Ivy's Rapist Ch. 01

I sit in the dark and wait. Patiently I wait. I don't mind, it's just a part of it . . . A part of it all. Not the best part, just a part. And it's what I must do. So I sit and I wait . . . And wait.

Eventually I hear the sound of her car and see the bright headlights blasting into the dark recesses of her home as she pulls along the driveway. She's home. The time has arrived. This waiting is over.

She parks the car and gets out. I watch through the edge of a window, spying on her to make sure she is alone. If she isn't I can slip out the back, quick and quiet like, and just return another night.

But she is alone.

She always is.

She's always alone.

Not for long though . . . Not tonight . . . Not this weekend.

I move away from the window, past her couch and slip up next to the side door, the one facing her driveway . . . the one she always enters. On my way I grab the rag and bottle setting on the end table where I sat them, wetting the cloth with practiced efficiency as I move.

The door swings open and she strolls inside, habitually dropping her briefcase on the little table by the entrance and swinging the door shut before she reaches for the light switch. Before she can turn on the lights though I reach out and grab her . . . Strong and sudden. I wrap one arm around her mid-section, locking my fingers around her arm, and slam the other over her mouth, covering it with the cloth. She tries to scream, even struggle, but her sudden inhalation at being surprised causes the gas to have a rapid effect and soon the struggling weakens as she slips away into dream land.

As she slumps I hold her in my arms and keep her from falling to the floor. I bend over and scoop her into my arms, her small, lithe body easily managed as I carry her through the living room and down the hall to her bedroom.

It's a large room with a couple windows draped with a combination of thick, dark curtains covered by prettier, lacey ones. A big queen sized bed covered by a soft, frilly comforter with large, cushy pillows inside smooth cases occupies the main portion of the room, its strong headboard and four wooden post etched by delicate flowing designs. A big oaken dresser and armoire set against two of the walls and a cushioned armchair with a reading lamp sits against a third. Pictures of doves and puppies decorate all of the walls.

I carry her into the room and to the bed where I lay her down as close to the center as I can manage. I retrieve my bag from where I'd sat it at the hall's entrance in case I'd had to make a quick exit and return to the room. From the bag I pull the nylon straps that I use and start tying her in place. I raise her arms straight above her head, attaching the nylon to parts of her headboard and making it tight enough to hold her arms while allowing them just a smidgeon of movement. I make sure her elbows can bend a little and she can roll her wrist to help keep some of the blood flowing. Her legs I stretch down and spread open, using the nylon to attach them to either of the bed's foot posts.

When I've finished I turn on the nightstand light and stand over her to admire the view.

She's beautiful . . . Gorgeous . . . Just like the first time I'd saw her. That'd been at the local shopping center. Just six weeks prior. In the early evening.

I saw her walking down one of the home décor isles and my eyes were locked. She was wearing a pink blouse and black skirt that day. Her back to me, the skirt accentuating the delicate roundness of her ass and slithering sensually down to where her nylon encased legs strutted from beneath it just inches above her knees. Those legs had quickly drawn my visual attentions from her beautiful ass down along their toned texture to the high heels on her feet.

Already mesmerized by these things I felt myself being drawn even deeper into her aura as she stopped and turned to inspect an item. Her profile was idyllic. Above her waist the blouse wafted out where her healthy breast protruded from her chest. Higher still, her black hair hung loose and free inches below her shoulders and when she used her fingers to pull some of it behind her ear her beautiful facial features were more than just a mere compliment to the body beneath. I was struck by her resemblance to Cleopatra, or at least some of the images of the Nile Goddess given to us by Hollywood.

Instantly I knew I had found my newest friend . . . My next conquest.

I followed her that evening. First through the store . . . Then to her home . . . Her house . . . Where we were now . . . In her bedroom.

She's dressed almost identical to that night. Upon the bed she lays, her curves accented and displayed by the clothing she wears. Her toned legs held softly within a pair of tan nylons, her feet held in open high heels, a slim strap of leather wrapped around her ankles. The black skirt she is wearing is nearly identical to the one that night, only this one hangs just inches shorter and has a short slit up along the one side. Right now it is crumpled, slightly disheveled, pulled part way up her thighs. Tonight her blouse is white with long sleeves and ruffles down the front. It, too, is in slight disarray. Where the top couple of buttons are undone one flap hangs messily to the side while the opposite flap is stretched tight and flat from the crumpling of the garment under her back. Still, her breasts rise and fall under the garment as she softly breathes in her induced slumber.

