Day One, Part One
"Please don't!" My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard, trying to wet a parched, sore throat. "Please stop."
He laughed, a low rumble that held more growl than humor. "The day is not even close to being over."
Behind him, the westward facing windows of the high-rise condo showed a sun that slowly sank toward the horizon. It was high summer, with an early dawn and late sunset.
It had been a long time since dawn.
With the economy headed south, most of the condos in the new development remained unsold and empty. I lived on the 38th floor, and only two people lived above me, a couple on the 42nd floor. My next closest neighbor was on the 31st floor. So I was used to riding the elevator alone, or with just one other person.
But that Saturday dawn, Charles Manson could have been behind me and I wouldn't have noticed.
Friday night's last call had turned into an after hours club hop. By the time my girlfriends left me at the front door, my head spun and my feet hurt from dancing the night out in my stilettos. I had partied until my brain and mind were numb.
Sweat had stuck my long dark hair to my neck, and my short, little black dress, was torn off one shoulder. Even my 42DDs ached from the dancing and fondling. Other parts of my body were sore from being pinched, prodded and felt-up on a dance floor that had been wall-to-wall people. All of it had left me sweaty and slightly aroused, but all I really wanted was a bed and a shower.
What I got was quite different.
Two guys got on the elevator with me, and one got off on the 15th floor. I sighed and ran my hand through my hair as I leaned wearily up against the car wall. That's when the guy behind me grabbed my wrist, yanked it behind my back, and shoved me up against the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me. I opened my mouth to yell, but he shoved a rag into my mouth and pulled a bag over my head.
I screamed, although it sounded more like a snuffle. Laughing, he bounced my head against the wall, hard enough to stun me. "No one can hear you, slut. Not now. Not later."
With a sudden jerk, he pulled wrists together behind me and handcuffed them together. The elevator stopped, and he spun me around, grabbed me under my ass, and slung me over one shoulder. We left the elevator and went into an apartment not far from it. I heard the door slam, then he draped me over something solid and flat. He stepped away, a lots of stuff rustled. I started to squirm, kicking my feet out.
After a moment, he pulled the bag from my head, slapping my face twice. "Fighting will only get you punished, bitch."
Gasping for air, I stared at him, then my surroundings. I was draped over what looked like a square bistro table, high and narrow, so that my head and breasts hung off one side and my legs the other. The next few moments were a blur as, with quick, harsh movements, he spread my legs and roped them to the legs of the table. He cut off my dress and panties and bra, then tied my elbows together, arching my back and making my breasts thrust forward. Tying my long hair into a pony tail, he bound it to the ropes on my elbows, pulling my head up.
He stood back to admire his handiwork. He wore a ski mask, but his eyes shone bright. "I've wanted to get you like this ever since I first saw you. People think you're so nice. You pretend like you're a classy lady, but I know you for what you really are."
He leaned close. "A fuck slut who loves to cum." My nipples had hardened in the cold apartment, and he pinched one between his fingers, gently at first, then harder, causing a sensation that was both pain and pleasure to shoot through my chest. I moaned, and he grinned. "I knew it. I'm going to make you beg to be fucked."
He stepped back and pulled the rag out of my mouth. My tongue was so dry I couldn't speak and I gagged. He grabbed both breasts, squeezing hard, rolling them together. His fingers clamped on the nipples again, pinching hard and pulling down, stretching them. A cry of erotic pain burst from my throat as I realized he was right. What he was doing turned me on, and my pussy began to swell, moisture building.
He switched to slapping my tits, gently at first, then harder, his broad palms landing in hard blows that burned and turned both orbs bright red. He paused and ran two fingers into my sopping wet cunt, laughing. "What a great whore you are!" He laughed, fingering me roughly, then slapping my ass. "You already want to be fucked, don't you?"
