The Intruder - Second Knockout

When he woke again, he went into shivers right away, his body retracting away from the cold. Not that it was freezing in the room or anything. As near as Ron could tell, it was the same temperature it had been when he was knocked out, no change there. No, he was the thing that had changed - his work clothes had been pulled off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of blue boxers that fit fine last month, but were getting a size too small. It wasn't the most flattering look, but propriety was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Where was she? Where was the Intruder?

He was staring up at the ceiling of his living room now, watching the ceiling fan lazily whirl about overhead. He sat up with a grunt, rubbing her sore neck as he went, only to freeze stockstill when he saw her there, sitting on his coach, her legs crossed. She'd moved around the furniture in the time he'd been knocked out, pushing everything to side until a space on the floor was clear, ten feet wide and long at the least. She sat before him like a queen, looking down on her unruly subject, contemplating judgement.

She didn't move. So still that he might not have enough known she was alive, save for the occasional blink. The room was quiet, nothing but dead air and the hum of the air conditioning. He stared at her, then turned his head just enough to eye his cellphone, sitting on his computer desk nearby. He looked at her again, bit his lip, and then he went for it, rolling to his knees and reaching out for the device and his salvation.

That was a mistake. He didn't know why it was a mistake when he lunged for the phone, but the reason become readily apparent when the Intruder burst off the couch and close in on him with three long strides. Her heavy steps made the room rumble, warning him of her approach, but he tried to block them out of his mind. All he had to do was pick the phone up, hit the emergency button and then-

Ron cried out as she gripped his hair hard, yanked him up, and slammed his face into the keyboard, hitting with enough force to knock off a few letters. He held onto the phone, defiant, but that changed when she grabbed him by the wrist and yanked it back in a tight hammer lock, wrenching his wrist hard behind his back. The phone fell to the floor and she kicked it back into the foyer a second later, as if his hopes needed anymore dashing.

She twisted around and sent him rolling towards the center of the room, tossing him like an overstuffed bag of garbage. Ron wasn't too agile at the best of time, but desperation spurred him on now, and he was quick enough to scramble up to his hands and knees. He was wobbly, still woozy from the blow to his head, but he moved as swift as he could towards the foyer.

She cut him off halfway, swinging her leg at him from the side and sinking her shin into his gut. The blow knocked the wind clean out of him and sent him flying back to the center, erasing all the ground he'd gained. That was where he stayed this time, coughing and wheezing on his knees, holding up a hand as she approached him. Slow steps. Stalking.

"Wait-" She didn't. Instead, she reached down, grabbed his head, forced it between her thighs as she stood, and then the pain started.

It was slight at first. Pressure, coming in on the side of his head. Strong, yes, but more of an annoyance than anything. If it was just that, it would've been uncomfortable, but nothing he couldn't endure. But then the leg grew. And grew. And kept growing. Her thigh, bare and soft, turned to steel around his skull. Unflinching, unyielding, unending, leaving less and less space between them.

Ron screamed. And squirmed. And kicked. He pounded away on the legs, hammering his fists into them, but it was like trying to hit a sandbag. There was no give, no real impact, and it just seemed to make her squeeze harder.

The Intruder spread her legs apart and let him fall, and the man who hit the floor was far more haggard than he'd been ten seconds ago. Stars dancing across his vision, he planted his palms on the floor and started to push up, demanding his arms to work. What she thought about his efforts he couldn't say for sure, but judging by her next actions? She didn't approve.

He hissed when a foot came down on his back, right between the shoulders. Another one dropped a moment later, right into the spine, and a kick crashed into his ribs after that, flipping him over like a turtle on its shell. She kicked hard, making his bones light up with pain, but he'd scarcely had a second to deal with it before she was on him again.

She straddled his waist and his hands went to his neck, expecting her to choke him out again. It was a waste of time, really. His upper body wasn't her target this time.

Her legs slithered around his own, intertwined with them and locked. Once they were secure, she began to spread her thighs apart, forcing him to do the same...only the angle was wrong. Her flexibility outclassed his, his groin was being forced apart, a sharp pain was working its way up his middle, as if he was being split apart.

"Please!" He slammed his fists against the carpet, gritted his teeth, shook his head from side to side. "Stop! Stop, please! I'll give you anything you want, just stop, please!"

She didn't stop. Didn't say anything. Ron was starting to suspect that she was getting exactly what she wanted right now - the chance to see him suffer.

Grinding his teeth down so hard he thought he his teeth might crack, Ron arched his back and let out a feral groan, the noise of an animal helplessly caught in a snare. He was about to open his mouth and try more pleading, offer her money, when her she drove her fist hard into his stomach. A solid, stiff punch, probably not the worst she could do, but more than enough to leave him gagging. Another followed and another followed after that, filling the room with his sputtering croaks.

Instinct kicked and Rose brought his arms up, feebly blocking one of the punches. It didn't do much to hamper the impact, but it was hard to tell that from the Intruder's reaction. Her eyes narrowed, nostril flared, with the first emotion he'd seen from her since they'd met: rage. Reaching up, she grabbed his wrists with one hand, pinned them above his head, and then the real punches began.

Each blow was precise. Each blow was powerful. Each blow drilled into his core, shot past skin and muscle to strike at the bones and organs underneath. Her jerked about beneath her, but the hold on his legs was still hers to play with, keeping him locked down below and above the waist. All he could as she drilled into stomach was lay there and take her blows.

She punched his ribs, a hook to the side.

She punched his belly button, drove her fist in as deep as it could into fat.

Three quick punches thundered against his chest, hitting with the rhythm and timing of a drumbeat.

The assault left him a mess on the floor, arms splayed out as his body refused to answer his commands. His chest was heavy, every breath was taxing, and he was certain she'd broken something - no clue what, but it distinctly felt like a few of his bones were in the wrong place. He needed to get to a hospital, but somehow he doubted this woman would be let him make the trip.

Her fierce glare cooled down, turning back to the cold stone he'd grown more accustomed to with their short acquaintance. She leaned down, grabbed him by the ear, and hauled the upwards, forcing the rest of his feeble and failing body to follow suit. He sat up and she untwined her legs as he rose, letting his legs go free and easing his pain in the middle. A moment's respite. Only a moment.

He knew something was wrong when she moved her legs around his side, and he knew exactly what was wrong when she crossed her ankles behind him and brought that familiar power to bear. The same force that still had his skull sore was now working away at his midsection. A crushing, relentless power, inexorable and inescapable, hammering away at his bones. He pushed at her knees, desperate for escape, but all she did was pump her legs and pour on more power.

She kept pumping away, too, flexing and crushing, pressing him with rhythmic jolts. It was hard to be sure, he was so busy tossing and turning and crying in abject agony to be sure, but it seemed like she was squeezing him in time with his breath. He'd inhale, she'd squeeze He'd inhale, she'd squeeze. And...and...

"I can't-" Ron tried to take a breath, but found it difficult. Too difficult. "I can't."

'Breathe'. That was the word Ron was going for, and the reason he couldn't get out was because his lungs were being pressed too tight. She was suffocating him.

If he hadn't figured it out before, it would've become readily apparent now, as the stars began to dance across his vision and the word grew silent. A numbness crept over his body, starting at her thighs and spreading out from there. It was like she was infecting him, working her way through his body and taking away all feeling.

And even still, she said nothing, only staring at him without a drop of remorse. Silent, as his hands fell to his sides. Silent, as his groans turned to mumbles turned to whimpers. Silent, as his eyes opened and closed and opened, only to close one, final time.

Out. Again.