Intruder Ch. 02byStealthBreeder©
(Several readers have pointed out a factual error in this story, it has now been corrected. Thank you for the input and support, and don't forget to leave a comment at the bottom if you like (or don't like) something about the story. Enjoy!)
The ten minute walk to work was a blur as my mind swam with a countless array of thoughts and considerations. I had to get a morning-after pill for myself which was easy enough, but I also had to surreptitiously order a barrage of STI tests before I could be sure that I didn't have Herpes or Chlamydia or some other horrible disease. On top of that, I agonised over whether or not to report the intruder to the police. Maybe they already had his DNA on record for some other crime. How many other women had he done this to? Maybe they were too scared or too ashamed to report it. If I didn't report the attack then how many other women would he rape before someone finally did? Part of me felt that I owed it to this man's other victims, if he had any, to go to the police.
Then again, what evidence did I have for my own ordeal? If I hadn't been so quick to get in the shower I might have been able to collect some of his dried cum that leaked out of me from the previous night, but it was gone now. Besides, how many rapists did the police actually catch, let alone bring to trial or successfully convict? A mysterious guy whom I couldn't see, and therefore couldn't identify, had entered my home through an open window and raped me, leaving behind DNA evidence which I had thoughtlessly washed away. Even if any of my neighbours had overheard the attack, they would probably remember my orgasmic moans, not my cries for help which he had been careful to silence. Why go through all the trouble of a police investigation if no one would believe me?
My morning went by quickly; I quietly submitted a series of fluid samples for anonymous STI testing in between running hospital errands, but had yet to get my hands on a morning-after pill. I kept my cool well enough to pretend to my colleagues that nothing was wrong, but eventually the thoughts running through my head became too much to deal with. I went to the bathroom and locked the door.
One thought bothered me most of all: as the attack had unfolded, I had actually started to feel EXCITED by the ordeal. I simply couldn't wrap my head around it; rape was possibly the worst thing that could happen to a woman, and yet something about the experience of being physically and sexually subjugated had stirred something inside me. The mere act of recollecting the event made me wet.
My hand disappeared down my pants and began to massage my clit through my underwear. This anonymous intruder, this alpha male, had entered my bedroom in the dead of night and claimed me for his own. I remembered his powerful hand clamp over my mouth to stop me crying out for help, as his other hand slid across the skin of my thigh up to my precious womanhood, exposed and vulnerable to his touch. I imagined his manhood tease the gateway to my body before forcing his way inside me.
"...Unngh!" I gritted my teeth and suppressed the moan of pleasure that tried to escape my lips, slipping my hand into my panties as I did so. As I slid my fingers into my cunt I imagined his cock inside me, ravishing me, subjugating me to his will. My juices were flowing now, making squelching noises that were becoming distractingly loud. I abruptly stopped my self-pleasuring, in case someone outside were to overhear. I hurriedly washed my hands and cleaned myself up, feeling thoroughly conflicted. I had a ton of work to do today and I still had to get myself a morning-after pill; and yet I could still find the time to fantasise about my supposedly-traumatic rape the previous night. What was wrong with me?
I made my way to the hospital's drug storage room on the sixth floor. It was nearly 7pm, which meant that the room would be locked for the night. It was also nearly the end of my shift, so I had to get myself a morning-after pill before I went home. I waved my ID at the scanner and the door into the storage room unlocked for me. After a quick search through the refrigerated storage containers, I found a single morning-after capsule. Perfect. I shut the drug storage room behind me and put the capsule in my pocket; I could take it as soon as I got home.
The corridor was deserted; aside from myself there was only a hospital orderly, fiddling with the lock of a storage room. I walked straight past him as he opened the door and entered, presumably to fetch some cleaning supplies. I furrowed my brow a little at this, since when did orderlies double as janitors?
A masculine hand appeared from nowhere and clamped firmly over my mouth. A spike of sheer terror pierced my heart and I screamed into his hand as he dragged me into the storage room, my cries for help reduced to muffled squeaks. He shut the door behind him and threw me to the ground. To my surprise I did not land on the hard floor, but on a mattress. My attacker flicked on the lights and I saw that the room was filled with hospital mattresses, sheets, linen, and other paraphernalia. I looked over my shoulder and got a look at my attacker for the first time, with no doubt in my mind that this was the man who had raped me the previous night.
He was indeed handsome; he was clean shaven with two green eyes set into a chiselled, masculine face and a head of short, dark hair. He was dressed in the white uniform of a hospital orderly which barely contained his muscled physique. I took in all of this in the brief glance I got before he pounced on me, forcing his body between my legs again. I knew what was going to happen next, and my heart was pounding in fearful anticipation. He grabbed a handful of cloth and shoved it into my mouth to keep me quiet and pressed his full body weight onto me, trapping me beneath him. I felt him shifting about and heard him pull his pants down before grabbing mine and yanking them down as well, along with my panties. I was totally frozen, too terrified even to spit out the cloth in my mouth, lest he decide to physically hurt me. I made one last token effort to struggle against him, but it was no use.
