Homecoming

She unlocked the door and threw it open. "Mommy, daddy, I'm home," she called as she had a thousand times before. Getting off the bus as a fifth grader and all through the rest of elementary school. They'd lived here in this idyllic and isolated home even through her college years. But she hadn't been home in a long time. Now her joyful cry of 'I'm home' was met with silence.

"Hi, hon. You have a good day at school?" wasn't the response. Only silence and a slight echo greeted her. She started to cross the threshold, but she found she could not enter. The realization that neither 'mommy' nor 'daddy' would ever respond again evoked a long suppressed sob.

She didn't enter, but turned and sat on the porch swing sobbing. Finally her emotions ebbed, the sobbing slowed, and she was able to control and quench it altogether. She rose and turned back to the house. Quietly she extracted the key from the lock and put it back in her purse.

The key was no longer on a chain around her neck. It hadn't been used in years. She'd been back to visit, but she hadn't needed a key to enter. She had always been met at the door. First, both parents greeted her. Then she returned to bury her father and only her mother greeted her.

Then the even more wrenching experience of having to return to bury her mother. She had left the house and her hometown feeling like an orphan. She hadn't been able to sell the house. How could she sell the place of so many memories. It had to wait. Even now she wasn't really ready, but she'd come back to see if perhaps she could do it. Entering the house, stepping into the foyer, she was still uncertain.

The ambient odors were those of a house long closed. Stuffy with some old food, perhaps a trace of her mother's perfume and her father's pipe could be teased from the odors that greeted her. Quickly she set about opening windows. She planned to stay for a few days so she was anxious to let the less pleasant odors go their way. Maybe some of the more pleasant ones would remain.

The house creaked even under her small frame. Two windows in the living room, two in the kitchen, then the back door. Things didn't look too bad. The floors needed dusting as did the furniture and various counters and shelves. She'd get to that soon.

Head down, not wanting to take in the full vista of the house, she returned to the foyer to leave the front door open.

"Oh, my god," she screamed as the sight of dirty, ragged boots suddenly became part of this vista. Snapping her head up she saw him. Knife raised ready to strike, terrifying with his long, unwashed hair and craggy face.

She continued screaming until with panic overwhelming her, she fainted.

Chapter Two

She awoke in minutes, but by that time he had bound her hands with cords cut from window blinds. It may have been that which brought her around for the thin cords were cutting into her wrists painfully. Her fingers were cold and numbing.

He was standing over where she lay on the foyer floor looking down at her with a malevolent smile. She tried to skitter away pushing with her heels.

Barely moving in response, he stamped hard on one ankle. She shrieked and stopped moving.

"Who are you? What are you going to do to me," she screamed in panic. For a time, until he quieted her with a fierce, "Shut up!", she babbled, tears flowing.

She stared mutely at him. Her chin quivered out of control. Tears pooled on the floor on either side of her head. She began to shake all over.

He knelt on one knee at her side. She could smell his bad breath even from this distance. He hissed at her, "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

Confused she said, "This is my house." Then clearer thinking returning, she continued. "Maybe I've got the wrong house. Just let me up and I'll leave."

"To late," he hissed. He was leering at her. Terror returned as she read his thoughts. "What's your name," he asked demandingly.

"Leslie," she replied stammering a little.

"That could be either a boy's name or a girl's name." he replied. "Which are you?" He smirked as he asked. He reached for her, his hand seeking her breasts.

She twisted away. "Please don't," she managed even as his big hand clamped down on her breast. A button popped off flying up and clattering down on the wood floor as the opposing forces tore her blouse.

The blouse, with it's V neck already had one button open. Loss of the second exposed her bra. His nails had put two parallel scratches on her breast. They brightened into red streaks. Again she struggled, now to cover herself. He made no move to stop her, only chuckled, a low malevolent laugh.

She pulled the blouse over her breasts clutching it together tightly with her bound hands.

He began to stand. "Wait," she pleaded. "Look at my hands, feel my fingers, these cords are too tight. Please loosen them."

