La Petite Mort

Please do not copy or redistribute the following story, in part or in total, without the author's written permission.

Special thanks to Selena: you suggested that he fall in love and that has made all the difference. Joey, what can I say? I love you more than anything. Thanks Oscar for your useful suggestions and for listening. Thank you Talaria and Sam for taking the time to read my story and for your helpful advice. Angie, thank you for falling in love with my story.

Disclaimer: This story is a fantasy. In no way does the author condone or endorse rape or nonconsensual sex. Arousal does not equal consent.

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Rebecca lay in bed, twitching with unspent desire; her husband snored contently next to her. She resisted the urge to touch herself with difficulty. She could still feel the ghostly sensations of her husband's cock moving in and out of her body, inflaming her but bringing no pleasure. As Rebecca's body ached, her mind blazed with frustration.

Rebecca loved her husband. She loved him more than anything. But each evening spent on the conjugal bed had left her feeling disappointed, throbbing with need. In truth: her husband couldn't please her. It wasn't that he was physically unable to, he certainly tried to, somehow it just never seemed to work. The French call the orgasm la petite mort: the little death. Rebecca longed to know what it felt like on the other side.

Her husband never touched her in the way that she wanted. Their encounters were always charged with a sense of urgency that Rebecca herself had never shared. Maybe it was her fault? Rebecca would worry about things. Was he enjoying it? Was it obvious that she wasn't? What if she was taking too long? Would he be upset if she didn't finish? Could he tell she was faking it?

Sometimes Rebecca would get close. She would feel the unfamiliar sensations welling up from somewhere inside of her, somewhere deep and guarded. Her breathing became more ragged. Her body tensed. Her toes curled. Everything became still, like the earth was holding its breath. She would feel the tremors start to rise up from the core of her being, inflicting her, delighting her. She would grasp at it, and then it would be gone.

Rebecca always felt cheated. She wanted to lose herself, to lose control. La petite mort: the little death. Rebecca longed to know what it felt like on the other side, but something always held her back.

Still, those near misses happened often enough to keep her from being too discouraged. Rebecca loved her husband. She loved him so much that she wanted to protect him from the truth. Sometimes she felt guilty about deceiving him, even if she did it to spare his feelings. Besides, it wasn't as if she was incapable of reaching a climax; there were times when she came awfully close. She would just have to try harder.

That night, Rebecca dreamed she was in an earthquake. She was alone but there was a strange presence all around her. The air was filled with the smell of smoke. Her lungs burned and her eyes watered.

The light shining through her bedroom windows was a strange pale blue, like sunlight right before the break of dawn. Rebecca didn't like it. It felt menacing, exposing.

She backed away blindly, stumbled, and found herself on the bed. The walls of the house shook and the roof threatened to cave in. Her senses reeled. She felt something inside her tremble and suddenly she was falling.

**********

Rebecca woke up with tears on her face. She didn't remember dreaming and felt oddly refreshed and optimistic. Her husband's side of the bed was already empty and a packed suitcase stood against the wall. She found him in the kitchen cooking breakfast. He was attending a conference in Seattle and was scheduled to be back the following Monday. After they finished eating she saw him to the door and kissed him goodbye.

The morning air was suffused with a cold blue light. Rebecca was disturbed; she shivered slightly in her thin cotton nightgown. Her husband wrapped his arms around her and kissed her passionately, his hands cupping her backside in plain view of the street. Usually affectionate, Rebecca took pity on the neighbors and pulled away quickly. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Her vague sense of unrest was gone as soon as she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.

The house seemed strangely empty but she was happy to have the time to herself. Rebecca worked from home and she needed to make some headway on her current project. She sat down at the kitchen table and stared at the remnants of their breakfast. God, could it be that she missed him already? Amused at her unexpected neediness, she chuckled as she cleared away their plates.

Every night that week, Rebecca had the same dream. A pale blue light, the smell of smoke, an earthquake. Every morning she awoke with tears on her cheeks, but she could never remember what was so sad.

