Short sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Intrusion

(Look at this! Two and a half years later and I FINALLY get around to submitting another story (in my defense, my Bachelor's degree was slightly more important than my writing; I will not apologize for this). This is a different genre than I'm normally used to writing, so go easy on me in the critiques. There are no fantastical demons in this tale, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. As always, you guys are the best.)

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Three hours. Three fucking hours of extra work because Clark couldn't figure out how to fix the damn accounts.

Miranda scowled as she yanked her purse and work bag from the car, slamming the door shut in frustration. She muttered curses to herself as she hit the lock button on her key fob and stormed across the parking garage, making her way towards the stairwell. Her heels clicked along the cold cement, the sound echoing off the slate grey walls.

It had been a long day at work - painfully, unnecessarily long. Somehow, someone in the accounting sector of the investment firm (probably that airhead bimbo Janice) had fucked up one of the accounts, putting an extra couple of zeroes where they didn't belong. The error had gone unnoticed for weeks, until the owner of the account called up the firm's manager, confused and frightened as to why his account was suddenly thousands of dollars short. That sent the entire team into a panic, and Miranda, along with three other members of the firm, was forced to spend three extra hours working to rebalance the accounts.

Not that the extra money wasn't bad, but those last three hours were stressful beyond belief. The firm's manager was riding their asses to get the accounts fixed so the investor - one of their single biggest clients - could rest easy. It would have taken two hours if that idiot Clark had just written down her calculations the first time instead of trying to redo the math himself. There was a reason she was given those last two promotions ahead of him, but the man was too proud of his own imaginary skills to notice the obvious. At twenty four, she was one of the youngest members of the firm, yet she had proved herself enough (in mathematical skill, not blowjobs) to have authority over nearly everyone in her department.

Miranda sighed as she made her way up the stairwell. She couldn't really be mad at him. Clark was a good guy, if a bit egotistical, but a genuinely sweet, honest guy who, like her, had put in a lot of extra hours at that place. He'd been stressed, she'd been stressed, everyone had been stressed. His insecurity and her anger were only emotions, though understandable ones. By the time they'd gotten the accounts fixed, the entire 'emergency team' had been laughing hysterically about the whole situation.

Despite the few upsides, the extra work had left her exhausted. And hungry. She should have eaten dinner hours ago, nestled into her small sofa watching another Criminal Minds episode. Instead, she'd sacrificed her meal in favor of a bigger paycheck.

Big mistake. Hotch is worth more than overtime any day.

She continued up the stairs, waving tiredly at the apartment staff. Normally, she'd smile and greet them as she climbed the stairs, but she was far too exhausted to do anything more than lazily flick her wrist and grunt. She hated being like this - tired to the point of being dismissive and irritable. Once she got to her room, she'd run a bath, crack open a bottle of wine and finally get the rest she deserved. Her entire body ached for a bit of relaxation, her skirt felt tight and confining, her heels making her feet burn. A long bath and a dozen hours of sleep were exactly what she needed.

Climbing the last two agonizing flights to her floor, she turned down the brightly lit (if slightly dingy) hallway and started digging for her keys. Stopping at her apartment door, she breathed a sigh of relief as she unlocked the deadbolt and pushed the heavy slab of wood open. She stepped in, kicking the door closed and dropped her keys on the small table next to the door. She relocked the door, then flicked on one of the small table lamps, illuminating the small room with a dim glow.

Miranda's place wasn't anywhere near the lavish, sprawling condos the firm's executives owned. If anything, it was slightly larger than one of those dinky studio apartments she'd owned when first starting out, but it was more than enough to satisfy her. The main living room was large for an apartment complex like this, big enough to fit her dark oak bed and a small dining table along the back wall, and a couch towards the front wall. A small wooden chest sat in front of the couch, acting as a TV stand and memento holder. Off to her right were two smaller rooms: a fairly good sized kitchen, boarded by a small hall closet, and a bathroom, complete with both a shower and a tub (a luxury in this part of town). The rent for this place was a tiny bit high, but it offered a 24-hour maintenance and security crew, and access to an indoor pool and gym, so it was worth the extra cost. She'd gotten lucky with this place.

Miranda took a few steps into her apartment, dropping her briefcase to the floor and stretching against the confines of her tight blazer. She yawned, reaching back to pull her long, dark hair out of her ponytail, shaking her head to whip the strands loose. She sighed again, unbuttoning her blazer and throwing it over the arm of her couch. She kicked off her heels and set them down by her briefcase, reveling in the feeling of cool wood beneath her bare toes. Cracking her neck, she started towards the kitchen, planning to reheat some of last night's pasta and mulling over which wine to choose-

She jerked to a stop halfway across her living room. The window behind her bed was open, the heavy pane of glass pushed all the way up, letting a soft, cool breeze flow into the room. That particular window was the only one in her apartment that faced the street, the only one that opened towards an unsecured part of the building. All of the others faced towards the courtyard at the back of the complex, or to the side of the building, where the gated parking lot was. This was the one vulnerable spot of her apartment, and it was open.

I swear to god, I locked that window before I left.

A small bubble of panic started to blossom in her belly. Her apartment was three stories off the ground, but her window was placed just next to the fire escape. Anyone who leaned over far enough would get a good view into her place. Heart racing, she started to turn around, hoping to open her briefcase to access her phone. She'd call the front desk, ask if security had seen anyone crawling around the building, request them to send up a guard and sweep her room. Her panic swelled with every heartbeat. She wasn't rich, so there wasn't much for anyone to steal from her place, but she was an attractive young woman, and she wouldn't put it past anyone to-

A small sound, tiny in comparison to the pounding of her heart, made her blood freeze. A muffled squeak, the sole of a shoe slipping on the floor, made her stomach drop. Whoever had slipped into her room was still here, and they were far more aware of her presence than she was of theirs.

There was enough of a pause for her to take a sharp breath, but nothing more. A heartbeat later, the intruder had stepped behind her, cupping a hand over her mouth and yanking her backwards against him. His other arm wrapped round her waist, pinning her arms at the sides. She gave a muffled shriek and kicked out frantically, trying to use her fingernails to scratch and claw at his arm. Her attacker was intelligent, calculating - he'd worn a thick, long-sleeved sweater, rendering her nails useless. He'd put on heavy leather gloves, thick enough that she wouldn't be able to injure his hands if she tried to bite. This one was smart, seasoned possibly. He knew the usual tricks and moves and had a plan to counter every one.

She continued to kick and scream, trying to get some sort of momentum or advantage against him. The cards, however, were woefully stacked against her. Not only was her attacker intelligent and experienced, he had size on his side. Even without her heels, Miranda stood at a respectable 5' 8", but her shoulder blades barely reached her attacker's chest, putting the man behind her well over six feet. He was powerful, too, the thick muscles of his chest and arms twitching every time he had to counter her escape attempts. Despite her best efforts of fighting back, Miranda recognized the absolute hopelessness of her situation: this man was intelligent, powerful, and prepared. She stood no chance.

Still, her instincts drove her to continue fighting. This was not how she would go out, left to die meekly at the hands of some hulking stranger. If he did plan to kill her, she'd make sure he'd have one hell of a time doing it.

No, not like this. I am not dying like this.

She continued to kick and scream against him, trying anything and everything she could to get away. The arm at her waist released her, freeing her own hands and allowing her a second of mobility. It only lasted a second. Before she could try to grab or claw at the man behind her, she felt a small pressure at the neck that froze her in place. The razor-thin edge of a knife pressed against her throat, cold and hard against her flushed skin. Her heart rate doubled, panic now turning into cold, hard fear. He did mean to kill her, and like everything else, he'd come prepared for it.

He held the knife against her throat for a few seconds, never pushing, never slicing, but making certain the threat was known. Miranda stilled, tears pooling in her eyes, a muffled sob escaping her lips. This isn't how she wanted to die, not in a bloody mess like this. She didn't want to die at all, but the prospect of being hacked to death by some unseen intruder made the idea even more horrifying.

