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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Combination Lock
by Quiller (quiller@live.co.uk)
***
Two complete strangers find the bleakness of their
existence suddenly relieved by the act of finding each
other. An act of rape begins to take on another guise
and there is suddenly and unexpectedly a chink of light
amongst the gloom, fashioned by an amazing 'co-incidence
of need'. (MF, nc, rp)
***
The autumn night air was damp and still. The sounds of
the town - traffic, random car horns and the occasional,
remote police siren - were muted by the moisture hanging
in the air and coalesced into a general background hum.
Pools of sodium orange street lighting, poorly spaced in
this semi-commercial, unfashionable district, struggled
to throw any visibility through the imprisoning murk at
the rows of business doorways and frontages, many of
them boarded up against vandalism with graffiti-smeared
blankness.
Nothing was immediately or obviously heard issuing from
the dingy alleyway leading back from the deserted road
near the bus stop. To catch anything, you would have had
to venture a few feet inwards, ever further away from
what direct illumination there was. Even then, it would
have been necessary to strain to hear the vague sounds
at the limit of audibility.
A rhythmic but dull thumping was in progress,
accompanied by grunts which spoke both of determination
and exertion.
From closer up, you could make out the two figures
entwined on a discarded, mud-stained mattress, its
stuffing exuding from a tear along one side like blood
from a wound.
The man had his tracksuit trousers lowered around his
ankles and his top unzipped. The woman was pinned
underneath him, her face reddened from sharp slaps and
held down by both wrists. Her nurse's dress had been
ripped open at the top and her bra shunted upwards to
expose her breasts. Her legs flailed the air in futility
on either side of the man's pounding buttocks as he kept
up the slow, deliberate rhythm.
The woman's body shook with each successive shock. Her
torn tights and panties, still caught on one of her
shoes pennant-like, bore witness to the ferocity of her
aggressor's initial assault. And yet... no cries came
from the woman, no calls for help sallied forth to float
on the moisture-laden air.
Instead, gradually, her panicked breathing started to
become more regular as she began to emit small gasps and
moans, her legs slowly but noticeably beginning to
encircle her attacker's torso. The latter, as if in
recognition of his conquest, released his vice-like grip
of her wrists and she responded further by placing her
hands on the small of the man's back, drawing him into
her.
The man's piston movement became even more marked as he
was able to hold his victim more easily and drove his
stiff penis deep into her now fully lubricating vagina.
The stinking mattress offered little now in the way of
comfort, but served to save the woman's skin from being
grazed by the rough stones of the uneven alley floor.
Only a few days previously it had still been gracing a
bed in one of the rooms providing accommodation for the
hospital's student nurses and doctors ironic now that,
although it had been thrown out of the hospital, it was
still being used to bed another nurse. Ironic also that
even less time had passed since that same nurse had been
feeling that her time for attracting male attention was
well and truly behind her.
***
12 noon had found her sitting in the staff canteen,
sourly watching the latest intake of nursing students
flirting and giggling with some of the interns.
She remembered, with a sudden jolt, doing the same at
that stage in her career. Was it really twenty years
since she had 'joined up'? Half her current age, truly?
And career... what career? She had reached the dizzy
heights of Ward Manager nine years ago and things seemed
to have stalled now.
Repeated applications for posts in the hospital's higher
management had been rejected almost out of hand and it
seemed she had bumped up against her professional
ceiling in the judgement of her superiors. She bridled
with suppressed indignation as she recalled less able
colleagues being promoted over her, feeling helpless to
do anything. She knew there was a position falling
vacant imminently but further rejection would be just
too embarrassing.
Helplessness was not a situation which suited her - she
was very much a control obsessive, wanting to know that
everything was how she had planned it and that the
future was also within her own ability to arrange it.
Having others decide to the contrary was decidedly not
to her liking.
She could not help shooting further glances over to the
group of younger nurses. It was obvious that they were
attracting attention not only from their male peer group
and junior doctors but also from older male staff. She
bit her lip and wondered where her own looks had,
apparently, vanished to.
All right, she had never been a beauty but she had still
managed to tease the boys in her time. Was it
unavoidably, from-on-high ordained that you became
invisible on your fortieth birthday? She sighed as she
rose from the table, suddenly realising that her own
children were not much younger than the girls in uniform
she was about to order around the ward.