Rebecca astounded herself with a sudden outpouring of creativity. The week passed by in a productive blur. Before she knew it, it was Monday. Her husband's flight was due in the early evening and she expected him home in time for a late dinner. She could hardly wait.

At eight o' clock sharp Rebecca stretched herself out luxuriously over freshly laundered silk sheets. Dinner was warm in the oven and she expected her husband home any moment now. She had put on her black silk nightie and had taken special cares with her below-the-belt grooming. The silk dress gently caressed her satiny skin with every movement of her body. Maybe tonight was going to be the night?

At eight forty-five he still hadn't arrived. Where was he? Maybe his flight was delayed? Hopefully he was all right. Maybe the plane had some sort of trouble? Didn't she just watch a movie about something like that? She snuggled into the sheets. What was the name of that movie? It had that handsome guy from that silly romantic-comedy about a maid. She needed to talk to her husband about hiring a maid. Rebecca fell asleep.

Her dreams were uneasy and troubled with the sounds of breaking glass and the smell of smoke. Rebecca awoke with the harsh smell of cigarettes stinging her nostrils. Her husband lay next to her, gently caressing her skin through the silken dress. He inhaled, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair. His breath tickled her neck. Did she leave the oven on? She turned to ask her husband and found herself staring into the face of a stranger.

His face was gaunt and his cheekbones were pronounced. Long dark hair surrounded a pale face with a wide sensual mouth. His lips were full and almost red, effeminate. His eyes. His eyes were deeply set, uncommonly large, and heavily lidded. Long dark lashes framed gray-blue irises ringed by a paler icy-blue. Shocked beyond action, she found herself hypnotized by his gaze. His glance was keen and his face was eloquent with desire.

"Don't say anything. Don't even think about moving." His voice was a rich baritone, soothing, almost narcotic. He issued his commands quietly, menacingly.

Rebecca looked down and realized he was holding a knife. Her eyes grew wide as her pupils dilated with fear.

"My husband's going to be home any minute now."

"Shut up. Do exactly what I say or your husband's a dead man."

Rebecca stifled a sob. She couldn't believe this was happening to her. He stared at her. God those eyes. His eyes were mesmerizing; his pale blue irises were almost liquid in their clarity. He held the knife with one hand, and with the other he resumed his caress. He trailed it along her body teasingly, slowly. She could feel the soft silk of her nightgown catch on his rough fingertips.

His hand brushed past a silk-covered nipple; it stiffened in response. He lifted his gaze to her face. Rebecca turned away, her cheeks burning. His hand continued to roam over her body. He caressed the smooth skin of her thighs. His fingers grazed gently over her mound. She felt a flush of warmth between her legs.

"Please." Rebecca fought back her tears.

"Take off your dress," he said, in the same calm chilling tone.

Rebecca struggled not to cry as she slowly lifted her nightgown up, revealing her most intimate parts to his piercing gaze. She closed her eyes and lifted the dress up over her head, the silk dropped into a soft pile at her side. He let out a soft groan.

"Lie down on the bed."

Rebecca lowered herself onto the silk sheets. She lay there for a long time, feeling his eyes travel up and down the length of her body, taking in the forms of her curves: her soft flushed skin, her erect nipples, her shaved pussy. For a long time he just looked at her; his breathing grew louder. Rebecca couldn't help it but she felt her body responding.

"You're beautiful. Your husband was a fool to leave you alone."

He brought his hand to her stomach, trailing it lightly across her quivering flesh. He stared at her body as if in awe. His pale blue eyes caught the light, his gaze holding her captive as he explored her satiny skin with his fingertips. He lowered his face to hers and delicately inhaled the scent of her skin.

He moved on top of her, his hands held her arms high above her head, pinning her to the silky bed. Rebecca felt the cold handle of the knife crushing her hand. She smelled cigarettes as he moved his face against hers; breathing in the sweet scent of her exhale. His mouth was at her mouth, softly brushing her lips. He pressed his mouth into her harder. His kisses grew more urgent. She felt his erection swelling.