Not like this...not like this...

Instead of jamming the blade into her throat, her attacker pulled his hand downward, letting the blade skim along the delicate flash of her neck and collarbone. He stopped at the edge of her shirt, lazily dragging the tip of the knife softly along her skin. She dropped her gaze to her chest, watching the knife glide over her skin in slow, swirling motions. Her attacker lowered his hand again, this time to the buttons of her blouse. He turned the knife so the edge of the blade slipped under the first button. He paused, holding her still as she watched his hand. He flicked his wrist, the blade slicing through the tiny threads of the button and sending it flying out of sight, clattering softly against the floor. Miranda's stomach dropped. This wasn't just about killing her. He had something much more sinister planned first.

The intruder did the same act with each button of her blouse, slicing them loose and causing her shirt to open a bit more each time. With the last button, her satin blouse opened fully, fluttering to her sides and exposing her abdomen. Her full breasts, coated in sweat from her panicked struggle, heaved against the soft lace of her bra. She whimpered mournfully against his gloved hand. His intentions were clear; this was far more about breaking in and murdering some random girl. He wanted much more than to simply hack her to bits. He wanted to play, first. With the knife still in his hand, her attacker reached up and grabbed a free edge of her shirt, pulling it down and away from her skin. He peeled it off and tossed it away, leaving her in nothing but her bra and skirt.

He dropped his hand again, gently dragging the knife back down her abdomen. The tip of the knife skimmed back and forth across her tight stomach, dipping in and out of her bellybutton on each pass. He then drew it up her chest, letting the tip glide along her skin, never allowing it to draw blood, but still allowing the threat to linger. He drew the knife back to her neck, barely pressing the edge of blade against her throat. The hand covering her mouth gave a quick squeeze, and the blade pressed a tiny bit harder into her neck. His message was clear: you make a sound, I make a move.

Trembling, Miranda swallowed hard and nodded. The hand covering her mouth slipped away, and she dragged in a quick, thankful breath. The blade pressed against her throat again, reaffirming the warning. Whimpering softly, she dropped her shoulders and closed her eyes, accepting her part of the deal. The hand that had previously covered her mouth slipped down to her breasts, reaching around to cradle one heavy mound in his palm. She shivered and whimpered again, but kept her mouth closed.

The intruder rubbed his hand along the underside of her breast, testing the weight with his fingers. The knife at the throat slipped away, relieving the slight pressure from her skin. She felt him reach back behind her, heard the soft glide of metal against leather as he sheathed his blade. Miranda was thankful, but not foolish. The blade was gone, but the man controlling it was fast as lightening and far stronger than she was. Even if she tried to scramble away, he'd quickly overpower her and he might finally put that knife to use. That was a roll of the dice she wasn't willing to play.

His free hand skimmed up her waist and cupped her other breast in his palm. Gently but firmly, the intruder pulled her back against his body, his powerful chest pressing against the thin blades of her shoulders. She was trapped now, caught between his hands and his body. A feeling of unease settled into her stomach, warning her of what was to come. This wouldn't be pleasant, nor would it be anywhere near comfortable. But considering how he'd played with her so far, threatening but never injuring, her best bet might be to play along. If she played well enough, she might make it out unscathed.

The fingers of one hand slipped forward to the center of her bra. Quick and nimble, they managed to unclip the clasp between the cups of her bra, letting the soft lacy fabric fall away. His hands reached up and cupped her breasts against, now bare and open to his touch. His gloves were warm, the leather soft and smooth against her skin. He rubbed her breasts gently, almost carefully, feeling their weight in his hands. The cool breeze that seeped in through the window made her nipples tighten involuntarily, forcing a tiny moan from her throat. Heat flooded her cheeks, pure embarrassment and revulsion. This was the most terrifying, vile, intrusive moment of her life. And yet somehow, her body found a way to enjoy the sensations. Damn it all.

Her intruder must have noticed her reactions, because he now took the time to play with her. The fingers of one hand reached up and gently pinched one nipple, drawing out another soft moan. He pulled and twisted, trying to coax a stronger reaction out of her. This man must be a professional, because it worked painfully well. Another moan, louder this time, slipped from her lips, followed by another wave of embarrassment. She shouldn't want this, shouldn't be aroused by it, but somehow he made her body react against her will, forcing her to enjoy something she should hate.

He gave her nipple one final, gentle twist before releasing it, pulling his hands away from her breasts. She whimpered again, suddenly missing the warmth of his hands shielding her skin from the cold air. He took a single step back, giving her only a few inches of movement. She felt his warm hand caress the soft skin of her shoulder just as she heard him unsheathe his knife. The fingers on her shoulders hooked around the strap of her bra, pulling it away and letting it slip to the floor. A heartbeat later, the tip of the knife was pressing gently against her chest again, just hard enough to make a soft indent in her skin. Miranda swallowed and stood completely still, not wanting to press her luck any more than she had to.

The intruder started to move, his heavy footsteps echoing off the walls as he slowly began to circle her. As he moved, the tip of the knife moved with him, dragging along the tender skin of her shoulder to her back. He moved slowly, carefully, giving Miranda the impression that he was inspecting her, looking her over just as a farmer would look over a prize bull at auction. She desperately hoped she would pass inspection; God forbid he was one of those psychos that fell into a rage at any slight imperfection.

As far as looks went, Miranda stood a fair chance of passing inspection. Her face was a soft oval with a thin, straight nose and bright green eyes. Long dark hair spilled over her shoulders in loose waves, contrasting her pale skin. Full lips and delicately arched brows complimented high cheeks and a narrow jaw. With her height came a long, lean frame that most women would die to have. Her legs made up most of her height, long and toned from years of running. Her stomach was strong, yet softly feminine. Her breasts might be considered large for such a slim figure, but they were by no means ridiculous. She was attractive in nearly every sense of the word, though she preferred to get by on her brains rather than her looks, but she hoped in some ludicrous way that her attractiveness might offer her some advantage here.

As he circled around to face her, Miranda finally got a look at the man who'd been tormenting her so ruthlessly. It wasn't much of a look, though. Her intruder was, indeed, much larger than she was, standing at least a head taller than herself, with muscles that could still be seen under all his clothing. He was covered head-to-to in black: heavy black boots, tight black jeans, thick sweater, gloves, and ski mask. He'd covered every inch of himself to avoid identification. The only part of him that she could see was his eyes, uncovered by the eyeholes in his mask. Despite his rough, forceful handling, his eyes were strangely soft. A warm, shining grey, they seemed far more welcoming than his hands.

He paused directly in front of her, those soft grey eyes scanning her face, her body. She blushed fiercely and dropped her gaze to the floor, painfully aware of how naked and vulnerable she was. They stood there in the dim light, silent, his eyes relentlessly examining her figure as she desperately tried to forget his presence.

A light tap on her shoulder brought her out of her self-induced trace. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his, chewing the inside of her cheek nervously. His gaze was steely, yet somehow soft. Twisting the knife playfully in his fingers, he jerked his head towards the bed. Her eyes flicked between him and the bed, the pit in her stomach growing. His gaze narrowed slightly, impatient with her reluctance. He jerked his head towards the bed again, this time with a bit more force, his eyes never leaving hers.

Terrified and embarrassed beyond belief, Miranda drew a shaky breath and nodded, taking a tentative step towards her bed. He stepped behind her, following her as she moved and blocking her only escape route. She stopped at the edge of her bed, looking down at the dark wood frame and thick grey blankets piled on top of the mattress. She swallowed harshly, the painful reality of her situation finally setting in. This man hadn't simply crawled into her room intending to rob her. He might not have known precisely who she was, but he most certainly knew a woman lived here; her apartment was far too femininely decorated to be mistaken for some frat boy bachelor pad. He'd probably stayed here for hours, waiting for her to come back.