On her way back, she paid a visit to the toilets where
she examined her reflection in the washbasin mirror. Not
bad, she thought, perhaps a few more pounds than there
used to be, a little rounder in both body and face but
surely not so bad as to merit zero attention, zero
glances..?
She didn't have wrinkles or saggy jowls a picture of
Clement Freud and his bloodhound suddenly came vividly
to mind, causing her mirror self to raise an eyebrow in
surprise, wondering where the thought had come from.
Acknowledging wryly that the mental image would mean
nothing to her younger colleagues, she realised with a
sinking feeling that the vision had been prompted by her
popular yet incredibly unattractive ward clerk the
woman had, to use one of her son's favourite phrases,
'been hit with the ugly stick', yet if her stories were
to be believed she didn't lack for male attention.
In fact just that morning she had been flirting
outrageously with a pair of paramedics, both men
seemingly vying for her attention and approval. "Like
drooling dogs around a bitch on heat!" Her voice,
dripping with contempt, shocked her and she glanced
around the bathroom furtively. Empty. 'Just as well' she
thought, because although there might well have been
contempt in her voice she recognised only too well the
taste in her mouth. Jealousy, as bitter and hot as bile,
coated every one of the words that had spilled from her
lips in that brief outburst.
The afternoon wore on and her mood did not improve. A
series of small incidents culminated in her tearing a
strip off one of the junior nurses. The sullen
expression on the girl's face as she listened to her
ticking off reminded her of the bored, 'let's humour
her' look she received from her husband on the rare
occasions she suggested they go out for the evening, or
perhaps have an early night although the latter would
not be repeated after the last time, when his agreement
had raised hopes that were dashed the second he added
that there 'was nothing worth watching on TV anyway' and
he could 'do with a good night's sleep'. The memory
rankled. Should a woman, admittedly no longer in the
first flush of youth, settle down to mediocrity? Was she
no longer wantable?
The girl's love bite, barely concealed under a hastily
applied layer of make up on her neck added vitriol to
the chastisement. By the time she'd dismissed the girl
she felt on the verge of screaming aloud, but what would
she scream? 'Look at ME?' 'Pay ME some attention?'
Ridiculous! She hastily turned her attention back to the
paperwork piling up on her desk and took a deep breath
as she started on the first in a series of mind numbing
reports due by the next day. With luck they would render
her oblivious to the passing of her feminine charms.
Their hypnotic success was such that she did not even
note the passage of the hours, and by the time she had
stretched and checked the clock she knew that, even
running, she'd be too late for her usual, mid-evening
bus. Nonetheless she dared hope surely something had
to go right for her today? - and, struggling into her
mac, she hurried to the stop just outside the well lit
gates. The empty stop told its own story. No lucky bus
to be found here, sorry lady, move along, ding ding! A
cursory scan of the staff car park confirmed that she
was indeed late and alone in her predicament it was
time for either a taxi or the walk to another, more
distant stop.
And then came the icing on the cake with an expletive
worthy of a dock worker she remembered her friend
Cheryl's 'good advice' 'only bring enough cash for
your salad and bus fare and then you can't be tempted to
buy chocolate in the canteen'. Strange how good advice
often had a way of biting you on the backside, she
mused, as she turned from the hospital and resignedly
started the walk to the next stop. She didn't fancy
taking a taxi and offering to pay the fare with her
body; the thought of the expression this might bring to
a driver's face nearly succeeded in lightening her mood
from utter despair to mere misery, but failed, and it
lodged somewhere around the 'angry and resentful' level.
As she walked her mood darkened further, fuelled by
revisiting all the slights of the week, both real and
imagined. The stop was just coming into view as she
reached the greatest niggle. A colleague, older than her
by at least 10 years, had dropped by for a chat and a
cup of tea. She'd suggested that perhaps it was time for
her to consider HRT as 'women of our age sometimes need
a little help when nature lets us down'. She'd snorted
in disgust she was 40, and still very much menstrual
thank you, NOT menopausal. That had been perhaps the
start of this current bout of angst.
Buried deep in this soul-wringing parade of thoughts,
she had barely noticed the man standing at the stop and
managed only just in time to avoid cannoning into him.