With one hand gently clasping the back of my neck, I felt him use the other to guide his manhood towards my pussy. My cheeks burned with shame as I felt my pussy tingle in sexual anticipation. The tingle became a rush of involuntary excitement which gripped my heart as the head of his penis touched my labia. He rubbed the head of his cock up and down my entrance, teasing me, taunting me with my body's aroused reaction to his probing. Another wave of arousal swept through me, coalescing in my pussy as more juices began to flow from it. I remained totally still, awaiting the inevitable; this man had deflowered me and made me his own, he had found me again to remind me of that fact. Then with a gentle thrust, he entered me. I inhaled sharply as my rapist's member filled me once more. My love canal stretched obediently to accommodate his considerable length and girth, and I was once again helpless to do anything.
As with the previous night, his strokes were long and powerful at first; a muffled yelp was forced out of me every time he thrust back in. I could hear him grunting with effort as he thrust into me, clearly finding me very tight; and I winced in pain as he penetrated me to the hilt, the head of his manhood reaching all the way up to my cervix. My passage grew slicker as his thrusting continued, and the familiar feeling of arousal continued to grow in my groin and spread to my belly, in spite of the pain caused by his violation.
Sensing my increased arousal my rapist quickened his pace, planting a hand firmly between my shoulder blades to lift himself into a new position. His strokes were faster now, less controlled, like a rutting stallion atop a mare in heat. Before long the squelching sound of our coupling was audible, as was the sound of his groin slapping into my ass with each thrust.
As he continued to rape me, I lapsed into passive resignation. I no longer felt the sense of violation that I had the previous night, but the confusion over my growing arousal at this most intimate of assaults was still palpable. My rapist had shown last night that he could exercise more control over my own body than I could, and he was proving it again now. The pleasure was still welling up within me, and was building to an apex that I could barely suppress. My heart was thumping in my pussy, sent into overdrive by the masculine tool plumbing my depths with such skill. Finally it became too much.
A tsunami of ecstasy washed away any vestiges of self-control I may have had. I bucked and gyrated like a bitch in heat, and I involuntarily spat out the cloth in my mouth as I hyperventilated in sheer pleasure, unable to help myself any longer. Having brought to me to orgasm, my rapist increased his tempo once more until he was ramming me like an enraged bull. The slapping sound of our bodies slamming together must have been audible from the corridor outside, and if it wasn't then my shameless moans of lust certainly were.
At long last my rapist could hold back no longer and with one last mighty thrust and a snarl of masculine pleasure, he forced himself as deep inside me as possible. His hot seed gushed into me in one rhythmic jet after another, the sensation sending a sensual chill up and down my spine, enough to drive me into another mind blowing orgasm. He held himself inside me for a good five minutes before slumping forward onto my back. Then he swept my hair to one side and whispered directly into my ear.
"They'll all come back negative, by the way."
His accent was distinctly British and would have had me weak at the knees if I weren't already drained from the ordeal I had just undergone. I assumed he was talking about the STI tests I had ordered earlier that day, and it did occur to me to wonder how he knew I had ordered them; but in my post-coital fugue I was too exhausted to care. Having imparted his assurance to me, he got off of me and pulled himself out, making me gasp a little at the sudden emptiness. He then graciously pulled my panties and pants back up, but not before rummaging through my pockets a little. With that done, I heard him redress himself and take his leave, not bothering to turn out the lights.
I lay there for about ten more minutes, overwhelmed by the experience of being raped twice by the same man in less than 24 hours. I knew even before I eventually got up and patted down my pockets that he had confiscated the morning-after pill I had. The drug storage room was now locked for the night and, it being Saturday tomorrow, I wouldn't be allowed back in accept as a patient. The reasons were all buried in the legal nonsense of my employment contract, which stipulated that I would only work on the weekdays except for covering some weekend and night-time shifts. In any case, my chance to avert pregnancy with a morning-after pill had come and gone.
My thought processes were thoroughly confounded on the way home. I had always had private fantasies about being ravished, but I had always been horrified by the thought of actual rape. This just wasn't supposed to happen. Worse still, I could no longer deny to myself that a substantial part of me had enjoyed be taken against my will. I had even gotten wet, not just from remembering the attack, but at the idea of getting pregnant as a result of it. Was it my body that betrayed my mind or my mind which had betrayed my body? These questions raced round and round in my head even as I felt a little trickle of wetness seep into my panties. I knew it was his semen leaking out of me, and that a gallon of it was swimming around in my reproductive organs seeking out a viable egg to fertilise, and colonise my womb with his DNA. That thought didn't make me shudder or retch, though. If anything, it gave me a strangely fuzzy feeling, which only added to my emotional turmoil.
Was that why he had raped me? To hijack my body's reproductive functions and force me to give birth to his child? Did he get off on that the way I seemed to get off on him forcing himself inside me? The thought of being forced to bear a child made me shiver, but whether in pleasure or horror was totally unclear. I unconsciously rested my hand on my belly, picturing myself with a baby bump, imagining the bundle of cells grow into an embryo and then into a full-sized foetus, a potent physical reminder of its father's conquest of my body. I actually sighed aloud, somehow calmed by the idea of pregnancy.
As I approached my apartment, my mind was still in chaos over what had happened to me in the span of a night and a day; but I knew that whatever the identity of my rapist, it wouldn't be the last I saw of him.
How right I was.