You sit at a baseball game, alone, watching in rapt attention to your local team. You don't see the stranger sit down behind you in the mostly empty stadium. After a time, you sense someone there, and turn to view a handsome man staring into your eyes. His gaze flusters you; you smile his way, then turn back to the game. 1/2 an inning later, you stand to stretch, turn again, and see an empty seat where the stranger had been. You scan the area but don't see him. His movements are silent, disturbing and compelling at once.
You leave after a satisfying game in which the home team did well, and won. You find your car in the vast parking lot. As you pull away to drive home, you notice what looked like the same man sitting in a nearby car, staring at you. As you leave the parking lot, you look in the rear-view mirror and see that same car following you out. Your warning signals are on alert, and nervously you drive home, with many glances behind you. You haven't seen the man in the car since you both left the stadium, but you remain anxious.
Your arrive at your house, drive into the garage and close the door behind you. Only when you are safely sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of red wine in hand do you relax, and laugh a bit to yourself, thinking silly thoughts about a strange man following you home.
You glance out the window with a sip of wine in your mouth, and almost choke on it: there is he, sitting in his car parked right in front of your house, looking directly into your eyes! You are frightened now, and reach for your phone to call...who? The police, a friend, your husband (out of town)? As you fumble with the phone and your own thoughts, you look again, and he is gone. You look up and down your street, seeing nothing but the mundane things which are always there.
You go to the front door to lock it, and as you do, hear something at the back door. You are shaking now, as you tip-toe toward the noise. You peak around a corner to see the back door, and feel him behind you! As you turn, he pulls your arms behind your back and pushes you forward. You stumble and begin to fall, but he holds you up as if a child. You feel his size and strength through the strong grip on your arms. You regain your balance and begin to scream, but a large, masculine hand stifles it, covering your mouth. As if in a surreal dream, time slows: you are able to be completely terrified and unable to think clearly, while at the same time smell his scent, feel his strength, taste his maleness covering your mouth.
He pushes you to the living-room, then easily bends you down over the back of the couch. Your head is now below your waist, with your ass in the air. You are able to think about the situation now, and know that you are about to be raped. You are a sexual woman, but smart enough to know that rape is not sexual. You are afraid of the pain about to come; dry, forced, angry...
Your silly efforts at sexual fantasy role playing have come back in an ironic way: wearing a dress at a ballgame to have men stare at you: exciting but harmless. Well, girl, it's not harmless now! I'm about to be raped! Fuck! You start thinking of the various articles you've read about this situation, and how to handle such a nightmare. Reason starts to come back as you think though a dialogue to wriggle out of this. But he always seems to be one step ahead of you: he talks first.
"Marie, I've been watching you for a long-time now at the baseball games, toying with the men around you, wearing short dresses and sometimes no panties. Your legs slightly open, beckoning those poor slobs to take a look. I looked, and liked what I saw. And now I am here, to take what you offered to so many..."
His voice wasn't what you expected. It was deep, measured, patient, strong, and oh, so very sexy. That thought surprised you. Being attracted to the voice of a man about to rape you. Then he surprised you again:
"Remove your panties, Marie, and let me see what you want me to see." He was going to make ME help him?
"Fuck you!" I said, angry now, and struggling hard to free myself from this absurd position. He chuckled softly, and held me in place. I couldn't move. He began touching my hair, then my neck, then my back, then...my ass. Softly, slowly, not at all what I expected.
"Remove your panties, Marie...NOW!"
His voice so dominant, so masculine. I pushed my panties over my upturned ass, as he moved my skirt up, onto the small of my back. He finished the job, pulling the panties down to my ankles. Without thinking, I stepped one leg out of them, so that the panties hung on one ankle. I remained bent over the couch, ass exposed to a rapist, and waited.
He gently touched my ass, caressing it, making love to it with a strong hand, the other holding me in place. Anger was replaced by resignation, and I simply went limp, waiting. He continued to caress my skin, softly, expertly. He slowly touched between my cheeks, probing. Deeper went his fingers, touching places which caused me to squirm. My movements actually helped him, as my cheeks opened more, allowing him greater access to what he wanted.
Then it began, and shocked me: I was aroused. I could feel my body responding to his touch. Damn, Marie, what the hell?! I couldn't help it. The feeling was a good one, despite the situation. He continued deeper, pushing aside lips, gently massaging beyond. I opened to him instinctively, wanting, needing more.
He felt my wetness, and knew I was his. He spoke again, with that strong, deep voice, controlling me with it, commanding me to be his: "Open your legs for me, Marie. Show me your wetness. Show me your beautiful pussy. Show me how you want me, need me."