The man had obviously been out jogging because, despite
the poor illumination from the street lamp in which she
could barely make out his features, she could see his
sweating brow and the slowing puffing of his
respiration. She tried to remember the last time she had
seen her husband sweating - perhaps that time a few
years ago when he had come in from the garden after
replacing a fence post, mopping his face and perspiring
freely down his bare chest and back. She remembered how
this had excited her irrationally, to her embarrassment.
But fancy standing there in the gloom, dressed in dark
clothing! It would have been his fault if she had walked
straight into him. She half turned away with a sniff
not that he'd bother to talk to an old woman like her
anyway, she sighed. She realised vaguely that she was
excited now, now as well, for no obvious reason except
perhaps for the presence of this man.
***
The jogger's mind was clouded with bitterness and
brooding as he pounded on his way. The repeating thud of
his footfall on the dampened pavement provided a
metronomic background to his dark thoughts. Skirting
park railings, churchyard and rows of bungaloid growth,
his course through the suburb followed its usual,
erratic and unplanned winding, all the more so this
evening as his mind returned ever and again to the
events of the day. Like a tongue which cannot resist the
probing of new dental work, he could not force his
thoughts away from the 'what ifs' and the 'if onlies'.
Upping his pace as if it were possible to eradicate, by
dint of sheer physical exertion, the negative nature of
the last twelve hours, he ran on through the shadows
cast by the street lamps.
His City finance job, after promising so much initially,
had revealed itself in recent years as being the dead
end of all dead ends. It seemed there was a built-in
incongruity to the situation. His lords and masters
required of him risk taking and bravura account
management... and by nature he was fundamentally a play-
it-safe type. This had gradually become clear to both
sides as the investment opportunities he selected for
his clients grew safely and respectably... but modestly.
Colleagues around him seemed to achieve overnight
miracles with their portfolios and were showered with
bonuses and superlatives-bespangled praise from Those On
High, while he became regarded ever more commonly as a
safe but boring pair of hands. In the pressurised,
frenetic atmosphere of get-rich-quickery, his dullness
stood out like the plodding of a tramp steamer among the
wakes of speedboats. Solid and reliable... but
unspectacular.
The meeting with Sir had been short and to the point -
unspectacular was rapidly becoming not good enough. In
these days of performance ratings and cut-throat
competition, short term fireworks were the essential.
There was little likelihood of any future in The Firm
for long term, slow burning incendiaries. Maybe he could
and should have seen it coming. A two month probationary
period, accompanied by a final warning and, oh by the
way, here's your new departmental manager... the young
woman he himself had taken on only two years before.
HRH had, predictably, taken the news with something less
than equanimity. He had grown used to more than the
occasional nagging session from a wife who had changed
over seven years from simpering bride to hausfrau-cum-
camp commandant, but this particular tongue lashing left
no room for doubt... get your act together or take a
loving, last look at your children...
He had few hobbies. Jogging was his little act of
defiance, a resurrected piece of his bachelor-era,
college sporting existence which had the added benefit
of getting him away from the house and... that tongue.
Jogging had become... frequent.
Maybe he could see Sir again and put forward some new
investment strategies for the portfolio? Ah, but then
he'd have to go through that jumped-up piece of skirt...
The sudden hoot of a horn from a passing van brought him
back to an awareness of his surroundings - he had,
without realising it, crossed through the entire town
centre and was now several more miles from home than
intended for the return run. What to do? Still loping
along, he searched hastily in his pocket and was
relieved to find sufficient change for a bus fare.
He made a scan of his memory for the nearest stop and
jogged off along the uneven pavement, past a long row of
darkened shop windows, some boarded up. Still heading
away from the centre, the surrounding air grew ever
quieter as a backdrop to his exertions and, as he
finally arrived at the stop, his panting and blowing
were the main event to be heard.
He had kept himself in reasonable shape though. His
trained six foot of wiry physique did not need an
extended recovery period, even from the half hour of
solid exercise he had just put in. The fatigue was soon
draining from his muscular legs and, just as the woman
arrived next to him, his panting was under control if
still just audible. He removed his glasses, now fogging
badly from the combined effects of the sweat on his brow
and the lack of forward movement.