Jesus, he'd waited for me.

She swallowed again. This man wasn't just practiced. He was an expert.

A rough shove against her shoulder knocked her off balance, forcing her to fall forward. She had enough time to catch herself on the footboard of her bed, using her hands to grip the thick rail of wood for balance. Her intruder moved quickly, taking advantage of her vulnerable position. He reached a hand around to her hip, his fingers gripping the small tab of her skirt's zipper. He pulled it down sharply, opening up the last piece of protective clothing she had. His hands gripped the edged of her waistband, pulling the fabric down her legs and letting it slide to the floor. Miranda chewed her lip and squeezed her eyes shut, horrified and embarrassed. All that stood between her attacker and the most precious part of her body was a pair of thin, lacy panties.
The intruder didn't waste much time with those, hooking one finger under the edge of the lace and pulling them down, letting them add to the pile of fabric on the floor. Miranda held back a choked sob. She was stark naked, bent over her bed in front of some brutal, knife-wielding stranger. How much worse could this night possibly get?

A soft, gloved hand caressed one perfectly toned cheek, causing her to twitch away, startled. The hand continued to glide along her skin, testing the weight and quality of her ass just like he did with her breasts. He tapped her ass a few times, never hard, almost curious to see how her body would react. She bit her lip and kept her eyes shut, desperately wishing she was somewhere far, far away from here.

His hand left her skin, and she heard the slight jingling of his belt buckle, the soft brush of leather against denim. Her heart nearly stopped. Surely he didn't mean to start whipping her with his belt! She lowered her head and silently begged him to leave, fearing the whip of his belt more than any other kind of pain he could give her.

Instead of striking at her, he stepped forward, pressing his enormous body flush with hers. She gasped softly, feeling the weight of his erection pressing through his jeans into her right cheek. He reached around, grabbing her wrists and forcing them together, then looping the thick length of his belt around her wrists. He pulled it tight and knotted it, not painful, but enough to keep her from twisting away and escaping. He reached down and threaded the loose end of the belt between the vertical wooden slats of her footboard, knotting it securely.

He stood up again and placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing her downwards. Frightened and confused, her knees buckled easily, letting her sink to the floor without much resistance. The leather belt slid up along the slats and she sank down, stopping once her knees touched the floor. The position left her completely vulnerable; the leather belt was tied tightly around her wrists and the bed, giving her only a few inches to move. She couldn't move, she couldn't escape, she couldn't fight.

Her attacker shifted behind her, dropping to his knees. He slid his hands between her thighs and forced them apart, exposing the most delicate part of her person. Miranda whimpered again, trapped and helpless. If he wanted to ravage her, he was more then able to do so. There was nothing she could do to stop him.

She heard a soft shuffling behind her, felt his hands on her legs again, this time forcing her body up. She tried not to comply, tired to make herself dead weight against his grip. A sharp, hard slap on her ass cheek made her cry out and lift her body up, allowing his hands to slide gently along her inner thighs. His thumbs gently caressed the outer labia of her sex, slipping underneath and pulling them apart. She blushed again, nearly half her blood supply flowing into her cheeks. The most vulnerable, precious part of her body was now fully open to him, and as hard as she might try, there was no taking that exposure back.

A warm, soft tongue brushed against the inner fold of her sex, forcing a startled cry from her throat. Panic roared through her blood and she thrashed against her restraints, trying as hard as she could to break the wooden slats, undo the knots. Not that, not that. Anything but that. Anything but pleasure. This wasn't what she'd expected, it was far worse. This wasn't just an assault; he was toying with her in the worst way. Violating her and making her enjoy it. She didn't want to enjoy it. This wasn't the type of event a person likes. This is the kind of thing that scars them for life, that gives them nightmares. She didn't want to find pleasure from this. If she did, even in the smallest way, it would make the event all the more vile.

"No! No, no, stop!" She pulled her wrists back, trying to free herself. "Stop!"

Another lick, this time with more force, caressed her sex. His tongue dragged upwards, reaching her small, hidden clitoris. The tip of his tongue pressed firmly against the small nub, this time making her cry out in shocked pleasure. She gritted her teeth and groaned against the unwanted satisfaction, doing everything in her power to force her body's hunger down. A useless endeavor, since her body was hardwired to accept any and all pleasurable sensations, no matter their source.

Another twisting flick of his tongue made her twitch with unwanted arousal. She tried to pull away, pulling at her restrains again and trying to lift her body up, away from his mouth. Strong hands wrapped around her thighs, fingers digging into her flesh as he jerked her back down. His lips wrapped around her sensitive clit and sucked hard, startling her with a near painful burst of pleasure. Her knees buckled involuntarily and he caught her as she fell, controlling her descent so that she ended up back in her original, trapped position. He shifted his hands, slipping his palms under her ass to give himself more control over her movements. She could twitch and squirm against him, but nothing more.

His lips and tongue returned to their work, sucking and swirling over her clit, laving her labia, teasing the tight hole hidden further down. Despite her best attempts at controlling her reactions, her body began to warm to his assault. Her body and her mind warred over which should have total control of the situation, with her body slowly, steadily winning the fight; her stomach clenched in disgust, her clit hardened against his attentions. Miranda groaned again, a mix of pleasure, horror and despair. She couldn't deny it felt good; the man, for all his roughness and forcefulness, had one hell of a talented tongue.

What is this? None of the assault stories I've read about ever contained this kind of stuff.

He continued teasing her, alternating between stroking her labia and suckling her clit, drawing out soft whimpers from her throat. Disgusted as she was with herself for event thinking of enjoying such an act, her body seemed much more keen of satisfying its own needs than supporting her conscience. It'd been three long years since any man had rolled around in her bed, weeks since she'd had time to masturbate and relieve herself. This new source of pleasure, unwelcome as it may be, wasn't going to be turned down.

Miranda choked out a soft sob. She was lashed to the bed, unable to free herself as a complete stranger tormented her sex with his mouth. This was horrifying and confusing, enjoyable in the worst possible way. The more she tried to struggle, the tighter his grip became, the more he restricted her movements. Eventually, after several minutes of tugging at her restraints and squirming away from his tongue, exhaustion set in and her body caved. The muscles in her legs gave out, forcing her to sink even lower against his mouth. He took immediate advantage, lathing and teasing her sex with more power and accuracy. She could feel the smooth skin of his cheeks and chin against her thighs, the gentle heat of his breath against her skin, making her shiver against him.

She squirmed against him again, this time reacting to the pleasure than out of panic. She could feel her sex starting to moisten, small drops of her arousal beading around her labia, forcing another blush to her cheeks. It honestly felt good, wonderful actually, and the realization boggled her. She should be horrified, disgusted, traumatized. And yet here she was, actually enjoying this restraint, this assault. The thought made her stomach churn again, though her body quickly forced any lingering feelings of fear and repulsion away, instead making her focus on the pleasure below.

She felt him shift under her, tilting his head slightly to get a better angle. Instead of swirling his tongue around her clit, he scraped his teeth against it, gently, but with enough force to make her notice. She bucked against him and barked out a sharp cry, electrifying pleasure coursing though her. She closed here eyes and bit her lip, silently cursing him. He was finished toying with her. The last few moments were simply a test, poking and prodding to see how long it would take for her to crack. Now that she'd crumbled, he wanted a real reaction. He continued scraping his teeth against her hardened clit, drawing out one sharp cry after another. Her blood started to boil and her skin itched, her body hotter and more aroused than it had been in weeks.

He gave her one final nip against her clit and she shattered, climaxing hard against her will. Her back arched and her hands clenched, pulling the leather belt taut against her bed frame. Quick, sharp pulses of pleasure flowed through her, making her stomach clench and her insides flutter. As the waves of pleasure slowed, she relaxed, dropping her hands and pressing her forehead against the cool wood of her bed. She panted softly, overcome by the shock and pleasure of that orgasm. It shouldn't have happened, not here, not like this. But it did happen, and no matter how vehemently she tried denying it, it was something she'd enjoyed.