Her black hair is still the same length and I quietly thank her for not having gotten it cut short between that night and this. It is splayed upon the pillow beneath her head, strands spread here and there, the whole of it cupping and brightly displaying her face with her now closed eyes and delicate lips that are parted in just a bare slit.

Yes, she is beautiful.

Now the waiting begins again. The waiting for the gas to wear off enough for me to rouse her and bring her to a point of consciousness where she will be able to fully comprehend what is happening. I know that this is at least twenty minutes away . . . possibly thirty.

I have already waited, so a little more time won't be a problem. I've waited six weeks . . . Six weeks . . . Ever since that evening at the store.

After I followed her home I started my research on her while I continued to follow her through the next days and weeks. I learned her name, Ivy Brown, and where she worked, a corporate office downtown where she was some kind of executive. I learned her comings and goings and her other habits. I learned that every Tuesday evening she visited that same shop and every Friday she worked late then went out for dinner with one or two co-workers. But best of all I learned that she lived alone . . . All alone. No husband, she'd been divorced seven months prior. No children, part of the reason for the divorce. No pets, no cats, dogs or even fish. Even better than this fact was that after her Friday night dinner she always got home late, after dark during this time of year, and rarely went anywhere else until leaving for work Monday morning.

In addition to this, she'd only bought this house in the country after the divorce and didn't know any of the neighbors very well.

The house itself was also another idyllic stroke of luck. It sat way back off the road with more than a dozen trees blocking most of the view. The nearest neighbor lived nearly half a mile away too, so it was easy for me to sneak around without being spotted accidentally by someone outside watering their porch plants. Also, between her road and the one a block behind it was a thick swath of woods that touched both of the end roads so I was able to approach her place without any witnesses as well.

Actually, looking at all of this, I almost thought the woman was asking for me to pay her a visit.

But I knew better. She'd just wanted some peace and quiet for the start of her new life. It just worked out really well for me was all . . . Really, really well.

Checking my watch I see it's been fifteen minutes that I've been standing over her, admiring her beauty. Pulling myself away I go into the kitchen and pour two glasses of ice water, then return to the bedroom. From my bag I pull the cloth I use as a gag and tie it around her mouth, my fingers delicately caressing her cheek for a moment while I do. Under the circumstances I don't think her screams would be heard, its chilly outside so the house is closed up and the neighbors are so far away, so it's actually more for the psychological aspect that I'm using it this time. And that can't hurt.

A few minutes later I start to revive her. I do this by gently tapping her cheek and softly calling her name. I want to slowly pull her up and out of the dreamscape in which she is presently enveloped by, rather than sharply and rudely awakening her. It takes a few seconds but she starts to roll her head and moan softly behind the gag. Her eyelids flutter, weakly at first, but soon they snap a couple of times.

She's sharp and intelligent. Her eyes pop open seconds later, her head rolling so that she is staring straight up at me. Her limbs tug at the nylon cords holding them. In her eyes I see a mixture of emotions that is so recognizable by now that I don't even need to think about it to identify them. It is mainly fear along with a combination of shock, concern and question mixed with other, less prevalent, emotions.

"Hello, Ivy," I half whisper, smiling down at her.

"Mmm-gggg-mmm-mm," she mumbles into the gag, her arms and legs jerking at their restraints.

"Settle down . . . Settle down," I sooth. "Don't hurt yourself."

She continues to pull and tug at the ropes, her head now twisting on her neck as she struggles to see her wrist and ankles where the nylon is attached.

"You need to calm down a little so you can listen to me," I tell her. "Calm down, now."

She's panting now with her struggles, her chest heaving beneath her blouse, and a few droplets of sweat become visible on her brow. Her hair is being tossed about by her rolling head as she first fights to see the roping then stares up at me, then looks back to the restraints. Her clothing is becoming more and more disheveled as well. The skirt is riding higher and higher up her thighs, a third button snaps from the blouse and the garment becomes partially untucked from her skirt.