He towered a good head taller than the woman alongside
him. The thought occurred to him that she had shown no
little bravery in casually joining his 'queue' in what
was possibly a risky situation for her. Or was it, the
idea suggested itself, more a case of yet another pushy
tart? His breathing and composure now both almost back
to default levels, he repositioned his glasses and
risked a closer look at his companion. Hmm... quite
pretty... and wasn't there something about her of the
lecturer he'd lusted after at college..? A trick of the
light that she'd glanced up at him..?
'We could be here all night!' It was his attempt at
jolly, small talk, at being nice... well, all right, you
had to start somewhere if you intended to flirt. He was
brought to regret the remark almost instantly. They had,
after all, been waiting less than five minutes... and
then there was the non-answer, nothing more than an
impenetrable mumble. Rejection, accompanied by what
sounded uncannily like yet another sniff. Rejection...
and not for the first time today.
Not this time. Pent up frustration and rage at the
unfairness of the world combined to obliterate normal
thought processes. Not this time...
'You're a pretty, little thing', he muttered. Not giving
her time to sniff again, he cupped one hand over the
woman's mouth and, with the other arm around her waist,
began dragging her towards the nearby alleyway. Evading
her kicking heels, he was able easily to half drag, half
carry his struggling package inside the all-enveloping
darkness...
Disbelief kept her from struggling at first disbelief
at the situation that was unfolding, disbelief at the
sheer, laughable absurdity of it. Disbelief suspended
her ability for rational thought, so much so that even
as the man clamped his hand over her mouth after calling
her 'a pretty little thing' she obliged him by walking
backwards for a pace or two, her hands hanging limply by
her side as she complied with the demand of the hands
pulling at her, forcing her to move with him. Her mind
went blank what was he doing?
Despite the shock, she felt calm, detached almost, as if
being accosted and propelled backwards towards an
uncertain destination was perfectly usual for her. It
crossed her mind that if he was planning on robbing her
he'd be sorely disappointed. Afterwards she was also to
remember that she vaguely wondered if her husband would
notice that she wasn't home, and if so, whether he would
care. Would he realise, as he sat like a smug, bloated
toad in his Parker Knoll recliner watching the late
news, that it was her body that had been found beaten
and bloodied, dumped like some half-full bag of rubbish
in a side road near her place of work? Or would he just
grunt in boredom as he reached for the remote control,
glad of an excuse to be able to watch the late night
sport with no interruptions from a wife who needed more
attention than he was capable of giving?
In the present though, the thought of the man's anger
once he found she had nothing of value to take cut
through her torpor, and she began to struggle against
his grip. There was a time when she had been athletic,
defined even, and might have been some trouble to her
assailant, even with his clear height advantage, but
those days were behind her, long gone, a distant memory
along with her feminine charms and perpetual good
humour. Nowadays she was soft, dumpy almost.
The muscles in her legs bore testimony still to the
hours of walking she put it in performing her duty, but
increasing piles of paperwork needing constant attention
had allowed her upper body tone to loosen, and white,
easily bruised flesh made curves out of formerly willow-
like arms.
Yet of course she did her best to fight him. She lashed
out with her feet, the stout heeled sturdy leather
brogues that afforded her such comfort on her shifts
might have left a telling bruise if they'd connected
but, with barely an effort, the man shifted his grip,
his one hand still firmly holding her mouth closed
whilst the other snaked around her back and up under her
shoulder, grabbing at the front of her mac, and half
lifting her.
She found herself frantically pedalling her legs to stay
upright. Despite the speed he was moving at, she felt
compelled to try and maintain her balance, stay upright,
little realising that her movements only added to her
backwards momentum, aiding her attacker in his intent by
providing impetus that he needed only to direct. Had she
slumped in his arms he might have been impeded, there
might have been a window of opportunity for someone to
come to her aid as he struggled to move a dead weight.
As it was they were out of sight and already invisible
in the gloom of the maze of red brick walls long before
a solitary dog walker passed by, tugging on the lead and
muttering at the terrier he was exercising as it
strained to sniff at the strange smell of sweating,
excited human that was lingering around the bus stop.
The nurse had begun to think again, her mind becoming
clearer as visibility lessened in the darkness of the
rat run of alleyways. Her lips were being pressed hard
against her teeth by the man's hand, and in a movement
she'd maybe seen in a movie she snatched her head back,
giving her a momentary space in which to bare her teeth
and then as his hand connected again with her mouth it
encountered her incisors, biting hard down, snapping
closed on the fleshy padding at the base of his index
finger. Luckily for him his hands had begun to sweat,
and her teeth barely grazed his skin before slipping
harmlessly over it and connecting in a jarring snap that
left her dizzy for a moment.
