My Rape: Act 01

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Part 1 of the 3 part series

Updated 08/30/2017
Created 09/23/2016
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John and my two daughters were gone to my in-laws. John's mother wasn't doing well and she always perked up with the two girls were around. I opened the lock on my front door. It was still, dark and silent. I was arriving home late. I'd gone to the ballet with a friend, Jeanne, and afterward we'd gone for a drink to watch the wild life, two married women out on the town. We left when the two young guys came over and asked me if I knew what MILF meant. It made my heart pound and my eyes ache, thinking that the daring drape in the front of my dress had attracted them, or Jeanne's legs sticking out from under her short skirt.

I closed the door, wondering why the garage door hadn't opened. It had moved like it was twitching but lost the will to open for me. I was alone in my house for the first time in months and I felt a curious elation, the thrill of being home alone for a whole weekend with nothing to do and no one to do it for, not really accurate since I expected Tina, my sister-in-law tomorrow to come for a clandestine visit. I turned to lock the door, knowing where I'd find things so I didn't turn on the light. That was when I heard it, a sound that didn't belong, like a long, low sigh in my house and then I felt it.

First a strong arm looped around my waist and the left slipped under my left arm and locked it against my head. I struggled against them both. The arm around my neck locked tight and I felt my head get light. I felt the nausea swell up in me and in moments, I was out, blacked out standing at my own front door. The last thing I remember was my wrist turning and locking the door, the last conscious act I made.

It all happened too fast for me to be frightened, I mean truly frightened. When I came too, the terror flooded through me. I was pressed against the front door. I could feel him against my body, holding me up. My left arm was still cinched against my ear and his arm still held me tight but not as tight. Then I felt it, the hand around my middle was under my coat, up on my left breast, massaging it gently, tentatively as though trying to arouse me.

I jerked.

"Oh, back with us." The voice breathed into my ear.

I groaned, no words yet, no thoughts, just feelings, violent feelings and the helplessness roared in me. I wriggled against him. My right hand came alive and I pushed against the door, but carefully, finding the frame so it didn't go through the leaded glass and open my vein. I was careful and the thought bloomed in my mind, clear as crystal and heavy as fog. "I don't want to die." The terror arrived then, the awful soft fluttering of my heart, the quivering of my muscles, the shortness of breath.

The hand on my breast squeezed it through my blouse and the pretty bra I'd worn, the one that made me feel so sexy, soft and lacy against my clear skin.

Us? Did he say us? The royal 'we', perhaps?

The thought dinged against my eyelids and I opened them, only realizing my eyes were tightly closed.

"You haven't screamed."

The voice in my ear whispered.

"Why not?"

Good question. I spoke the first thing that came to my mind, babbling like this was a conversation and I was nervous.

"A professor I had in college said if you were going to be raped, you should just lay back and enjoy it."

The words didn't sound like me, not my voice, not even my thought. Oh, the professor had said it but I'd been suitably affronted and she'd been reprimanded by the oversight committee. The man chuckled. Curiously, that calmed me some. If he wasn't frightened, if he wasn't in a fit of panic or feeling trapped by this new circumstance, perhaps I was safer. I could hope. I found my voice.

"If you don't hurt me, I promise I'll do anything you want. No marks. If, if you hurt me, I'll have to report it. I have a husband and, and he'd notice."

The man lifted me off my feet. I went limp, making him groan with my weight, or hoping to upset him somehow. I didn't. He lifted me like I was a newspaper, back when there were such things. He swung me around so we were both facing the interior of the house. The staircase leading upstairs was to my left and the hall past the kitchen into the den and living room lay before us. Light from the street light behind our house outlined the scene in gray, white and black.

He took a step then turned us against the wall by the entrance to the kitchen. He pressed me hard, squeezing the breath out of my chest. His hand left my breast though and found the wrap-around tab on my black slacks. He unbuttoned it.

"You're home before you were supposed to be." He whispered.

"What?" I grunted, confused. The hand at my waist found the slanted zipper that crossed my abdomen and opened it. His hand smoothed over the satin of my underwear before dipping down between my legs. He began to gently stroke me. He seemed cautious, almost attentive. I resented that thought.

"I said, you weren't supposed to be home until after two, Mrs. Havingnun."

I couldn't help it. I snorted.

"You have the wrong house. Sharon is my neighbor."

