'll take the last straw."

"Leon?" Running one hand through his hair, he looks away and reaches in - a long straw.

"Jacob?" The curly-haired man squints - it would be cute in another situation - and pulls out a short straw. Grinning, he drains his beer and heads to the kitchen to grab another, straw in hand, dropping his empty bottle on the coffee table. "Cunt," he calls, from the other room.

"All right Evan, it's me or you." Michael holds up the final two straws, and draws one. Long. Sighs.

"Driver karma... sorry Michael, but I felt it coming on." Evan smiles knowingly. "Guess I get to fuck that pretty mouth, if we can get it open long enough."

The rest of the room settles in as Evan kneels down next to Kari, still smiling. "Kari... that's your name, right? Kari, there's a thing you should know about me. I really like making people hurt. It's fun for me. Michael, can I borrow your knife?" The instrument is passed over, flipped out. Evan watches her eyes get bigger and she tries to curl up into a ball, rolling onto her side. He pushes her onto her back - her hands trapped under her - and sits down on top of her, holding her down, his crotch on her belly. She holds still, obviously in pain, but watching the knife carefully.

"I also really like getting my cock sucked." Evan slips the knife into the v-neck of her shirt and cuts down, opening it up, exposing the bra beneath - a black, lacy thing with modest coverage, but ever so slightly see-through. He pokes at where one of her nipples is and pushes in, hard, with a twisting motion.

"I could torture your tits a bit, and then once the nipples are nice and sore, I can hold them and fuck between your tits." He pinches her nipple, hard, through the fabric, and pulls up - loosening his grip just a little to let the nipple fall back down while keeping the fabric pulled up. Using the knife, he cuts off the bit of bra fabric he's holding, exposing her nipple - nice, pink, cute and small. He likes little nipples - they tend to be more sensitive.

Repeating the pinch and trim trick on the other side, he continues. "Or I could just rip off that duct tape and shove my cock down your throat. That sounds nice too. It's kind of tough. I don't think you'd be such a dumb bitch as to bite, since then I'd just cut you somewhere that would really hurt." He touches the tip of the knife to her exposed areola, dragging the tip across her skin. Pauses - pokes it, slightly, enough to dimple the skin, not quite enough to puncture. Moves the tip to her nipple - directly above. Presses it down, depressing her nipple into her breast, threatening to cut - but pulling back just before her skin parts. His cock has been stiffening ever more as he does this.

"I think I've made my point - yes, very funny." He stands up, grabs her hair and pulls her to her knees. Folding the knife with an easy, practiced smoothness, he tosses it to Michael and reaches down, ripping off the duct tape on her mouth. Reaching between her teeth, he pulls out the ball - she is gasping, coughing, but he swiftly unzips his fly, pulls out his cock, and, still firmly gripping her hair, shoves his cock into her mouth. She chokes, but he keeps pushing - her throat is dry from the gag, but he likes it rough, and she's swallowing frantically.

He pulls back out, looks down at her face as she gasps, and then pushes back in, the head of his cock banging against the back of her throat. "Don't worry, I won't make you suck if you don't want to. I'm just going to fuck your face." He pulls her head back, slightly, then slams it forward, pushing, feeling her gag. "I'm going down this time, though." He bends his knees slightly, pulling her hair, forcing his cock down, feeling her gagging massage his cock. He holds there for a minute, watching carefully as she struggles without air - she starts to wriggle, pulling against his grip, but he reaches down his other hand and grabs another fistful of her hair, holding her in place, nose right at his pubes.

Just before she passes out, he pulls her back, lets her breathe, coughing again. Then he simply starts fucking her - holding her head in place, and thrusting his cock into her throat, deep strokes, gaining speed.

The rest of the group is watching, all bearing expressions of fascination, most with their cocks out, masturbating as they watch - except for Drew, who sits, staring intently but with no expression or motion.

Again, and again. Pulling his cock out, fucking it back in, feeling her choke, pulling it back, forcing it into her throat. Faster, each time bottoming out with her lips at the base of his cock.

His balls jump - he gives a final deep thrust, dumping his cum deep in her throat, leaving his cock in as she tries to swallow. Then withdrawing, watching as she coughs and slumps to her side.

"My turn!" Jacob jumps up. He's got his fresh beer in hand, cold from the fridge - but the lid's still on. As he stands up, he carries it over, grabbing his empty bottle as well. He kicks her shoulder, knocking her onto her back. Setting the two bottles - one cold, still capped, one empty - next to her, he squats down, grabs her knees, and forces them apart. Revealing a dark stain between her legs.

"This bitch pee herself?" He asks the room.

"I bet she's horny! Like a good throat fuck, huh, you slut?" Michael crows from the couch. She says nothing, looking away. Jacob rubs his fingers over the spot, smells it.

"Got it in one. This ain't piss, that's for sure." He easily rips open her tights at the crotch, puling open a wide hole to expose a simple pair of black panties. Pushing them aside, he rakes his fingers through her pussy lips, pushing them around, squishing at her cunt. "She is soaked! This makes it all easy!"

Kari can see his erection straining to get free, and expects unzipping to come next. But instead, he reaches down - to the empty bottle.

"I have a favorite thing too, Kari. I really like putting stuff in girl's holes. I mean, penis is great, but seeing other stuff in there is almost better." He lifts the bottle, placing the base over the area of her cunt, pushing down, twisting it - not trying to push it in, not yet. Just rubbing it, sliding it around, using it to push her panties back aside as they try to slip back into place.

"Jesus, Jacob, don't fuckin' stretch her all out before any of the rest of us get to fuck her cunt." "Seriously, don't put the wide part in her. You'll ruin her for the next few days." Michael and Leon both complain.

Jacob keeps rubbing the bottle bottom around, pressing the edges on her pussy lips, nudging them open. His other hand goes to his fly, at last, unzipping, pulling his cock out, rubbing it. "I wasn't gonna fuck her with the bottom yet. I just like... looking at it, rubbing her. Thinking about it."

"I have something better for right now. It won't stretch her out so bad but it'll make her fuck better for the rest of you." Jacob pulls the empty bottle away, sets it on the ground. Then he picks up the other bottle - cold. Capped. He touches the bottle to the inside of her thigh and she jolts, trying to get away from the cold, fearing the edges of the cap.

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byChandrasekharLimit© 17 comments/ 137152 views/ 81 favorites

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