"Bitch!" he snarled, yanking his hand free. Jerking at
the back of her coat he pulled her in front of him, and
slapped her hard across the face with the hand she'd
tried to bite. Her outraged expression as she glared
back at him caused his heart to pound staccato time, and
he backhanded her across her other cheek. A third slap
followed, and another backhand, his cock twitching
within his pants as each time she met his gaze with
contempt and defiance, and for each hostile look he
lashed out again.
A jaundiced clichι crossed his mind a generic scene
from many an old film where a girl is struggling against
a man, and her tormentor leers at her as she protests
that he 'likes a girl with spirit!' He'd always snorted
at the sentiment, sure that really that was the last
thing you'd want. His lurching cock would seem to vouch
for the truth of the matter though. God, he was aching
to bury himself in this cunt, to pound into her, to fuck
her till she bled, and to look into her eyes as she took
every inch of every thrust, accommodated his cock in her
hot hole, knowing that she knew he was between her legs
for as long as he wanted, and she had better just damn
well take it and be glad it was only her cunt he was
fucking!
The strange, excited smile on his face scared her far
more than the blows and for the first time her anger
slipped, and fear surfaced. Not able to focus on
anything other than the need to run, she managed to
dodge the next slap and turn away from him, launching
herself into a trot not in any particular direction as
she had no idea where safety was right now, but simply
'away' from him. However the disorientation and pain
from the half dozen heavy handed blows made her movement
rather more of a lurch, and he was easily able to jump
forward and catch hold of her.
The mac protested under the sudden strain, and its
buttons gave up the fight easier than their mistress,
pinging in all directions across the alley floor. The
garment half slid from her shoulders, and slipped
partway down her upper arms, becoming trapped just above
her elbows. Her squeal of terror was trapped in her
throat as the constricting coat caught her arms behind
her, pinioning them, and in her struggle she bent her
arms, pulling at it, simply making it impossible to free
herself.
The chuckle in her ear paralysed her and time seemed to
stand still as the man pulled her back against his body
with a handful of her hair. She felt the heat flood her
face as her bladder muscles betrayed her and she
squirted a splash of hot urine into her knickers. 'N-no
please!' was as much as she could gasp out before he
span her around, to face him again. She cringed a little
this time, eyes widening as she took in his manner and
glittering eyes. He licked his lips a little and one
hand pushed her hard in her chest and she staggered
back; caught unawares and with no hands free to balance
herself, she stumbled and fell backwards.
Instinctively she tensed herself, head pulled forwards
to avoid hitting it on the hard cobbles. The shock was
mitigated when her landing was cushioned by something
soft but that small mercy was barely noted as she
scrabbled with her heels to try and push herself away
from the man advancing on her. Her arms underneath her,
still encased in her mac, prevented her from achieving
more than a foot or two's distance, catching as they did
on the soft, bulging mass underneath her.
The sudden draught between her wet thighs drew her
attention to the fact that her struggles were achieving
nothing other than causing her dress to ride up to a
level where it was little more than a pelmet, a window
dressing to the main view of her spread thighs, topped
off with knickers and tights. A noise, half sob, half
sigh, broke from her lips as she saw her attacker's gaze
shift from her face to her splayed legs it looked as
if she finally had the attention she had been
craving....
The jogger advanced on her and fell with judged
athleticism between her open legs, even as she belatedly
attempted to close them, intent on silencing any cries
for help. She managed to start a 'Please, what...'
sentence of unknown conclusion, in a semi-pleading tone,
before his hand closed once more over her mouth.
With her arms still pinned beneath her by her own
weight, she could offer little resistance as he found
her dress top and wrenched it apart, sending yet more
buttons into crevices of the old mattress and the
obscurity of the alley. He fondled her plump breasts
through her bra and then, as if realising the
possibility, hiked it up and over to expose them to the
night air. Her tights and panties posed more of a
problem.
After struggling in vain with them one-handedly, his
impatience overtook him and he loosed his grip on her
mouth to give them full attention. As the nurse then
attempted to utter something, presumably a cry for help
or a finish to her previous effort, he shaped as if to
strike her again across the face. This had the desired
effect and he was able to apply all his strength to the
tearing of her undergarments. After some resistance they
gave way with a dull, unzipping sound.