The hand between my legs stopped. The man clutching at me went still.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Mrs. Parsival."

"Oh. Oh shit." The man grunted.

I had a distant thought, that maybe this was an elaborate joke being played on Sharon and he'd release me, apologize and slip out into the night and we could both act as if nothing had happened. That was not to be.

The hand between my legs turned into a finger under my panties. I felt it, broad and thick, rub up the cleft of my pussy. Despite my situation, I shivered.

"My, my, my." The voice said, still hot in my ear. "You're damp, wet even."

"You, you have the wrong house."

The finger pushed inside me. Despite myself, I moaned, feeling this strange man's finger in me set off feelings I did not wish to experience. The first grinding pulse of arousal wavered around between my legs.

"Yes, I'm wet." I whispered. "I always get wet, fast, when a man touches me there."

The finger pushed deeper, probing around, flipping from place to place inside me as though looking for something. I couldn't help it, I groaned again, but this time, louder and deeper and with some real conviction. The erotic feeling coursed through me.

"If you are being raped, just lay back and enjoy it." The voice in my head said again, Miss Jenkins, the cunt. She claimed she was being funny but no one believed her. Funny though, now, that was the only thing I remembered of her, her only line from that entire history class. Lay back and enjoy it. Fine, except I wasn't lying down and I could feel the indecision in the man, the man in the wrong house.

My arm was still locked against my left ear. That hand was hooked on the right side of my neck. Suddenly, I had to pee.

"I have to pee." I said with feeling. I often think if I'd have just kept quiet at that moment, he might have gone out the way he came. Instead, I had to mouth off. I felt terrible fear then, fear I'd make him angry. His reaction was calm, careful and reasonable.

"If you piss yourself, you'll have to shower before I fuck you." He said. "I've decided to fuck you. Mrs. Havingnun will have to wait, for another time, I guess. This is your lucky night."

"Right." Again I could have kept quiet and made things better for me. Truthfully, once the first crushing fear eased so I could breathe more or less normally, I was just feeling the sensations of the moment. I didn't get anger from him or that he was holding me because of some deep seated psychosis. I actually felt he wanted me, to have sex with me, perhaps because I was aware of his erection pressed against my back.

"You can leave, you know. I'll keep this to myself." I offered.

"Why would you do that?"

"Have you ever been interviewed by a cop about rape?"

"No. Have you?"

I shuddered. My roommate in college had been raped, twice. Once on the road to the college, the guy knocked her out and raped her. Once while house sitting, she'd told me about it some months later, but hadn't bothered to tell the police. She had no wish to repeat the experience of being questioned again. They were nice enough but it was easier to think that she'd had sex and it was no one else's business.

Just lay back and enjoy it. The voice stayed in my mind.

"Well? Have you? Are you damaged goods?"

That pissed me off.

"What do you mean, damaged? I have two daughters. If you think virgins are the one's that aren't damaged..." I don't know how I was going to finish that line but I didn't get to. His arm tightened around my neck and I coughed around my lack of air. He relaxed a little. We were still against the wall. Then he did it. He kissed my ear.

I couldn't help it. A shiver ran up my spine rang the bell and ran back down into my crotch where his finger was still poking around, searching for a reaction. He got it then. I didn't pee but I know that suddenly my body responded to his finger inside me.

He pushed far inside me. I groaned again. My slacks were open, riding on my thighs, not up and not down but in that middle area that was just uncomfortable. I shook one leg to correct it and managed to push them to my knees. Only when it was done did I realize how much that must seem like active compliance with his stated intention. I got scared then.

"Blindfold me." I whispered. "If you are going to fuck me, blindfold me, so I don't see you, can't see you. I, I won't fight, hell, I'll fuck you back if you promise not to leave a mark. And don't hurt me."

The silence and the darkness weighed on me, pressing against my body, my substitution for the push of his hard body against mine. I waited, realizing I'd just offered to fuck him. Lay back and enjoy it. Goddamn Miss Jenkins! That was all I could think of at that moment and it was seeming like a good idea. Better than having my throat cut. That thought should have terrified me but it didn't. That was when I noticed I wasn't feeling threatened, that I didn't feel in danger. I didn't want the fear to come, to have the terror that I'd wear like a terrible skin for months or years afterward. I just noticed it wasn't there.

"You'll fuck me?" His voice whispered. "Really?"