The vision of all this is intoxicating to me. I take a small step back away from the bed so that I can take in the entire scene at once. Standing there staring down and watching her struggle against her situation as her eyes fill with more and more of the fear.

There are two ways to break a lady's spirit in this situation . . .

I could end it now . . . Stop her struggles with brute force. I could take a quick step forward, up to the bed's edge, slap her hard across the face and grab her throat with a stiff fingered grip then growl an order for her to stop it. She would freeze still in a second. Shocked and frightened into stillness.

But I can also let her go her own route. Just stand back and watch while she tires herself out. Allow her own failure and the grinding at her wrists and ankles to burn the spirit from inside her. Let her loose some of her inner fire herself. All the while enjoying the show as I patiently wait.

I have done both. I have done both and I have enjoyed both. And I have come to the conclusion that which tactic to use really depends solely on the lady herself. Some need the rough slap and manhandled approach at first. Others need themselves and their actions to be what weakens their spirit.

Ivy is the latter.

So I stand back and I watch. I watch her fight and groan. I listen to her angered rantings behind the gag and witness the flames in her eyes slowly dim. After a few minutes she settles down. She lays there panting heavily, her brow and the part of her chest bared by the opening of her blouse lightly coated with perspiration. She closes her eyes for a moment and groans unhappily as she accepts the position she is in.

I reach down for a glass of ice water and sip from it as I stand silently above her, staring down and admiring her. One of the high heels came loose and has fallen from her foot and the bed to lay on the floor. The skirt is now nearly all the way up her thighs, its material just barely covering the area where her legs come together. The blouse is almost completely pulled free, one lower flap hanging open to expose part of her abdominal flesh and just hinting at her belly button. The top flaps are both hanging open now and the very top edges of a pretty, lacey bra can be seen peeking out from beneath them as her chest rises and falls with her panting. Her face is flushed, her eyes rolling around beneath her closed eyelids.

After a moment or two those eyes slowly open and she stares back at me. There are many silent questions in those twin orbs, many pleadings too.

I set the ice water back down and stand close to the bedside, smiling down at her.

"Now, Ivy," I whisper. "Now that you're settled down I need to talk to you."

Her eyes quickly dart around the room for a minute before settling back on me. She is looking for something, a way out of this . . . Maybe even some kind of weapon. She still has a fire in her. Good.

"You're a very beautiful woman," I tell her, holding her eyes with mine now. "A very desirable lady."

My one hand reaches out and gently caresses the blouse where it covers one of her breasts. She sucks in a breath as I touch her, tries to pull her body away from me.

"Yes . . . Yes, a very beautiful woman," I repeat.

My hand rolls and slides over her hidden breast, caressing and stroking the shapely mound. As I cup it gently and give it a soft squeeze I see her try to look away from me but I am staring intently into her eyes and it is hard for her to do so.

Inside myself I can feel a need growing . . . A need that has been building for weeks . . . For six weeks.

I pull my hand away from her chest and begin to undress myself, pulling at my shirt first, then undoing my pants. Ivy watches me, her eyes growing slightly wider with each passing second and movement of my hands.

"Very beautiful," I repeat.

I undress quickly, tossing my clothing to the side unceremoniously. From my bag I pull a small buck knife. As I step up to the bed Ivy's eyes bounce between mine, the knife and my bouncing hard cock. I grin down at her as I reach for her skirt and jerk it up around her waist.

She starts to struggle again, her hips starting to bounce and twist as I fight with the garment. From behind the gag she is muttering, groaning and cussing at me.

"I'm gonna fuck you, Ivy," I tell her, my voice growing rough. "I'm gonna fuck you and I'm gonna fuck you hard."

I climb onto the bed and position my own legs atop her thighs, my weight helping to hold her down and reduce her struggling movements. With one hand I grab her one thigh, squeezing it as I push it down against the mattress to hold her even steadier.

"I'm gonna stuff my hard cock into your pussy and fuck you with it," I hiss as I'm doing this. "I'm gonna stuff that sweet cunt of yours with my cock."