He sat back on his haunches as if satisfied with his
work and surveyed the goal achieved, his hand once more
raised and ready to strike, if necessary, in defence of
the status quo. The nurse's dark bush and labia were
open to his inspection, the former appearing as an
arrowhead indicator to the latter. His sighting of it
reached into dark parts of his brain and turned what
remaining keys were still in standby mode to 'action'.
He rose to a kneeling position and lowered his tracksuit
trousers and underpants down over his erect penis, not
huge but fully aroused and intent on the hunt.
The woman whimpered beneath him as he pulled her legs
higher and positioned himself. He considered - should he
perhaps do this gently? But there was lttle of
gentleness in his penetration of her. After finding his
way through the immediate tightness of her labia, he
virtually fell into her, slamming his full length into a
dry vagina. He heard the whimper again, somewhat louder
this time, a half sob, half cry of pain.
Losing no time, he set up a slow but powerful rhythm,
pushing fully up and inside her with each stroke. Her
breasts bounced and her whole body shook with each
grunt-accompanied thrust. His tiredness from the run
overtaken by his need and facilitated by his lean,
muscled athlete's physique, he lost himself in using the
nurse to vent his sexual and psychological frustrations
on the female of the species. The movement of the two
bodies on the muddy mattress allowed the nurse's
raincoat to ride up and thus allow some movement again
to her arms. She used this to make a half-hearted
pushing away movement to the chest riding above her...
but a stinging slapping of both cheeks again brought her
to order... and she then found her wrists pinned down by
the same powerful hands...
***
Thud, thud, thud. The dull thumping of the man's pelvis
connecting with her pubic bone gave her something to
focus on, some constant in this skewed night that had
become her immediate world. Her brain, overwhelmed by
the assault, refused to function as it should, self-
preservation wrapping temporary blankets of comforting
cotton wool around her thought processes and allowing
her to just lie there, to accept, and not to try and
rationalise the situation. The mind is a wondrously
selfish entity, caring only to keep itself whole.
The nurse's body could handle the rape; the mind took
itself off to green pastures and clear blue skies.
Meanwhile, back in the alley, on the damp squalid
mattress the nurse continued to provide the jogger with
an opportune vessel into which to vent his spleen. Her
face was as numb as her mind, but her vagina was burning
as the man's stiff flesh tore and poked its way inside
her. The friction of his rhythmic entry and exit
translated the initial stinging pain into heat, as the
delicate inner membranes became inflamed.
The nurse blinked rapidly, and licked her lips as the
prickling flames scorched through the fuzzy haze
cocooning her from her ordeal. The man wedged between
her gaping thighs was not to be denied, that she'd
quickly learnt, but nonetheless she managed to wriggle
her hips circumspectly under him, not seeking to
displace him, or anger him further, merely hoping for
some little relief from the shards of pain skewering her
nether regions as she was soundly fucked.
If he noticed her movements he gave no sign; his
thrusting continued unabated. Measured, unhurried his
withdrawal never quite complete but his re-entry always
to the hilt, every inch of him buried inside her as if
testing the depth of her spongy tunnel.
She grunted as she felt the change her pelvis lifting
a mere millimetre or two had allowed him even more
intimate access to her as her thighs dropped slightly
and his weight rested a fraction more heavily on her
mound. Her heart missed a beat and the passage of time
became blurred for a brief moment before crashing back
into awful clarity around her as the blood surged,
pumping oxygen around her prone body, waking nerve
endings long since thought atrophied as the jogger's
groin impacted her clitoris. In disbelief she held her
breath as it happened again and again.
Time after time as he pressed home his cock into her
cunt the motion rubbed the tiny nub and stimulated it.
His hairs tickled it, his weight compressed it, his
groin pummelled it. Light headed, the nurse gasped for
breath, too weak to do more than widen her eyes as she
felt his penis slide into her again. Yes, the thought
hit her nearly as hard as his hands had; his cock was
sliding in and out of her now. His victory was complete.
Her cunt was growing wet, welcoming him in, and enjoying
this male member's most vigorous attention.