She released her blouse and held her hands out. She recoiled slightly as he took her hands in his, not just feeling the tips of her fingers, but holding her hands in his, his filthy hands with their long, ragged, dirty fingernails cradling her soft manicured hands.

He leaned closer. His breath sickened her. She turned her head away.

She started as he raised the knife which had been on the floor. He cut the cords. Feeling flooded back into her hands as he rubbed them solicitously. They tingled almost painfully. As he rubbed them he said, "If you plan to be a good little girl, if you are a girl, I won't tie them again. You just have to do as you're told." Remembering the pain in her fingers, she nodded in defeat.

"OK," he said standing. He reached down to her with one filthy hand. "Take it," he insisted. She grasped it in revulsion and allowed him to help her stand. Once on her feet she looked at him expectantly and in defeat.

He smiled that malevolent smile again. "First things first," he said. "We need to decide if you're a girl or a boy." He grinned. She shuddered. He said nothing further, but continued to look at her.

Minutes passed in silence. Finally, unable to bear the quiet and suspense, she said, "Don't I just look like a girl?"

"Some boys can make themselves look just like a girl," he rejoined.

"What do you want," she asked, but was afraid she knew the answer.

He said nothing, just looked at her. He looked into her eyes. He looked at her face. His eyes traveled slowly down her neck and hesitated on her chest. Further down his eyes found her waist, her hips, her crotch, then finished near the floor before returning, retracing their earlier path.

Pursing her lips as the tears began again, she opened her blouse. It was a slow affair totally devoid of the sexual movements of a stripper. She stood quite still as she opened the remaining three buttons and pulled the blouse from her jeans. She let it hang open slightly, just enough to show her bra.

While not constructed as a sexy or revealing bra, it clearly showed the lines and curves of her breasts, though her blouse still covered much of them.

"Is that what you wanted," she asked hesitantly knowing with virtual certainly that it was not enough.

He said nothing. He stared at her chest then looked into her eyes. It was not enough.

Heart pounding she pulled her blouse open revealing more of her breasts, though they were still covered within her bra. Still he said nothing, clearly waiting.

Tears dripped onto her chest. She tried to move her hands to her back to find the catch, but they were leaden and wouldn't move. They were numb again. He waited.

With a deep breath she forced her hands to her back and the bra catch. She bent her head to avoid his leering eyes as she yielded. The tears fell to the wood floor of the foyer. They made dusty circles where they landed.

She released the catch. The bra lurched forward but did not leave her uncovered. Without raising her head she pulled the bra up sufficiently to reveal herself to him. How long would she have to expose herself like this? Would he say, "OK, put it back on now?"

He said nothing, but his second-hand trousers clearly presented his reaction. Fear coursed through her as, head bent, she stared directly at the evidence of his hardening cock.

He reached his hand out. Oh, god, she thought realizing that she would not be permitted to cover herself.

She struggled out of her bra pulling the straps down inside her blouse and over her hands leaving her blouse in place while she reluctantly handed him her bra. She kept her head bent as she handed over the bra. Though she did not look at his face, her eyes involuntarily were riveted on his swelling cock.

She saw the hand take the bra and toss it aside like the wrapper of a candy bar. The hand was back immediately demanding more. A knot in the pit of her stomach was her response to knowing that she would have no cover for her breasts now.

Another deep breath and she unbuttoned the cuffs of the blouse and removed it from her shoulders, her arms, leaving her chest naked to his leering eyes. He took the blouse she proffered and cast it, too, quickly aside.

The hand returned outstretched again. He took a shuffle step toward her and began to fondle her nipples. She heard an audible gasp. It must have come from her. He lightly pinched and pulled on her nipples for a few more moments before taking a half step back and holding out his hand again.

What more could he want, she asked herself. The answer came in growing horror at her realization of what he wanted next. There was one more thing that would actually prove she was not a boy, not that that actually mattered. He knew she was a girl and he knew what more he wanted of her once she had provided this last proof.

Should she run? The door was on her left, but closed. If she got out, what then. He would be following her. He was fully twice her size.

If she provided the final proof, and he used her as he surely would, would he let her survive? What choices did she have?

The fingers twitched. He wanted her jeans.