Her captor gave her one last slow, torturous lick against her clit before sliding out from under her, his hands releasing their firm grip on her ass. She remained kneeling on the floor, momentarily exhausted. A thin sheen of sweat coated her back and shoulders, shinning dully in the soft light of the lamp.

"What is this?" she whispered, swallowing sharply. "What are you doing?"

As usual, her assailant said nothing. Instead, she heard his heavy footsteps behind her, adjusting his position as he unzipped the fly of his pants. Her stomach clenched again. He wasn't done with her, not by a long shot. He'd given her pleasure, whether against her will or not, now he wanted something in return. A warm gloved hand cupped her shoulder, gently pulling her away from the bed. She dropped her chin, determined to be as defiant as possible. He might have pulled one over on her once, but the rest of his twisted fantasy was going to be much more difficult to satisfy.

Warm gloved fingers slid under her chin, coaxing her face upwards. She bit back a startled groan, settling for a disappointed frown instead. She'd been right, he was expecting payment for the pleasure he'd given her. Like the rest of his physical form, the cock in front of her face was impressively sized. Long, but not outrageously so, it was thick enough that her fingers would just barely encircle its girth. Dark veins criss-crossed over its surface, pulsing slightly with extra blood. The tip was stained a dark purple, contrasting with the fairer skin of the shaft. A small patch of dark hair rested at its base, thick and tightly curled.

Damn it.

Her frown deepened, her frustration and revulsion reaching a boiling. This man broke into her apartment, stripped her naked, tied her to a bed and gave her oral sex against her will. Now he had the audacity to demand repayment? He was either completely psychotic or had balls of steel.

Those warm fingers slipped up along her jaw and behind her ear, twisting into her hair and holding her steady. He stepped forward, the tip of his cock tickling her cheek. She could feel the smooth, warm slickness of rubber covering his skin. He'd had enough sense to put on a condom. Damn it, the man was armed to the teeth and more prepared than she'd expected.

Clamping her jaw shut, Miranda turned her face away from him, letting his cock brush against her cheek. She wasn't going to satisfy him, not after the shit he'd put her through. He'd broken into her apartment and scared the living fuck out of her. There was no way she'd gift him with anything.

He captor tried again, aiming his cock towards her mouth. She twisted her head, dodging his cock a second time, keeping her mouth clamped shut. They played this game of chasing and dodging several times, and she could feel his frustration building. His fingers tightened in her hair slightly, trying to hold her still. She refused to play along, and continued to avoid any contact with his penis beyond the occasional brush against her cheek.

He stilled suddenly, and pulled back, the warm heat of his cock leaving her cheek. His fingers remained twisted tightly in her hair and he crouched down in front of her, his eyes burrowing into hers. No longer soft and semi-friendly, his gaze was irritated, frustrated, angry. Dark brows knitted together above his eyes, making his annoyance all the more obvious. Caught under his menacing gaze, Miranda's stubborn resistance started to crack. His molten, steely orbs glared into her panicked emerald green. The longer he glared at her, the more frightened she became. There was a danger about those eyes, a threat that was far more convincing through his gaze than his word ever would be.

She swallowed and pulled back a bit, suddenly far less determined and willful than before. She knew he still had the knife clipped to his pants, knew he was skilled enough to know how to use it. The darkness in his eyes was more frightening than any other threat he could possibly conjure up, and the last bit of her resistance crumbled. She dropped her shoulders and chewed her lip nervously, heart pounding in her ears, waiting for him to move.

His brows rose a fraction and his eyes returned to their previously soft appearance, albeit with a certain sense of satisfaction added to them. He straightened again, his fingers loosening their tight grip on her hair. Miranda sighed heavily, pitifully resigned to her fate. Fear had overcome reason and stubbornness, forcing away any lingering hopes of fighting against him. He was calculated, practiced, painfully sure of himself. He was the silent predator, she was the timid prey. Their roles had been assigned by him long ago. Those eyes of his were equally terrifying; they could shift in a mater of heartbeats, changing from empathetic to remorseless with ease. The most frightening part of him was his silence. He never spoke, never made a single sound for or against her. It made him seem disconnected, inhuman.

His free hand slipped behind her head, twisting itself into her hair and held her still. He shifted his hips, placing his thick cock in front of her face again. Miranda whimpered softly, flinching back out of instinct. His forearms flexed as he stilled her movements, rendering her immobile. The tip of his cock bumped her lips, warm and firm. Miranda stilled, closing her eyes in rebellion. His cock bumped her mouth again, firmer this time, more insistent. Sighing softly, Miranda opened her eyes, swallowing through a tight throat. She dropped her shoulders an inch in defeat and opened her mouth, hesitating for just an instant before gliding her tongue out to lick the tip.

His cock twitched slightly at the contact, and his fingers tightened involuntarily in her hair. The latex condom was smooth and warm on her tongue, slightly bitter in taste. She pulled back a fraction of an inch, blushing furiously, before giving a second lick across the swollen tip. Internally, she knew she should be fighting for her life, screaming and kicking and making as much noise as possible to attract some kind of attention. But the thought of the knife, smooth and sharp in her captor's hands, kept her docile.

She gave another lick across the head of his cock before he moved, shifting his hips forward so the bulbous tip slipped past her lips. Her eyes widened, startled, at this new intrusion. He paused, holding himself still while his cock rested just inside her mouth. He was exceedingly warm against her tongue, thick enough to rest solidly on her tongue, but not so outrageously huge that his size would be uncomfortable. Miranda held herself completely still, not wanting to attract too much unwanted attention.

The thought of biting down did cross her mind. His cock, arguably the most sensitive and prized part of a man's anatomy, was inside her mouth, surrounded by rows of sharp, strong teeth. Instinctively, her jaw tightened a fraction, her teeth just barely scraping against the thin latex of the condom. If she did bite, he'd at least be in a considerable amount of pain, maybe even enough to turn the tables on their current positions. But, even if she did manage to inflict some damage by nipping his cock, the fact remained that she'd still be tied to the bed, unable to free herself. And when he recovered from her bite . . .

She felt the fingers of one hand untangle themselves from her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of his hands pull away from her face, reaching back towards his hips to rest on the handle of the knife. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the handle, the soft leather barely making a sound on the polished wood. Her heart rate rocketed for a moment and she swallowed sharply. No doubt he'd probably guessed what she'd been thinking, and he'd reached for his ever dependable weapon to reaffirm the threat.

I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare.

Reason overpowered stubbornness, and she relaxed her jaw again. The small bit of damage she could inflict with her teeth would be nothing compared to the scars he could make with that knife of his.

Satisfied with her new compliance, her captor re-twisted his fingers into her hair and shifted his hips forward, pushing his cock deeper into her mouth. He paused for a moment, allowing her to become comfortable with his size and weight before slowly pulling back. He continued in a slow rhythm, moving slowly yet forcefully in and out of her mouth. She'd half expected him to immediately deep-throat her and fuck her mouth with force, but that wasn't his way. He never pushed too far or too fast, instead keeping an easy, relaxed pace that was strangely, eerily comfortable. She held still while he slowly explored her mouth, barely daring to do more than breathe and blink.

Against her better judgment, she found herself starting to relax. The longer he moved in and out of her mouth, the more comfortable she became; her jaw loosened a bit, allowing him better access to her mouth. He must have noticed her new compliance, because his grip in her hair suddenly tightened. He bucked forward sharply, driving more of his cock into her mouth, not quite reaching her throat, but coming damn close. She whimpered at the new depth of his intrusion, her body now uncomfortable with his control. He held her still for a moment, savoring the feel of her warm mouth around the entire length of his cock, then pulled back and resumed the same languid pace he'd kept before.

What the fuck is this? Some kind of fuck-and-kill game?