She whimpered, her initial thought being to try and
distance herself from this new horror but with a flash
of her old self, the self who took her pleasure where
she found it and never worried about age hobbling her or
others' passing her by, her anger re-surfaced. FUCK this
rapist, this man with no identity who had seen fit to
drag to the floor and take what HE wanted without so
much as asking her name! FUCK her husband, who would not
notice if she grew two heads and walked around naked as
long as his meals were on his lap tray when he plonked
himself down to gawk at the TV. In fact, fuck the bloody
whole world! She closed her eyes and let herself go.
She gave in to the tingling in her cunt and allowed the
sensations being wrought throughout her loins to flood
her whole body. Her demeanour changed, along with her
breathing. Gone was the apologetic cowering victim, gone
was the angry, caustic-tongued harridan; instead she was
a woman in the throes of lust responding to a man intent
on rutting her. She coaxed her aching hip joints into
movement, and scissored her legs around his torso,
wrapping them around him for all the world like a
welcoming lover might.
He loosed her wrists and she braced herself for a blow
but her capitulation was rewarded as he allowed her some
freedom of movement. Emboldened to participate further
by this act of trust and full of increasingly urgent
need, she allowed her hands to touch him, to stroke his
lean ribs, to run along his flanks before coming to rest
on the base of his back. His thrusting became more
marked, and she moaned as her hands felt the strength of
his muscles when he powered into her. Her face flushed
with embarrassment as a grunted 'Yes!' was forced from
her throat.
She found his measured, heavy thrusts much more
pleasurable than the desperate clockwork patter, never
questioned, to which she had been previously subjected
in her marital bed. Each thrust led to a pregnant,
anticipation-filled pause before the next. It was
bringing her to a pitch of unresolved tension she had
never known before except through self-manipulation.
This was like coming home - the experience of a scene
which she had been owed these many years but never
enjoyed in reality until now.
The pace quickened again and now nothing mattered apart
from the throbbing building inside her. She whimpered,
not uttering coherent words but half formed pleas for
fulfilment. The man responded with a snarl of triumph
and a series of rapid slamming thrusts that lifted the
nurse's ample backside quite clear of the mattress.
"No, oh godohgodohgoddddd!" the nurse wailed her release
as her orgasm hit and surged outwards, the violent
contractions of her cunt grabbing his swollen cock and
holding it tightly within her, milking it, as she
writhed beneath him, wracked with an expression of
physical ecstasy. With timing that could not have been
bettered, the jogger threw his head back and uttered a
series of deep, guttural grunts as his buttocks
clenched, convulsing as his balls contracted and began
to spit out their heavy load deep into her unprotected
womb. She scarcely registered the fact of his seed
spurting into her, although his short cry of triumph was
transmitted into her cheeks by his gouging nails. She
would be marked for weeks, gloriously marked.
The jogger and the nurse were one, frozen together,
locked in place as their fluids mingled and their bodies
jerked. All rational thought suspended, the animals
within were released and sated themselves with each
other's flesh. Seconds slowed and indeed time itself
ceased to exist before finally a last cry from each of
them allowed it to cut in again, the muscles that had
been pushed to the limit suddenly tired and relaxed, and
the entwined pair crashed back down onto the mattress
and back into the reality of the dark, wet alley and
themselves, gasping for breath.
There was, inevitably, much collective sheepishness and
self-conscious 'what now?'-ism to the dιnouement. A
curious shyness reigned. When rape becomes an accepted -
or even welcomed act, there is very little role left for
mere words. Of course, there were wild thoughts; of
course, there was embarrassment; of course, there was
the general feeling of helpless shock which accompanies
the aftermath of an impulsive act and the realisation of
an important fact:
They had made a woman... and a man of each other.
Eventually nevertheless, there came the moment of
straightening of clothing and best attempts to brush
away mud. How to fend off the inevitable questions from
spouses, how to explain the muddied and torn clothing to
spouses and families, these were still distant thoughts,
if now approaching with moderate speed from over the
mental horizon.
There was an exchange of names and phone numbers in
tones which spoke of desire mixed with awkwardness.
There was a low murmured agreement to 'next Thursday'...
The jogger and the nurse were to meet many times
thereafter and fill, again, the voids that nobody else
seemed to care about. In one small corner of the
universe, two keys had met and turned two locks...
...but never again would their encounters be filled with
the same intensity nor purity of profane delight...
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously
consider seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 80