The relief was full in my chest, expanding like I'd just won something. The finger inside me moved again and this time I wriggled my hips in response. He pushed deeper into me. I felt his palm against my abdomen and his other fingers against the inside of my thighs. His "fuck you" finger was deep inside me.

"Don't you have something bigger than that to put in me?" I asked.

"I thought you had to pee?"

Speak of the devil.

"I do, but, well, having your finger jammed up my twat kinda confuses me."

He shook me, releasing me from the wall. My legs wobbled but I stood up. My slacks waffled around my knees. My god, his finger was still inside me.

"Where's your bedroom? You wear pantyhose or stockings?"

"Yes." I said.

"Which."

"Both."

"Your bedroom?"

"Upstairs." I told the truth. How would he get upstairs?"

"Do you really need to piss?"

I nodded then realizing he might not get that, answered with my voice.

"Yes."

His finger left me, and I felt a curious emptiness. I felt him fumbling behind me. He opened his pants. Next he pulled my panties off my ass, down my legs and into the puddle of my slacks. I felt it then, the hard, bare erection behind me.

My god, I thought, he's really going to fuck me. He was.

"Open your legs." He said, his voice almost normal. "Don't piss. I want to know if you can fuck or not." He grunted. "If your pussy is not good, then it'll be the ass. I love a woman's ass."

My god, I was a riot of sensations and confusion. The first thing I did was open my legs like he said. I felt a draught of cool air up between them, chilling me where I'd dribbled fluid out of my pussy. A line ran down the inside of my right thigh. For some reason, I felt embarrassed. His cock against my bare ass ended that line of thought.

It was spongy and soft but wet on the end. He painted a line down my left buttock and then he tucked it between my ass cheeks. My left arm was still plastered against the side of my face, in front of my ear where he kept whispering. I could feel the hot puff of his breath.

When he entered me, I squealed. I sounded like I'd just seen a mouse scamper across my kitchen floor. I felt so embarrassed but his cock was inside me. How he managed to shove it so unerringly inside me I don't know. I just knew I was suddenly being mounted in the hallway of my own house and it aroused incredible feelings in me. He hunched against my ass. I bent a little, as much as I could, as much as he allowed me. He pulled me back straight and I felt him arch under me. His cock pushed a little deeper. His body was hot against my ass.

"Oh god, I'll pee if you push against me any more." I muttered, not sure I wanted to be having this conversation or any conversation. His arm around my neck released my left arm, which was a relief. It was nearly numb. My right hand had been on the wall, palm flat on it, as if to steady me. I put my other hand on the wall too and leaned forward. His hands found my waist, thumbs on the small of my back. They pressed into my skin and I did as they intimated. I bent from the waist while arching my ass. Next thing I knew my cheek was against the wall and my ass was lifting up. I was mounted on his cock like a corsage. For an incredible moment my toes left the hall floor and I dangled on his cock. I felt him lean back, lifting me. His cock was inside me and despite everything, I felt the stirrings of arousal, already ticking around my bones. I was being raped and my body was acting like this was a first date for a slut.

Lay back and enjoy it. The goddamn voice rattled in my brain. I felt anger then because by god, I was enjoying this. I was responding to his cock inside me. My body was responding, even though I felt like it was someone else, some other body, not mine, not me. The next thought made even less sense. I fucking resented that. If I was going to be aroused by this guy, I wanted to feel it at least, so yes, I could lay back and enjoy it.

Then he was gone. He unhooked from me and for a moment I fantasized that he was gone.

"Pull up your britches. We're going upstairs." He said, his voice low behind me.

"Oh god," I mumbled.

"Nope. Just you and me."

We did. He took hold of my wrists after I pulled up my "britches". He held me by my wrists, pinning my arms behind me, using my arms to steer me, like I was a chariot. We went up the stairs in fits and starts until we attained the upstairs landing.

He guided me right to our bedroom, mine and John's. Inside the door he stopped me.

"I'm going to fuck you, Missus, what did you say your name was?"

"Parcival, Mrs. Lars Parcival." I grunted, lying about John's name. "You can call me Helen, though."

"Helen? That's nice. Helen, where are you stockings? Or a scarf, something to put over your eyes." He hesitated. "I'm going to fuck you. You're going to suck my cock. I might do your ass. If we have time, do we have time?"

As if the gods that hate me were listening in, the phone in my little party purse rang. It was pretty late for someone to be calling but I decided I should answer it. I had the purse on a long strap slung over my shoulder.