It sure as hell felt like it. Her captor seemed perfectly content with fucking with her head before doing any real damage. Like a cat playing with a wounded mouse: killing her outright would destroy all the fun, so he'd kept her alive as some sort of giant psychological mind-fuck to get her nice and terrified before he cut her to pieces.

This is not how I want to die, tied up and fuck by some masked psycho. How the fuck am I supposed to get out of this if I cant-

A single, appalling, debilitating thought flickered through her mind. She was tied up and being fucked by some masked stranger, but she might still have a chance at getting out alive, grotesque as the thought may be. She couldn't move or fight or scream, but she might be able to play, on the off chance that he didn't intend to kill her. If sex is what he's after, then maybe giving him what he wants was her best shot at getting on his good side. Complacency might not be the most attractive option, but it just might score her enough points to crawl away unscathed.

She groaned softly and squeezed her eyes shut. The mere thought of voluntarily pleasuring this man was horrifying, but it was also the best chance she would get. Sighing internally, she forced her body to relax a bit more, waiting patiently for him to move into a better position.
He gave another deep push, forcing nearly all of his cock into her mouth. She took a quick, deep breath and steadied herself. She had to, she had to. As he pulled back, Miranda sucked in gently, creating enough friction that the thick head of his cock was caught just inside her lips. She ran her tongue over and around the tip, hearing him inhale sharply at the sensation. Her stomach fluttered a bit. He clearly enjoyed the attention she was giving his cock, so maybe her plan had a chance of working after all.

Before she could attempt to tease him more, her captor untangled his finger from her hair and stepped back, pulling his cock from her lips. Her mouth now empty, Miranda dropped her eyes to the floor, her heart racing. She hoped that her last act of playfulness might have tilted the scales in her favor, but this man was both skilled in his craft and highly intelligent. He might have already guessed what her little tease was really for, which would mean that all of her effort was for naught.

Please, please let this work.

She remained motionless for a while, staring at the floor, waiting for him to move. She could hear his labored breathing, slightly muffled by his mask, as he stood over her. Blood pounded in her ears, her heart beating so fast she was surprised it hadn't sputtered out and caved in on itself. Suddenly, he moved, taking a single step towards her until he was towering over her crouched frame. She swallowed sharply, staring at the smooth black leather of his boots.

She jumped at the feeling of his fingers in her hair, skimming down and brushing the side of her neck. Chewing her lip, she cautiously raised her head to look up at him. He stared down at her, his eyes a mix of satisfaction and intense thought. He stroked her hair and neck again, then gently patted her cheek with his leather-clad fingers. She could swear he was smiling behind that mask, satisfied with her obedience.

He stepped away, leaving her tied to the bedrail. She watched him as he made his way towards her small hall closet, pushing one of the sliding doors aside. He rummaged through the racks of blouses and pants, pushing hangers from one side to the other. Periodically, he would stop and examine a piece of her clothing, rubbing the fabric between his gloved fingers, inspecting it. Miranda watched him, stretching her neck to get a better view.

What the hell is he looking for?

Her captor spent another few seconds rummaging around in her closet before stepping back and sliding the door back into place. He turned, staring at her with those strange eyes. His hands hung down at his sides, one of them clenched around two thin long, strips of fabric. She recognized them as a pair of satin shirt ties that designers often pair with blouses when they're too lazy to actually make a belt. The man then strode towards her, stopping just in front of her face. He crouched down in front of her, his bright grey eyes level with hers. They were a mix of emotions: lustful, warm, curious. He reached out with his free hand and brushed his warm gloved fingers along her cheek. She flinched away instinctively, to which he responded with a soft bubble of mocking laughter.

He reached over the bedrail and untied his belt from the wood. Holding the end of the belt, he stood, pulling her up with him. She stumbled slightly, scrambling to regain her footing after being on her knees for so long. Before she could fully regain her equilibrium, she felt a sharp tug on her wrists that pulled her forward, then sideways towards the top of her bed. She felt a warm hand on her shoulder before being shoved forward onto her bed, crying out as she fell helplessly into the piles of blankets and pillows she slept in. An instant later she felt the bed dip beside her as her captor kneeled on her bedding. He reached upwards towards the headboard, looping his belt between the wooden slats and tying her to her bed once more. She looked up at the new knot and whimpered. These were much heavier and thicker than the wooden planks at the bottom of her bed; they'd be much harder to break free from if she tried to struggle.

Satisfied with his work, he pulled back and turned, grabbing hold of one of her ankles as he picked up one of the satin ties. He started winding the tie around her ankle, knotting it tightly before looping the loose end around the far end of the footboard.

"Hey! What the hell?" she barked, panic flaring anew in her belly. "No, let got of me. Let go!"

She kicked out at him, trying any means to free herself or at least put some distance between them. Once again, he managed to out-maneuver her. He caught her leg mid-kick with his free hand and pulled it against his side, tucking it under his arm. He continued tying her other leg to the foot board as she tried vainly to free herself from his grip. With her first leg secure. He picked up the second strip of fabric and grabbed her free ankle, knotting it and pulling her leg towards the opposite end of the bedrail.

"Stop it! Stop!" she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. "Please, what is this? What do you want?"

He finished his knot and stood up, walking around to the end of her bed to peer down at her. She was trussed up on her own bed, with her wrists secured at the top and her legs splayed at the bottom, leaving little room for her to move, let alone fight. She was fully, totally restrained. Miranda sobbed quietly to herself. She was trapped in her apartment with a silent, masked stranger, tied to her bed with no hope of escape. What in the hell had she down to deserve this?

The man moved again, walking towards the small wooden nightstand that she kept beside her bed. She turned her head and watched as he knelt down in front of the stand and pulled open the first drawer, sifting through the piles of novels and magazines she would read through at night. Disappointed, he closed the drawer and pulled the second one open, leafing through the array of skimpy nightgowns and chemises she slept in. Miranda kept watching him, chewing her lip nervously.

What's he looking f- oh no...

Her stomach tightened instantly. What else could he be looking for? Like any other normal person, all of her toys were kept in her nightstand for easy access. She whimpered softly, closing her eyes in horrified shame. This was far more than just a simple rob-rape-kill scheme. He truly intended to play with her, to torment her in the worst way possible. This man wasn't just practiced an intelligent, he was a sociopath.

As he closed the second drawer and reached for the handle of the third, Miranda whimpered involuntarily. His grey eyes flicked to her, seeming to immediately understand what she was so nervous about. Opening that drawer would give him all the ammunition he would need to break her into pieces. He continued to stare at her, his eyes almost unreadable, yet she could swear there was a hint of playfulness in them. Taking a single extra second to wink at her - surely an attempt to torment her further - he turned back to the nightstand and pulled the last drawer open.

Much as she enjoyed pleasure, Miranda was by no means a nymphomaniac. Shed kept a handful of vibrators and toys in that last drawer, but certainly nothing that would shock anyone. Nothing fancy, nothing extreme, just the basics that worked for her. The only 'oddity' in that drawer was a small pair of glass ben-wa balls that she used periodically when cleaning to make her chores more enjoyable. Her captor reached up and flicked on the small bedside lamp on top of the dresser and peered down into the drawer. He rested his elbows on his thighs and stared at her small collection of toys intensely, as if calculating the pros and cons of each device.

He reached into the drawer and ran his fingers over the grooves and polishes, inspecting the feel of each one. His hand stopped over the smooth surface of one of her small bullet vibrators. He picked up the tiny instrument, rubbing his gloved fingers over its flawless surface. Miranda watched him silently, her heart pounding in her ears, her stomach now tied into several different knots. Seemingly satisfied with his selection, he gently wrapped the cord and controller of the vibrator around the palm of his hand and stood up, turning his attention back to her. She swallowed sharply, the pit in her stomach deepening.