She whimpers now behind the gag. Although I have her bottom half mostly subdued her upper torso continues to twist and fight against the nylon ropes.

Fighting with this and the now balled up skirt I slip the knife's edge beneath the waistband of her nylons. It's razor sharp and when I pull it cuts through the material easily, slicing them down several inches.

"Yea, I'm gonna fuck you hard, Ivy," I pant. "My cock's gonna be buried deep inside that sweet little pussy of yours."

I work the knife around so that I can grip the now ripped nylons with my fingers. Trusting my weight and legs to hold her still enough for the moment I grab the nylons with my other hand as well. I jerk hard with both hands and the thin material shreds downward several inches.

"Oh God," I sigh happily.

The act has uncovered a pair of white lace panties which I had failed to notice until that moment. They ride across her hips on inch wide straps then plunge down between her legs with a delicateness that accentuates the small curves and impressions of her body.

"Their beautiful," I grin. "Oohhh, I am going to fuck you so hard."

I hesitate for only a moment before I grab at this garment and place the edge of my knife beneath the side strap. A sudden jerk and the material gives way almost as easily as the nylons. I quickly do the same to the opposite strap and then yank the panties away.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, Ivy," I whisper as I raise the panties up in my fist and show them to her.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm," she whimpers sadly.

The removal of the garment bares to me, for the first time, her sex. I stare down in utter fascination. Ivy keeps her pussy well cleaned and nearly completely shaved, with just a thin strip of neatly trimmed hairs running up either side and a small patch at the top.

Now I fold up the knife and, reaching down, drop it into my bag while digging out the bottle of lubricant I brought. I quickly squeeze some into my hand and reach down to touch Ivy's pussy for the first time. As my hand makes contact I see her body freeze stiffly for just a second before she starts to buck and struggle under my weight with renewed vigor.

"Yea, I'm gonna fuck you, you little whore," I growl now, my hunger boiling inside of me. "I'm gonna stuff this sweet-ass pussy of yours with my throbbing cock and fuck you deep and hard."

I smear the lubricant around and push it into her with two fingers, penetrating her up to the first couple of knuckles before working them around a little and pumping them back and forth a few times.

"I'm gonna fuck you so hard, slut," I tell her as my fingers delve past her lips. "I'm gonna fill this cunt of yours with my hard cock."

Inside me the heat is burning madly now as I watch her struggle against her restraints while I continue to pump my fingers back and forth slightly. Her head is nearly bouncing upon her neck now as it rolls from side to side and jerks up so that she can glare angrily at me with her raging eyes. Her blouse is pulled this way and that from her actions and I see several glimpses of a white lace bra which matches the panties.

Beneath my weight her legs are trying to buck me off, her ankles twisting at their ropes as she fights against me. But between her legs the action of my fingers and the lubricant are doing their job. She is moist now, against her will her own juices are flowing slightly and mixing with the lubricant.

"Yea, I'm gonna fuck you, you little whore," I tell her.

I pull my hand away from her pussy and add some of the lubricant to my hard cock. Then I climb off her thighs and fight my way in between them. Her lower body reacts to the disappearance of my weight and she starts to buck and jump hard. She tries to close her legs, tries to pull her thighs together and block my attack. I grab those thighs and push them apart, driving them away from each other and forcing her to open them even wider than they were before. I position myself between the two. Using my own thighs to keep her open while I grab my cock once more and guide it toward her sex.

"I'm gonna fuck you, slut," I groan.

I lower myself toward her, guiding my cock at her lubed slit. I stare down at this, watching myself getting closer and closer to her. As the tip of my cock touches her slit I push forward slightly, spreading her lips and forcing the head into her.

Now I raise my eyes, drawing them along her body and to her face. I see the blouse completely pulled from her skirt, see her bared abdominal area and the bottom of her belly button. A little higher her chest is rising and falling with heaving breaths. The blouse hangs open and I can see the top edges of her bra where the milky flesh mounds of her breasts roll skyward. Above her delicate neck her face is contorted in an expression of shear panic and she stares up at me with sadness filled eyes brimming with tears.