"That might be my husband." I muttered. "He's calling to say good night. I better answer or he'll worry."

The guy didn't hesitate.

"Okay. Put it on speaker. Don't tell him what's happening."

"Duh." I said and thought I should have bit my tongue. The guy laughed, a genuine sound of amusement.

"We're going to have a good time, Mrs. Helen Parcival." He said. "I'm going to enjoy fucking you. Best if you can figure out how to enjoy fucking me and I'll do like you say and not leave any marks, on the outside." The phone was dinging for the fourth time. He released my hands. I dug for the phone. Its little light lit the bedroom dully. I swiped to answer and immediately touched the speaker.

"Honey? Hello?"

"Hi John." My voice sounded strained.

"Hey, did you have a good time? Was the ballet fun?"

I nodded. Realized in time I hadn't spoken.

"It was. Jeanne really liked it. The kids okay?"

"They're watching an HBO Family movie with my folks. I think Dad is asleep though. They are pretty wound up from the trip, so we're letting them stay up. I just wanted to call and say I love you and I hope you enjoy the weekend alone. I know you have been looking forward to it for a while. Sorry it took so long to get it arranged. Still want us to come back Sunday night? I think Amy could miss school on Monday if you wanted more time alone."

The arm had gone around my middle. The breath was against my ear. "Yes." It whispered. "Monday."

"You know, I think it might be cool if I have all weekend. Come back Monday night, if you want. If that's okay with you."

"Sure. My Dad really needs some help with Mom and it makes more sense to try to get that arranged on Monday anyway. It'll be easier if I'm here to help. Dad can do it but, god, its just hard, you know?"

"I know, John. Listen, take your time. I'll, I'll be fine. I just miss you. Tell the kids good night."

"Good night." And like that, he was gone.

"You said his name was Lars."

I shivered. I had.

"You lied to me."

"Yes. I did."

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes. I am. I won't lie any more." I spoke feeling the equilibrium of the moment, the tenuous nature of our, of my situation.

"Good girl." He whispered. "You are making this easy, you know? I like that. I like you."

It is utterly irrational but I felt a little flush of pride, I'd made him like me! Isn't that insane? I thought I was skipping right to the Stockholm syndrome but then realized my basic goal was being served. First I wanted to stay alive, then I wanted to avoid being hurt or marked in any way and then, last but hardly least, I wanted to avoid that horrible terror I'd seen in Megan's eyes. I didn't want to feel the terror of darkness or walking alone or to jump at every little sound. Suddenly, I understood Miss Jenkins. I'd do anything to avoid being possessed by that horrible fear, even if I had to fuck him all weekend, I'd do that if I could convert this night into a fling I'd never tell John or anyone about.

He took my phone from my hands and tossed it on to the dresser by the door where we stood.

"Where's the stockings?" He asked.

I pointed and then pulled out the top right drawer nearest us. I found a pair of leggings I used to wear to the gym, when I was still going. They were older than Kalley. I pulled them out and held them out to him. I felt his hand on mine.

"Hold still, don't move." He muttered.

The first one went around my face and then over my eyes. It loosed. I'd closed my eyes. He reached around me and I felt him slip two pieces of something over each eye. I realized they were little booty socks. They smelled of fabric softer and cedar. I inhaled. Still no fear, so far so good, I thought.

"If you don't make this difficult, it will go fine with you." He murmured. "We can have a nice, friendly weekend of sex and fun. If you make it difficult, I'll blood fuck you and leave you in pieces in the basement."

"We don't have a basement." I said reflexively, fending off the rising tide of terror ticking my guts. "Besides, you wouldn't do that to me, would you? You seem like a nice young man."

He chuckled but it was drier, more severe than before, so not amusement.

"You do what I want and we won't need to find that out, now will we? You on the pill?"

I nodded. I wanted to keep him in this warm circle so I didn't bump up against the terrors that the night can be full of. The night is dark and full of terrors, well, maybe but not for me yet. I was still a good liberal because I hadn't been mugged yet. I consciously decided I'd turn this into a tryst if I could, one I'd hide from the world. If I could, I'd make it something I'd cherish privately so when I wished for sexual excitement, I'd have this. If I could make that work, I wouldn't mind missing my spa time tomorrow or Tina's visit. Tina! The weekend? I put the thought out of my head.

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