He stepped forward to the edge of her bed, staring down at her with those strange grey eyes of his. Still watching her, he settled down beside her on the bed. He reached out and gently ran his fingers along her taut stomach, tracing the lines and curves of her form. Instinctively, she tugged at her restraints, desperate to free herself despite knowing the foolishness of it. Even knowing that she should hate every second of this encounter, her body reacted to his touch. The window was still open and the air around them was still cold, so his warm fingers were a welcome feeling against her chilled skin.

He continued his soft strokes along her skin, moving downward towards her sex. Again, she pulled against her restraints, trying to close her legs against his approach, but the carved oak slats were stronger than her willpower. He teased the sensitive skin of her hips and inner thighs, giving her quick, gentle brushes of his fingers that tickled her flesh. He slipped his finger along the length of her slit, the leather sliding easily between her lips. That finger circled her clit twice, alternating between a gentle pressure and a firmer touch. She whimpered and closed her eyes, refusing to look at him. This was torture, pure and simple. Sadistic, horrific torture.

He pulled his finger away, drawing out another whimper. Throughout all the fear and anger and disgust that her mind was sorting through, he'd managed to set her body alight. The basic, animalistic part of her being immediately recognized pleasure and locked onto it, not caring where it came from or why. The reptilian part of her brain wanted whatever gifts he had to offer, no matter how much he logical part of her mind screamed.

He shifted on the bed, angling his body for a better reach and a better view. He unwound the cord of the vibrator from his hand and placed the small metal bullet in his palm. With his free hand, he inspected the remote, turning the control dial this way and that, watching how the vibrator shook accordingly. He practiced this for a moment or two, getting a feel for how the device worked before turning it off completely. Reaching down, he placed the warmed metal between her thighs, working it in and around her sex. She moaned gently, ashamedly enjoying the sensation of smooth surface against her body, then squealed when it brushed against her clit. His hand froze, trapping the vibrator against her clit. He turned his head to look at her, his eyes locking with hers. They were determined, lustful, satisfied.

"Please...please don't," she pleaded. "Please."

His eyes never left hers as he rolled his thumb along the dial of the controller, pushing it just enough to make the smooth metal quiver against her ever so gently. She inhaled sharply as she back arched, her toes curling at the feeling. Sharp sparks of pleasure radiated outward from her clit, working their way into her belly. He let the vibrator run for a few seconds before turning it off, watching as she relaxed and fell back onto her bed, panting. She managed a few quick breaths before he turned it on again, her body tensing again as more pleasurable sparks swam through her blood. He turned the dial again, watching as she yelped and pulled against her restraints, before turning it off to let her relax. She sobbed quietly, torn between the pleasure between her thighs and the disgust at feeling it. He let her breathe for a moment before turning the dial again. Her captor didn't turn it off this time, instead alternating between a soft, gentle tickling and an intense stimulation of her nerves. The sensations never stopped, only lessened periodically, before intensifying again as he toyed with her.

Much as her mind hated her current situation, her body loved it. Her skin was flushed, and a thin sheen of sweat coated her breasts and stomach. Her toes would curl and relax in time with his torture, and she chewed her lip as she struggled to hold back her pleasured groans. Finally, the vibrations ceased and she laid back, breathless ands exhausted. Her body was so tightly strung, so intensely aroused that even the tiniest brash against her clit would send her flying. Panting, she opened her eyes and look up at him, her mind in shambles and her skin of fire.

He returned her stunned, helpless gaze with one of determined playfulness. She could swear he was grinning at her under his mask, savoring every moment of her delicious torture. She inhaled sharply, pleading to him with her eyes, begging him to stop. He raised his hand, holding up the small controller, flaunting it. The rolled his thumb over the dial teasingly, threatening her with what was most certainly a painful amount of pleasure.

She whimpered again, shaking her head as she stared at him. "No. Please, no, no, no. Please don't."

His eyes never left hers as he turned the dial one last time. The vibrator rubbed against her clit, sending a fresh batch of sparks racing up her spine. The torment only lasted a few seconds before her body broke, her orgasm as quick as it was powerful. Her toes curled and her stomach tensed as she bit her lip, throwing her head back with a muffled yell. Her hands twisted blindly against her restraints, grabbing hold of his leather belt for grounding. The vibrations ceased and she collapsed into the bed, sobbing silently to herself, the muscles of her stomach and thighs twitching involuntarily. Her captor pulled his hand away, removing the vibrator from her clit. He stood and turned away from her, dropping the small metal device along with the controller on the nightstand. He walked around the bed and headed towards the small kitchen, leaving her a panting, exhausted mess on top of her blankets.

Miranda closed her eyes and sunk into the bedding, breathless and exhausted. Her mind whirled, trying to make sense of his thoughts, actions plans. He'd broken into her apartment, threatened her at knifepoint, stripped her, forced a blowjob from her, and made her orgasm twice. What was this? What in the holy fuck was this?

Keeping her eyes closed, she could hear him moving around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, searching for something. She heard the door to the fridge being opened, the sharp clink of ice against glass, the low hum of the faucet being turned on.

She furrowed her brow. Now what?

The faucet turned off, and she heard his heavy footsteps grow louder as he made his way back to the bed. He stopped at the edge of the bed, and Miranda felt the mattress dip again as he took a seat beside her. Taking a sharp breath, she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. He sat beside her, peering down into her questioning eyes, a small glass of ice water in his hands. Her eyes flicked from his masked face to the glass and back again, confused, startled, utterly baffled. All the threats, all the fear, all the unwanted attention, and now he was offering her a drink? What the hell was with this guy?

He lifted the glass towards her a bit, offering it to her. Swallowing sharply, she nodded. He scooted a bit closer to her, leaning forward and reaching his arm around her neck. His warm hand slid under her head and gently lifter her off the pillow, tilting her up a bit so she had a better view. He raised the glass to her lips and tipped it, letting her take a few careful sips before pulling back slightly. She drank greedily, the cool water wonderfully relieving on her parched throat. He tiled the glass towards her again, offering a second sip, to which she readily agreed. He tipped the glass a bit further, letting her take another few sips before pulling it away. He gently laid her head back down on the pillow, then pulled his hand back.

Through hazy eyes, Miranda watched as he set the glass on the floor and stood, walking around towards the end of her bed. He carefully untied her ankles from the bedrail, tossing the thin satin ribbons aside. Her body was so rattled by her climax, so exhausted from all of his toying and teasing, that even her newfound freedom couldn't prompt her to fight back against him. It donned on her that this was his plan all along, to leave her so hopelessly drained that she wouldn't have the strength needed to lash out again. Smart bastard.

Walking back around to the side of her bed, he reached down and gently gripped her hips and turned her, rolling her over onto her stomach. Tied, exhausted, and still completely baffled, she let him maneuver her without any fuss or fighting. Instead, she pressed her face into the pillow, enjoying the cool fabric pressing against her cheek. She felt the mattress dip again as he crawled onto the bed, positioning himself behind her. His warm hands slipped under her hips and lifted her body off the bed, pushing her forward slightly so her knees were bent under her. The bed shifted again as he moved closer, kneeling behind her with his hands on her hips, holding her still.

Miranda moaned softly into her pillow. She knew what was coming and silently prayed this would be the end of her torment. It felt like hours had passed since she'd first encountered him, held against his chest at knifepoint and stripped for his pleasure. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. If this was then end of his torture, then he could have it.

His thumbs rubbed tiny circles into the small of her back, making her squirm in his hands. He leaned his body forward, pressing his hips against her ass and his cock against her inner thigh. She whimpered softly, but never struggled. He reached down to grip his cock in his hand, guiding it to the entrance of her sex. The thick head pressed firmly against her labia, pausing for an instant to tease her with its presence before pressing into her. She inhaled sharply at the feeling; it had been a painfully long time since she'd had sex with a man, and her body had to readjust to the sensation of being filled by another person.

