Dar That Follows

It was another breezy late summer's night, the wind from her open bedroom window was knocking the bedroom door against the frame with a repeating thump that irritated Mel as she tried in vane to complete the e-mail she was sending. She needed to sound cute, but professional, intelligent but sexy, informed but flexible—and that door kept knocking into the frame.

She got up and slammed the door shut with force, the wind caught the door mid flight and it shut with a vigor that caught her by surprise. A shiver ran through her body and she threw a comfy old t-shirt over the bra and panties that had been all she was wearing. After a momentary pause to regain her breath she was went back to her computer, calmed by having thrown the door closed.

She finished what she was sending with a cute little semi-colon bracket, she loved them they were flirty and she was trying to seem sarcastically flirty. She smiled as she clicked on the send button. She leaned back; her only task of the evening was finished. It may have been nearly midnight, but she was finished. She headed for the kitchen and a celebratory drink.

She stopped at the doorway however. Some sense somewhere in her alerted her to something gone wrong, something a miss. Then she heard a sliding sound, it sounded like her kitchen window sliding up. Mel lived on the third floor of an old apartment building in the city and if one really wanted to they could climb the old fire escape ladder and get from the street to the metal landing that was on the opposing side of her kitchen window.

She knew that and she held her breath waiting to hear more, wanting to hear nothing. She stood silent for a few moments and heard nothing but the breeze rattling the photographs clipped to the fridge. Had that window already been open, it was the summer, but she hadn't been home all day; it was a large window and she closed it religiously when she went out. She couldn't decide. She still didn't hear anything so she began creeping the door open. She tried to look around the door without exposing her eyes to anything else that might be in the apartment. An impossible task as the man that had entered through her window was watching for her eyes, waiting for the door to open.

With a crowbar in one hand and a duffel bag in the other he smiled down at the helpless girl, Mel slammed the door shut, locked it and tried to scream. She scrambled to find her phone, but alas it was in the kitchen. Before she could make her way to the window to let out a scream her assailant had put his crowbar through her doorway. Now all she could do was stare: petrified by the hand that crept through the hole and felt for the lock.

With the door unlock the attacker swung it open. He moved toward Mel and as she crept back he cornered her at her desk. She bumped into the desk and tried again to scream toward the open window. He lashed forward and pressed his hands to her for the first time. He pushed a forceful, dirt encrusted hand over her mouth. Powerless to cry in protest the attacker closed the window slowly, dramatizing this final act that put Mel all alone.

Mel was already all too aware of that startling fact and now she hoped the attacker would lower his arm so she could plead with him for mercy. His hand smelled horribly and she could see all too clearly the dirt and filth that covered them. When he relented and let his hand down, she immediately began stammering her appeals. "Please, you can have anything you want; just don't hurt me; don't kill me. Take whatever you like, the TV, the computer anything, please."

Her attacker had her trapped on the desk in the corner of her tiny room and he was staring at her deeply. He undressed her with his eyes, a frightening foreshadowing that send waves of fear down Mel's back, the hair all over her body stood on end as she waiting, baited for the attackers next play.

Her attacker remained silent and he dropped down clutching his crowbar still and undid the duffel bag after placing it on the floor, his eyes never leaving Mel's. Out from it he pulled a nylon rope, Mel stammered again. "Don't hurt me, tie me up okay, but don't kill me. Tie me up take whatever you like and someone will find me, I'll be tied up, okay, not dead don't kill me." The attacker ignored her as he began wrapping the rope around Mel's ankles and knees forming two loops with the rope running up the back of her thigh between them. He pushed hard up against her body as he did this, leaving her arms crushed behind the weight of her own body.

She thought briefly about kicking him, or freeing an arm from behind her body, trying to hurt him and run away. Fear had gripped her thus far and as the thought passed through her head, the attacker seemed to notice and he grabbed hard on her knees with his massive, strong grip. It sent a sufficient warning against competitions of strength.

He completed looping the rope around Mel's knees and he pushed the end of the rope under the loop the pulled it up across the crack of her bum. His hands lingered around her waist and crotch. Mel thought she might wet herself; she had to hold in her urine and her fear with her might.

As his hands quietly fondled her ass cheeks the attacker looped the rope around Mel's waist, lifting her and slamming her down on the desk again as he did it; Mel was now lying sideways, almost in the fetal position on her desk, the three loops around her lower body left her able only to wiggle like a worm, unable to fully extend her legs out, or to separate one from the other; her head was bumping into the computer screen as the attacker ran the rope up her back.