"Please," she murmured. Their was no response but the twitching fingers. She raised her head to look at him. He was looking at her naked breasts and her crotch.

What would it be like? How big was he? Would he hurt her? Would he kill her afterward?

How would he kill her? Would he take the knife and kill her with one quick stab through the heart or would he torture her? She'd heard of rapists that hated women and brutally mutilated them after using them. She'd heard of women with their nipples severed from their breasts, even breasts cut off. Would he kill her first so she wouldn't know the pain?

Would he mutilate her genitals? What would he do to her?

The tears which had slowed started again in earnest making puddles on the floor.

"Please don't hurt me," she pleaded again. The response was the same.

"Would you just use," revulsion swelled in her stomach, "my mouth?" She didn't dare look at him. "Would you like me to," she made a stroking motion with her hands. The fingers twitched.

Without hope she opened the button on her jeans. She slowly ran the zipper down to its base. Her bikini panties showed now.

Slowly she slid her feet from her sandals and stood barefoot. She carefully began lowering her jeans. She didn't want her panties to come off with her jeans just in case there was any hope at all. She gulped suddenly realizing that she was gyrating her hips as she usually did to get her tight jeans off. She looked up at him in horror. He was leering at her crotch.

Her panties slid enough to reveal the little bit of pubic hair she retained just above her entryway. Her boyfriend liked it, he said.

She stopped and pulled her panties back into place. He said nothing, but his fingers twitched again.

Her tight jeans required some balancing on one foot as she fought to get the leg off the other. She lost her balance and was forced to bounce on one foot. Her breasts gyrated in several directions as she performed this dance. He grunted his appreciation. She redoubled her efforts to pull her jeans off as her breasts danced for his pleasure.

Finally she was able to hand them to him. She stood naked but for her panties, a pair of blue bikini-cut panties. They were not especially sheer, but she knew she was visible through them. Her boyfriend liked that as well. She would also be sporting a camel toe as the tight material forced itself in between her lips. Was this more obscene than being naked?

She removed them and offered them in utter defeat to the demanding hand.

"Well," he said, a rush of air punctuating the word. "You certainly are a girl, and a lovely one at that. Hold yourself open for me so I can get a finger inside."

In despair she complied pulling the lips of her pussy apart, offering herself to his invading finger.

She displayed herself obscenely and he made no move. He was leering again.

Finally, the knife came to her chin. She let go her pussy and stepped backward.

"Hold yourself open," he hissed, the knife point at her larynx. She returned her hands and held herself open staring straight at the hand holding the knife. She held her breath as his finger slowly made its way inside her. He pushed suddenly. She gasped again. The knife point bit. She gasped again.

"Hold still," he hissed again, "or you could hurt yourself."

She resolved not to move as he explored the length of her passageway. He worked his finger in and out, this way and that. His thumb found her clit. He circled it as though to excite her.

She didn't know how to react so she did nothing but held as still as she could. His fingers hurt, but she did nothing.

He pulled his finger out and looked at it. "You're tight and not even wet," he commented. "You'll have to get me pretty wet or it will never go in."

She said nothing. The point of the knife was scratching at her throat.

"Get on your knees," he said suddenly. Immediately she complied. "Take my pants off."

She worked the various buttons and his fly until his pants dropped unceremoniously to the dusty floor.

He wore no underwear. His hard cock was positioned at her nose. She scuttled back to avoid it.

"Suck it," he commanded harshly. "And if I feel one tooth on it, I'll cut your tits off."

He wasn't big enough that sucking him to get him wet would be a problem, she observed to herself.

"You just want it wet," she asked in a little girl voice.

"Suck it," was the response.

She opened her mouth not knowing exactly what he wanted. Her lips encountered the head of his cock. He pushed lightly against her. She wet him with her tongue. He pushed more. She opened her mouth to allow the head inside. Little by little his cock entered her mouth. She continued to wet it as it encroached. She was near gagging when he stopped.

"Stand up," he commanded again. She stood letting his cock drop from her mouth. Taking in deep breaths she stood looking down waiting for the next command.