His cock felt different inside her pussy to how it felt in her mouth. Somehow, he felt thicker, heavier, more imposing. It wasn't at all unpleasant, but those years of unintended celibacy meant that she felt just a tad uncomfortable as he forced his way in. Finally, after endless seconds, his hips brushed against her ass. The extra weight of his cock made her insides feel heavy, and she inhaled sharply as her body slowly adjusted to his size. She felt one of his hands slide from her hip towards her back, pressing his warm palm into her skin as he rubbed the length of her spine, soothing her.

Slowly, her body relaxed around him and she sighed again. His warm hand cupped her hip again as he gradually started to pull back. He pushed forward again, driving into her, drawing out a soft moan. He pulled back again, pushed forward again, maintaining a slow, steady pace that warmed her blood. Miranda buried her face into her pillow, muffling her groans. She didn't want to enjoy this, but like every other move he made, he toyed with her just enough to coax her into playing along. The more he moved, the more her skin started to tingle, a welcome sensation against the cold breeze.

He lifted her hips and inch higher, pressing his cock down into the front of her pussy. Somehow, he managed to aim his body just right and brushed against that tiny, explosive little spot she loved. She yelped sharply and bucked against him, a new series of sparks radiating into her belly. He tightened his grip on her hips to hold her in place, but still maintained his slow, determined pace. Just like with the vibrator, once he'd found her sweet spot, he'd shifted her into the exact position that would allow him to play with her the most. With every push and pull, the tip of his cock would brush against the front wall of her pussy, making her twitch and moan. His aim was near perfect, his speed was measured; toying with her until the very end.
One of his hands slid from her hip, reaching down between her thighs to brush against her sex. One leather-clad finger slowly circled her clit, making her whimper and twitch against him. Another shower of sparks spilled into her belly, her blood boiling under her skin. Damn him, no matter how hard she tried to block him out and numb herself to the situation, he was determined to make her enjoy it.

He picked up his pace just a little, drawing a soft moan from her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her stomach tightening of its own accord. With him pressing against that terribly sensitive spot and teasing her clit, her climax was building faster than usual. From how he'd teased her breasts to how he angled her hips, her captor seemed like much more than just an experienced burglar; he was highly educated with a woman's body, knowing exactly how to push and pull nerves to get what he wanted. In the entire scheme of things, he was basically the perfect man: smart, well prepared, patient, experienced, and knowledgeable of how a woman's body worked. Had he chosen a different profession, the man could be a millionaire within a few months.

He kept his pace steady, taking his time to tease and torment her with every stroke of his cock and swirl of his fingers. She bit her lip as a bolt of lightening raced up her spine, her cheeks flushed from the effort. Another well-timed press of his finger made her squeal and buck against his hand, seeking more attention. Her body had dissolved into pure, animalistic craving, wanting nothing more than the pleasure he was offering. She pressed her ass against his hips, trying to drive him deeper, to press her body harder against him. She needed to climax, not caring how it came or who it came from.

Torturous as his methods were, he was kind enough to give her what she wanted. He pulled back, nearly drawing his entire length out of her, then shoved his cock back in, this time with much more force and speed. He stopped circling her clit with his finger and pressed down hard onto the sensitive nub, exploiting the crack in the dam. She stiffened, her back arching and her toes curling in as her climax roared through her, a wave of liquid fire exploding under her skin. Her insides tightened around him, holding his cock in place as she erupted. She buried her face in her pillow and closed her eyes, bracing herself against her body's implosion.

The wave of pleasure rolled over every inch of her skin before slowly dissipating into nothingness. Panting, Miranda went limp, sinking into the plush piles of blankets as her body came down from its high. She could still feel him behind her, bucking against her a few more times before his own climax hit. She heard his muffled groan, felt his fingers digging into to her hip as he drove into her as deep as he could. She felt his cock twitching inside of her, gently rubbing against her in a final attempt at finding pleasure. She heard him panting, felt his hand pressing against her back to brace himself, now exhausted from his own efforts.

Seconds later he pulled away from her, his cock slipping from her warmed pussy. She whimpered softly, her body feeling suddenly empty and unloved. He lowered her hips to the bed, letting her melt into the bedding. She closed her eyes, her body aching. She felt the bed dip slightly as he dismounted, heard his heavy footsteps as he made his way towards the top of her bed. His warm fingers gently gripped her wrists, holding them still as he unwound his leather belt from her bed and hands. He released her wrists and began dressing himself, letting her pull her arms in over her chest.

Free from her captor's restraints, Miranda drew her knees to her chest, curling into herself to avoid any further harm. Her brow knitted slightly, frustration, disgust and confusion swirling in her head. She'd come home after a shitty day at work to be threatened, teased and fucked by a silent, masked stranger who'd broken into her home. This is what most people would categorize as a fucked-up day. She felt warm fingers caressing her shoulders and back, and she instinctively stiffened against his touch.

Oh no. Now what?

Instead of drawing her towards him, those fingers gently rolled her towards one side of her bed. Miranda relaxed a bit, relieved to free of his touch for a moment. She heard the soft rustling of blankets, felt the tiny brush of soft cotton against her back. Her captor moved again, his heavy footsteps walking from one side of the bed to the other. She felt his warm hands again, this time sliding under her body, bracing her knees and shoulders and lifting her upwards. He pulled her against his frame, her cheek pressing into the thick fabric of his sweater. He carried her around to the opposite side of her bed, leaning forward and gently placing her onto the warm, soft sheets. He reached over and pulled the thick pile of blankets around her body, taking his time to tuck her in.

Exhausted and oddly satisfied, Miranda never resisted. Instead, she let out a soft bubble of laughter at the strangeness of the situation. He was tucking her in. After all the shit he'd put her through, he was actually tucking her in. This man was a bundle of paradoxes: demanding, yet kind, threatening, yet gentle. Psychopath or caretaker, she couldn't decide.

Warm fingers brushed her hair, trailing down her neck and tracing the curves of her body through the blankets. Never any demanding touches, only calming caresses. She purred softly, settling into her bedding as he stroked her. She didn't fear him anymore; after of his manipulations and threats, he'd tucked her into bed. He'd never intended to kill her, only to fuck her into submission. The results were astonishing, though his methods could use some work. In the end, though, he was gentle.

A kind rapist. What an oxymoron that is.

He gave her a few soft taps on her ass, then stepped back from the bed. With her eyes still closed, Miranda heard him pick up the glass from the floor and walk back to the kitchen, placing the glass in the sink. He stepped out of the kitchen and made his way around the bed and towards the window he'd entered from. She heard a soft shuffling, then the latch of her window clicking into place. The room was deathly silent, the cold breeze that had previously seeped into the room now gone. Dazed, confused, and improbably satisfied, Miranda settled into her bed, losing herself in the warmth of the blankets and the softness of her pillows.

What the hell? What the holy, fucking hell?

Exhaustion finally consumed her, shutting her mind off and drawing into sleep.

* * *

Two Months Later

The thin handles of the plastic grocery bags were starting to dig into her palms, making her wince in discomfort. She grunted as she hauled the four heavily loaded bag us the stairwell, cursing her stubbornness. Like any other normal person, she'd much rather die than take a second trip to carry her bags into her apartment, and that stubbornness was now biting her in the ass. Passing the foyer, she struggled to wave at the front desk workers, who smiled back and waved, welcoming her home.

Reaching the third floor landing, Miranda juggled the bags out of the way as she fished for her keys in her purse. She pulled out her keys just as she reached her door, twisting herself into a bizarre yoga pose to reach the lock. She kicked open the door and squeezed inside, using the heel of her foot the push it closed. Making her way into the kitchen, she dropped the bags onto the small linoleum counters and sighed, rubbing her hands together to sooth the ache in the palms.

"I'll put those away later."