He pulled the rope up under her armpit over her arm and he began making his final loop around her arms, squeezing her whole upper body against her chest and ribs, Mel grunted in pain, having already given up conversational protests. When he was finished he ran the end of the rope back down Mel's unmoving body tucking it under his first loop at her ankles; he tugged it exaggerating her fetal position, and then tying the rope and letting the loose end fall to the ground.

The attacker, pleased with this, lifted Mel from the desk; cradling her as she lay still, unable to move anything but her hands, his four tight loops keeping her lateral movement to nothing, and the two ropes running down the length of her body, keeping her unable to extend her legs beyond a few inches. He rocked her gently in his mammoth arms and lay her down on her bed.

He picked up, and threw the duffel bag at her body; its contents fell from the bag and a candy store of adult style weapons now lay on the bed and on the tied body of its owner. Among the weapons was a large butcher knife and the attacker went after this first. Mel screamed another silent scream, then pleaded again and again squeezing her hands in and out unable to move anything else, she shook her head and began crying, she lost control of her bladder and small trails of urine began creeping onto her sheets through her cotton panties.

Her attacker smiled, taking in the stench of fear as it mixed with the salty aroma she had involuntarily unleashed; it was raising his lust and it was beginning to show through the front of his jeans. He paused with the knife on her throat, and for the first time he lay a hand on Mel's wet panties, he felt the trails of urine and he smiled, he brought his face painfully close to hers. He could smell the fear, the urine and the tears and he began brushing the tears off her face with the sharp end of the knife, careful not to cut the quivering girl with the blade. Mel's sobs grew quieter with the inevitability.

The attacker lingered, consumed, lusting at the fear covered face, then quietly he began cutting straight down the front of Mel's shirt, careful not to cut the rope that bound his victim. When he had finished this he cut the bra from his victim, exposing her hardening breasts. He lingered here too, tracing her nipples with his blade, stroking over them; playing with the fear he bathed in.

He then brought his blade to the girls panties, soaked with fear, urine and adrenaline. He could feel that the girl was clean shaven, and with one quick movement of the blade he exposed her shaved sex to the room. He breathed deeply as the exposure released a further level of stench to the now overpowering smell that filled the room. The smell washed over Mel, bringing with it the final stage of vulnerability, the final stage of fear, before the inevitable violation that he was to perform.

The rapist put down the knife and brought out a bit, a plastic ball with a rubber band attached to it. He raised it to Mel's face and without further protest placed it over her head and into her mouth. She then could only muffle a groan as he placed his left hand down onto her exposed pussy. He fingered her with two then three fingers.

Soon he grew weary of playing with his toy this way and he reached for a studded paddle that lay beside the opened duffel. Without warning he thrashed it into stomach, then violently threw her over, pulled the cut panties from her behind and began beating on her back and ass, with each whip came a painful moan from Mel as the studs beat into her chubby behind leaving red welts on her body.

He towered over her, standing upright as she lay powerless on the bed below him. He continued to beat her from behind until she was a bright red on her entire bottom; he mashed the studs into her, not relenting and not wanting an end to the game. He had worked up a lustful rage, an unstoppable anger that kept him insane. The rapist brought himself up onto Mel, mounting his body weight on her overmatched frame. She could hear him unzipping and soon, she could feel him entering her.

Mel was no virgin, but she was with a piece this big and the pain filled her, she groaned as best she could still suffocated by the muzzle. Her rapist seemed annoyed by this and he pushed himself into her as far as he could pressing toward her cervix; then reached his arms up and mashed the paddle, still in his hand into the back of Mel's head, pushing her down into the sheets and mattress underneath her. She gave up shaking her head, and with it all her resistance ceased.

He began to pump and thrust. Mel struggled to breath: from the pain, the muzzle ball and the paddle mashing into the back of her head. The rapist threw himself into her; all his weight and force pummeled the young girl as he was thrust into her ripping vaginal tunnel. After several minutes the rapists came, he grunted loudly as he did and thrust the last bursts far into her.

The pain and suffocation were unreal, but Mel's body was quivering for another reason now, the fucking of a lifetime had given Mel the greatest orgasm she had ever experienced, as the hands of her rapist pushed into her shoulder blades now, they felt like those of a great masseuse practicing his craft.

But the rapist was finished and he left Mel lying, hands clenched to nothing, twitching and quivering from the ecstasy of orgasm. He left his duffel and his toys, he left Mel tied up torn clothes still on, he left her there and he climbed back out the fire escape and into the city night.