He was at her neck, his tongue searing across her flesh, his hot breath burning her skin. He brought her arms down lower, still crushing her hands beneath his. He planted a trail of kisses from her neck to the tip of her breast. His icy blue eyes watched her face intently as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. Rebecca moaned involuntarily.

Her vision was momentarily obscured, she felt tears falling thick and fast into her hair. Her body was responding to this rapist's attention in ways it had never responded to her husband. What was wrong with her? His touch was electric, little jolts of pleasure arched up her body wherever he made contact with her skin. She begged him to stop but he was deaf to her pleading. He sat up and raised the knife, wielding it at Rebecca's chest.

"Kneel."

He moved backward off the bed, still pointing the knife directly at Rebecca's heart.

"Get up now."

He pulled Rebecca to edge of the bed and pulled her up on her knees. His hand was at his fly. He took himself out; he was large and throbbing with excitement. He placed himself against her mouth, dropping the knife to his side.

Rebecca blinked away her tears, she tried to turn away but he held her jaw and lifted her face up to meet his gaze. He shook his head slightly; the threat in his chilling blue glare was unmistakable.

Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe, just maybe, she could distract him enough to take the knife. She stroked her tongue along the underside of his shaft. She parted her lips and enveloped him in her mouth, tasting the salty evidence of his excitement as she moved her head up and down his cock. He moaned softly.

She felt him take her hand and place it on the root of his shaft. He grabbed her other hand and moved them to his balls. If she could just get him to close his eyes, maybe she could wrestle the knife away from him. Rebecca was sucking his cock earnestly now. She watched his face, anticipating the moment when he would drop his guard.

God, those eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her blush, but still she watched him: waiting. She bobbed her head faster, moving one hand up and down his length in time with her mouth. Her other hand cupped his testicles, gently caressing them. His breathing became more agitated, his eyes began to close...

Suddenly he pulled back, withdrew himself from her mouth. He pushed her on her back and pulled her to the very edge of the bed. For a long moment he waited, his breath coming fast and heavy. Slowly, reverentially, he spread her legs apart. He kneeled down and kissed her thighs, stroking the edge of his tongue across her skin. His face was rapturous as he lowered himself closer to her sex, like someone in the midst of a religious experience. He breathed against her, inhaling the sweet smell of her.

He lifted his gaze to Rebecca's face, leaned forward, and without touching it, blew gently on her clit. Rebecca shuddered. He moved the tip of his tongue up and down her slit, tasting her excitement. Suddenly he drove his tongue inside her, pressing his face hard into her body. Rebecca jolted, tried vainly to move backwards away from the invasion. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her body towards him, savagely stabbing her again and again with his tongue.

He withdrew and held his mouth over her clit, waiting. His pale-blue eyes watching her face closely. He had purposely avoided touching her on her most sensitive part. When his tongue finally made contact with her aching clit, Rebecca felt herself convulse.

Jolts of pleasure shook through her body. He flicked his tongue up and down her clitoris and softly caressed her labia with his fingertips. He enveloped her with his mouth, using his lips, stroking her with his tongue. He moaned loudly, she felt his voice vibrate against her body. His fingers trailed up and down her slit, feeling her wetness. He dove them inside of her. The knife lay on the floor, forgotten.

Rebecca felt the room spin. This isn't happening. This isn't real. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to wake up. It didn't help; she was suddenly acutely aware of everything. His warm mouth surrounding her sex. His hot breath against her flesh. His soft lips stroking her in time with his tongue.

His tongue. She was intensely aware of his tongue: how it felt, how it moved, the texture of it as he swirled it around her clit. His fingers moved faster inside her. The smell of smoke hung in the air.

"Come for me." His deep voice vibrated against her body.

Rebecca began to feel the unfamiliar tremors building up inside her. She struggled to subdue the flooding sensations; to push them away. Her senses reeled. The room spun. The ground began to shake.

"NO!" Rebecca cried, on the verge of sobbing.