Much later. She'd managed to be given the day off from work, but while she didn't have to spend hours combing through investor records, she did spend the entire day running errands. Her feet ached and her legs were sore from the miles of walking she'd done, which meant a well-deserved bath was in order. She left the kitchen and headed back towards the main hallway of her apartment, relocking her door as she kicked off her well-loved Chuck Taylors. Rolling her neck to relieve some of the kinks, she pulled her thin grey tank top over her head and balled it up in her hands, tossing it onto her bed. She unbuttoned her jeans and kicked them off, leaving them in a pile on the floor. She turned towards the bathroom, visions of soothing heat and soft music flitting through her head.

A soft, cool gust of air rushed past her, raising goosebumps on her arms. She shivered slightly, rubbing her arms to shield them from the sudden chill.

"Jesus, it's cold in here. I could have sworn I turned on the heater-"

The window.

Her hear nearly stopped. She swallowed sharply, drawing in a shaky breath. He body froze in place, a shiver of fear racing down her spine. The sound of heavy footsteps moving behind her made her jump, her stomach tying itself into knots. They stopped a few feet behind her, signaling the arrival of another person. Dear sweet God, he was back.

How? How?! I changed the lock on that window!

Apparently, new locks and a better security system didn't bother him one bit. He was too talented, too experienced to worry about such trivial things. He'd found his way past the new security guards and busted the new lock on her window, crawling in and waiting for her just as he had done months earlier. His execution was the same, though he'd been smart enough to adapt to a new standard of obstacles. Despite his imposing appearance and frightening methods, this man was truly a wonder.

Miranda sighed. She'd dealt with this once before and knew well enough that fighting would get her nowhere. His body was too strong, his reflexes too fast that he would block every offensive move she might make. And if he was still operating with that same system, that mean he still had his knife. No matter how scared or brave she was, that blade was too much of a threat to take on.

Compliance got me a reprieve last time. Dear God, I hope this works.

She never turned to look at him, instead choosing to stare at the hardwood plans under her feet. Reaching back, she fumbled for the clasp of her bra, her hands shaking out of nervousness. Her fingers slipped from the plastic hooks a few times before finally working them apart. She slowly pulled the lacy fabric away from her skin and dropped it to the floor, the cold rush of air making her nipples tighten and goosebumps rise on her skin.

The footsteps moved again, growing louder as he came closer to her, stopping just inches behind her. Miranda continued to stare at the floor, her heart racing, waiting for his knife, his hands, anything. A pointed tip of cold metal, thin and sharp, gently pressed against the small of her back, making her jump. It dragged gently up the length of her spine before lifting off her skin. She shivered slightly, a mix of fear and cold. As much as she knew his intent from the last time they'd met - fucking her until she collapsed - that knife still scared the shit out of her.

She heard him take another step towards her, felt the warm fabric of his sweater pressing against her shoulder blades. He was just as tall and muscular as she'd remembered, His body still towering over her slight frame. A warm hand, clad in the same black leather gloves he'd worn last time, reached around and cupper her breast, squeezing and rolling her nipple between his fingers.

Damn it. He remembered everything.

Sheathing his knife, the intruder reached around and cupped her other breast, warming her chilled flesh in his palms. Miranda closed her eyes, purring involuntarily. Just like the last time, he knew exactly what moves to make to render her mind useless. Sighing softly, she relaxed a bit, sinking back against the strong wall of muscle behind her. She felt his body arch a bit as he leaned forward, drawing her closer into his frame. The soft fabric of his mask brushed against her neck, warm breath spilling over her skin. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back and he nuzzled her neck. Her compliance had worked in her favor; instead of acting like a deadly predator chasing his prey, he treated her like a lover, using softer touches and fewer threats.

One of his hands slipped away from her breast, causing her to whimper softly. His warm leather-clad fingers skimmed down her taut stomach to her lace panties, slipping under the waistband and pulling them downwards. He worked them down to her knees, pulling his fingers away and resting his palm on her hip as she kicked them away. Satisfied with her nakedness, his hand moved between their bodies, reaching down to caress one firm, sloth ass cheek. He massaged it gently, drawing out another contented purr from her throat. The hand on her breast continued to tease and torment her nipple, slowly but surely breaking down the last of her resistance.

He moved his hands from her ass, sliding it over the smooth skin of her hip and down between her thighs. Miranda inhaled sharply as his fingers slipped through her legs, gently rubbing the lips of her pussy. One finger moved higher and circled her clit, making her shiver against his body. He was still gentle, still patient, still taking his time with her. His fingers lingered there for a moment, sensuously rubbing and teasing her sex. She chewed her lip as he worked her, savoring every pull and twist of his expert hands.

Without warning he pulled away from her, his warm hands leaving her breast and sex. She whimpered softly, strangely missing the warmth of his gloved fingers. She felt him move behind her, crouching slightly as he slipped one arm around her shoulders and another under her knees. He straightened, lifting her off the ground and holding her against his body.

"Whoa! Hey, easy!"

Before she could complain further, he started towards the bed. Miranda look up at her captor, his face still obscured by a dark mask. His eyes were the same soft, warm grey she remembered, only now they were determined instead of annoyed. Stopping at the edge of her bed, he leaned down and lowered her onto her soft bedding. Stepping back, he knelt down in front of her nightstand and pulled the handle of the third drawer, exposing her small collection of sex toys.

Miranda lay on her side, watching him. It was strange how comfortable she felt around him now. She didn't know him, yet she felt oddly at ease lying naked on her bed, watching as he sifted through her toys. Most women would have tried to make a break for it by now, taking any chance they could get to escape the same mane who'd assaulted them once before. But somehow, she felt she knew better. His intrusions were never about anger or power or violence. They were more sex-centered, focused on playing with her rather that scaring her.

What a strange man...

Her captor pulled out a small selection of her toys, a small vibrator and two silicone dildos. Clearly, he meant to explore much more than he had last time. He pushed the drawer closed and sat down next to her on the bed, his bright, youthful eyes both excited yet cautious. His warm gloved fingers reached out and traced the curve of her ass, rubbing his heated palm slowly across her smooth skin. Miranda stifled a purr, trying not to tip her hand too much. Yes, she enjoyed his touch, but she wasn't going to let him win that easily.

She chewed her lip nervously as she looked up at him. "Hey."

His eyes flicked to her, unemotional, yet curious.

She smiled softly. "Do you mind if we skip the belt thing? It scares me."

His eyes softened, and she could swear his was smiling at her underneath his mask. His hand drifted up from her ass, tracing every curve and dip of her figure. His fingers drew up her neck to her jaw line, cupping under her chin. His thumb stroked her lower lip, slipping between her lips and pressing gently against her warm tongue.

Miranda gave a tiny laugh and nodded, pulling away from his fingers. "Alright, alright. Take your pants off."

His grey eyes shined as he stood up from the bed, unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper from his pants. His cock sprung forward, just as proud and impressive as she'd remembered. A thin sheen of latex covered its length.

Always prepared.

Miranda pushed herself up onto her knees, kneeling in front of him on the bed. She reached out and gently stroked his cock with her fingers, watching it twitch at the contact. She smiled and rolled her eyes, shifting so that she was comfortable. Her captor reached forward, twisting his fingers into her hair and pulling her an inch closer. She rubbed the underside of his cock with her thumb, tilting her head up to look at him.

"Hey, gentle with me this time, okay? That belt of yours left some pretty weird bruises for me to explain."

His eyes smiled at her as he stroked her hair, a signal of his own compliance. She smiled again and leaned forward, licking the tip of his cock playfully. How she'd managed to twist her fear into playfulness was still baffling, but nothing she'd ever try to undo. Imposing and startling as his methods were, at least he set clear rules and played fair. This wasn't about pain of fear or power, it was about sex, albeit a different mentality towards it. This was fear mixed with pleasure, power mixed with playfulness. It wasn't just one or the other, it was everything at once. Something unorthodox, yet enjoyable.

If she played her part, they'd both enjoy it. And she was determined to enjoy it.

intrusion  

Oct 10, 2018 in blowjob

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