I could hear Derek rattling his chair and screaming into his makeshift gag, but no words were clear.
I whimpered, "And when you're done with me, you'll leave and leave us alone, right?"
"Oh, of course, of course."
The thug continued groping my breasts and his other hand eventually stopped petting my muff and began rubbing my clitoris and pussy lips. He kept whispering into my ear how hot and sexy I was, but how bad a girl I had been to them, and now they would punish me for being so rude.
"Oh God, oh please," I whimpered in a trembling voice. I had intended to say, "Oh God, oh please don't do this," but the words didn't all come out.
"Oh yes, keep begging for it. You know you want this. I know you want it. Your pussy is so wet." He brought two sticky fingers up to my face and traced my mouth with my own juices. It was utterly degrading that I was beginning to get turned on by this.
I would never have admitted to anybody--I could scarcely believe it myself--but aspects of the night's events so far had played out in various fantasies and sex dreams I have had for years. Something about the total loss of control and being manhandled in front of my husband who could do nothing to help me aroused some deep rooted fantasies in my psyche. The forceful removal of my clothes in a strip search by authority figures, either police or airport security or in this case thugs, who would confine me in a small room and take liberties with my body, groping my breasts and pushing their fingers inside my pussy. I was getting wet for sure and my heart rate and breathing were increasing.
After groping my breasts and fingering my pussy for a while, the taller thug turned me around and kissed me full on the lips. He then guided me, with my back quite literally to the wall, down to my knees. He freed his penis from his shorts and slapped my face with it a couple of times before pressing the head of it against my lips. Aside from being strangely turned on, I figured that the sooner we got this over with, and the sooner they climaxed, the sooner they would leave. I opened my mouth to allow him entrance.
At first he did all of the work, bucking his hips and sliding the length of his penis deeper into my wet mouth with each thrust as I managed to take more and more without choking. But my hormones got the better of me and I sealed my lips around his shaft and began sucking and licking. Soon I was taking his full length--maybe five and a half or six inches--and moaning with pleasure. Then I found myself reaching up and gently rolling his balls between my fingers.
From across the room I heard Derek thrashing in his chair and screaming into the bandanna stuffed in his mouth. I just kept playing with the tall thug's balls and slurping his dick until it started to twitch and his butt and thigh muscles clenched. He was beyond the point of no return and I turned my face away to keep from having him fill my throat. He came in several forceful spurts from my hair line down over my nose, across one cheek and onto my neck.
He staggered back and sat his bare ass on one of our dining room chairs to catch his breath. I needed a little breather as well, though I barely got a gulp of air before his shorter, thinner friend--whose dick was quite a bit more substantial at around seven inches long but also half again as thick as his friend's--took my head in both hands and dragged my mouth along the full length of his shaft in one swift motion. I tried to push him away and I tried to scream, but my mouth was stuffed full. It wasn't that I couldn't handle him, it was just too sudden and it took a good twelve or maybe fifteen seconds to relax my jaws and throat to take him all the way. I began rolling his balls in my hands as well while he fucked my face more forcefully than the first guy had done. He soon tensed and blew his load, but he held my head tight and came directly down my throat which made me start to choke and cough. I managed to pull free and spat the first wad of his hot semen onto the tiled floor, but his second spurt went into my hair and as I looked up the third hit me just above my left eye and a fourth little spurt drooled onto my breasts.
After using me, they un-cuffed Derek's wrists and hurried out of the house before Derek could stand up to them, but he made certain to lock the door once they had gone then came and knelt behind me where I was still down on my knees with semen sliding down my face and chest. He held me close but neither of us spoke for many minutes. Later, we agreed to not report the incident to the police as we had no names nor adequate descriptions of the guys and, let's be real, a vague report of a Hispanic male dressed like a thug is unlikely to lead to a positive identification. Even if those guys were apprehended, they would probably be released within hours and could return for revenge, and we just wanted to be through with them.
That night I lay in bed, unable to sleep. Reliving the incident in my head, I began to realize the extent of my subconscious longings as I discovered myself mindlessly rubbing my clitoris and moaning into my pillow thinking about it until I climaxed.
It was two days later, when I went looking for my secondary DSLR camera body for a photography project I had recently started, that I discovered the thugs must have stolen it on their way out of our house. I was certain that it had been on the dining table that night we went out, now it was nowhere to be found in any room of the house. It would be useless without a lens attached, but it was worth several hundred dollars and the memory card contained many photos of my work which I didn't want to lose. So rather than this project helping to take my mind off the events of that horrible night, those events were re-focused in my mind and fueled my determination to face the thugs.
CHOOSE A PATH...
If Julianne should go alone to track down the thugs and retrieve her stolen camera, continue to Chapter 2 then skip to Chapter 4.
If Julianne and Derek should go together to track down the thugs and retrieve her stolen camera, skip to Chapter 3 then continue to Chapter 4.
Chapter 2: Julianne Goes It Alone
My mind was still tumbling through a bizarre combination of fear, rage and an unshakable sense of arousal at having lost all control, so getting back to my own work for my social media presence seemed like the best way to move on. Derek had returned to work after taking a sick day to be with me and to make sure all our door and window locks were in good working order, so I was home alone.
As I was only planning to do some work inside the house that day, I had thrown on a simple sleeveless knee-length floral pattern dress with wide shoulder straps which had a decorative ruffle which overhangs the shoulders to fall just a couple of inches down my arms. Underneath, I wore a light peach colored cotton tank top bra and peach satin panties. Before going out, I pulled on bright pink ankle socks and my pearl white laced walking shoes. I wouldn't be getting shin splints from walking quickly today!
I figured it might take a few trips each day for several days to locate the thugs, if I could locate them at all, so even though the downtown area was less than a mile from home I drove my car to cover more ground quickly. I drove up and down each street in a one mile by one mile area--one thing you have to admire about early twentieth century town planning around here, they laid things out in a nice grid so it's simple to locate anyplace you're going. This gave me no leads, so I returned home and tried to work on my project but I just could not focus, so after a couple of hours I went out looking again.
Luck--if you can call it that--was on my side. After just a few minutes driving around the downtown area, I caught sight of who I felt certain was the taller, pudgier guy who had been wearing the long shorts and backwards baseball cap. I found him standing outside the rolled up steel deliveries door at the rear of a small warehouse or auto repair shop where he appeared to be stacking, or maybe un-stacking, boxes. My instinct was to step hard on the brake pedal to get out and confront him right away, but thankfully self preservation took hold and kept me from causing a traffic accident. I turned the nearest corner and had to drive for two blocks to find an open parking space.
Before leaving my car, I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and took a series of deep breaths. If I went through with this, no matter the outcome, my life was going to change. I took another deep breath, got out and slammed the door shut behind me, then made my way back to the small warehouse. When I got there, the door was still open and some boxes were still on the pavement of the alleyway but the guy was gone. As I considered stepping inside the dingy and poorly lit building, my heart skipped a beat. I steeled my nerves with another deep breath and resolved to face this head-on.
Stepping inside, I saw it was indeed a little repair shop, with a greasy floor and several half-finished walls with tools and motorcycle parts hanging on old wood shelves which bowed from age in their middles. Some tires were stacked in one corner and two motorcycles in various stages of repair stood to one side beneath a dingy window facing the street out front. One corner of the building was blocked off with internal walls and a door, probably an office for the shop owner.