He stood up and moved back between her legs. He placed his cock at her dripping entrance. She felt his manhood pulsing against her. For a few moments he just held it there, twitching, leaking beads of excitement. He rubbed himself up and down her slit, gently moving the tip across her eager clit. Rebecca felt a shock of pleasure.

He fixed his liquid-clear gaze on her face then slowly, deliberately, he penetrated her. He pushed himself in until just the tip of his cock was inside of her. Rebecca's muscles pulsated around him. He moaned and pulled himself out slowly.

He entered and withdrew repeatedly, fucking her with the tip of his cock. Then he moved inside her inch by inch until he was halfway in, surrounded by her warm engorged flesh. He withdrew himself at the same achingly slow rate.

Rebecca writhed around the bed, struggling to defeat the sensations rising up inside her. He started fucking her faster, never putting his full length into her. He licked his fingertips and moved them to her clit, stroking it. Waves of pleasure rose from somewhere deep inside Rebecca's being; threatening to engulf her.

"Uh- you feel so good."

He started thrusting into her, faster and deeper. His fingers were sliding up and down her clit. Rebecca tried to fight the sensations rising up inside of her, but the tremors were building; starting to consume her. She felt her will weakening. His eyes held hers captive: mesmerizing, imploring. Rebecca couldn't look away.

"Come for me. Please."

He was ramming into her furiously. His hand at her clit moved yet faster and faster. He pushed himself into her fully, his cock completely surrounded by her twitching aching flesh.

His face contorted in pain, his eyes grew moist. He leaned forward. He was on top of her, his mouth urgently seeking hers, but still he kept his pale blue eyes locked onto hers. His hands were at her hips, pulling her into his savage thrusts. He threw himself into her wildly. Rebecca felt something at the center of her being tremble and then give way.

"I love you." He moaned against her lips.

Rebecca's world exploded, she couldn't breath, she couldn't think. It felt like an earthquake. They came together. Her body convulsed wildly as wave after wave of pleasure devastated her. Feral screams reverberated in the room. He thrashed against her as he felt her muscles contract around him uncontrollably. Rebecca felt electric surges of pleasure shooting out from somewhere in the center of her being. The ground shook and the walls quaked. As her spasms died down, Rebecca realized that the wild screams were issuing from her own throat.

They lay side by side, exhausted. Their chests heaved up and down together: breathing in time. He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close. He kissed her softly and told her how much he loved her. His words were soothing in her ear.

Rebecca lay next to him, lulled by the tone of his voice; sweet syllables echoing gently in her heart. The last thing she was aware of before drifting off into oblivion was the steady beating of his heart, his face pressed against her own, and his voice softly singing.

When Rebecca woke up she was alone, there were tears on her cheeks; she didn't know if they were hers or his.

**********

Rebecca never told anyone that she was raped. She couldn't bring herself to tell her husband. She was afraid he would ask questions; that he would find out she enjoyed it. Rebecca's husband had come home to find broken glass on the floor. Rebecca was safe but acting strange. She told him that it was a burglar.

They never caught him, the rapist, but Rebecca thought about him often. She would see his face on a crowded train, his gaunt cheeks, his pale skin, his pale blue eyes soft with desire. She would find herself walking alone at night, along a deserted street or through a dark alley and the smell of smoke would suddenly overwhelm her: stinging her nostrils, burning her lungs. These incidents invariably turned out to be nothing more than a case of mistaken identity or the smell of cigarettes drifting from an open window but they always left her feeling disturbed; her heart strangely heavy.

Rebecca had no more problems in the marital bed. When her husband made love to her, all she had to do was close her eyes and imagine him pinning her down on the silken bed. She would see him clearly in her mind: those eyes, his dark hair falling softly across his pale gaunt cheeks. She remembered his lips against her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin. His mouth urgently caressing her lips, telling her that he loved her. The smell of smoke.

Soon she would start to feel the familiar tremors welling up inside her. Waves of pleasure rose from somewhere in the center of her being and the ground would start to shake.