Chapter 3

He turned her with his hand on her shoulder toward the stairway. "Go upstairs to the big bedroom," he said now speaking quietly in her ear from behind. "Put one hand under each tit and hold them out as you go. Just like you're proud of them." She was, in fact, proud of her breasts, but she'd never done anything like this before.

Naked, holding one breast in each hand she started up the stairway to what she knew was her parents room. There waited a king-size bed, and his pleasure with her. The knife point pricked at the small of her back.

Halfway up the stairs he said, "Stop." Surprised, she stopped and stood, breasts in her the palms of her hands. "Kneel," he commanded. She knelt, back straight, breasts in hand. "Put your head on the next step and straighten your legs so your butt's in the air. Don't let go of your tits."

She struggled, but complied. He began to explore her now obscenely displayed body. For several minutes he fondled her openings pushing a finger in first one than the other. The knife never left her body, a continuing reminder of her peril.

Without warning, a finger still in her butt, he said, "OK, go on." She stood with some difficulty and began up the stairs again. This time with one of his fingers in her butt. It felt really strange to walk with a finger in such an unfamiliar place.

She found her parents' bedroom and stopped at the door. "Go on," he insisted pushing some with the point of the knife. The bed was straight ahead. He urged her forward until her knees were against the mattress. He pulled his finger out. "Lie on your back, spread eagle," he told her.

Even a casual glance at the bed told her she was not the first. A spot of dried blood in the center and ties extending from each corner of the bed frame told a story. Instinctively, looking at the bed, she knew what to expect and she spread her arms and legs to accommodate him. She was now in complete defeat mode. She would cooperate.

Quickly he tied her arms and legs rendering her completely available. He looked at her, spread widely, lying on her back open to any wish. His cock was hard, ready to impale her.

As he began to remove the rest of his clothes, she turned her head to stare at the wall. "Watch," he commanded sharply. "I want you to be looking when I come to take you." She turned back as he told her and watched him as he stripped. She looked as his muscular chest and noted the scars, monuments to old battles. She dared to look at his cock which would be soon inside her. It was solid with cum pooling on the head. Occasionally as he moved and his cock bobbed a droplet would fall.

She feared his cock not because of its size, but because she feared him and she feared what he would do to her when he was finished.

He had finished stripping and was showing off his muscles. Then he took his cock in his right hand and his balls in the other. "Look at me," he said. "This is for you. I'm going to pump you full and watch it run out your pretty cunt. Then I'm going to turn you over and fuck you up the ass."

She cringed at the thought, but said nothing. What she was wondering was what he would do with her when he finished. She couldn't get it out of her mind. The question formed on her lips again and again, but she knew if she asked, and he told her he would kill her, it would be unbearably horrible to know. And if he said he wouldn't hurt her, she wouldn't believe him. So she lay waiting for his cock to spread her lips as it forced itself inside her; waiting then for him to force his cock up her ass. There were no good outcomes in the near future. Pain and perhaps death awaited her in the next few minutes. She shuddered.

Chapter 4

He knelt on the bed between her legs. Leaning forward he rubbed the tip of his cock with its droplets of cum against the lips of her pussy. She did not respond She was not wet. He leaned into her naked body forcing his hard cock against her unyielding pussy. It didn't open as he pushed. He pushed harder and was rewarded only by cries of pain from his victim.

"Please," she was saying. "Please don't."

He tried again. Panting she said, "I know there's something somewhere in the house that will help. Please don't keep trying to push it in."

"Where," he grumbled getting to his feet.

"I don't know," she whined. "Look in my bathroom. There should be some Vaseline there."

Without a word he left returning within several minutes carrying a jar of Vaseline Seeing him she said, "Put it on yourself and inside me." Then she said, "Please do it when you . . . you know, . . . use my . . . ," she began to cry again. "Please don't put it up my . . . ." She couldn't bring herself to say the word, but he knew what she was talking about and he was damned, the thought, if he was going to be denied her ass.

He positioned himself on his knees between her legs again and applied the Vaseline liberally to himself and to her. She winced in fear at every touch, but was grateful that this assault wouldn't be as painful as the last.