Friend Of His Daughter Pt 02

Note:

This is a fictional non-consent story. Non-consent is binary. There is no such thing as one story being more "non-consenty" than another. The best way to not be angry about a non-consent story is to not read a non-consent story.

I would like to become a good writer, but I have writer's block. These stories are my attempts to get better, while my writer's block resolves itself. LITERALLY any critical feedback is appreciated. The sooner I achieve ego death about my stuff, the sooner I become a better writer. Also, sorry about the tense shifts in part 1 and the wait for part 2.

...

Emily pretended to be asleep, though neither Katie nor Jessica were awake to suspect otherwise. Every passing minute was misery, as she listened to Russell tidy up downstairs. Even after she heard the sounds die down and the master bedroom door creak shut, she dared not move, lest the rustle of her blanket conceal whatever small noise that may signal his approach. She couldn't think of a reason why he would check on her, but lay still for another half an hour, just the same.

When she could stand it no longer, she snatched her phone off the charger, dove under her blanket and ordered a ride service to pick her up. She remained under the covers and stared at the screen, watching her driver's progress to her destination.

Her biggest fear was the driver, upon arrival to Katie's house, honking the horn and broadcasting her escape attempt to Russell. This she agonized over with all-consuming intensity until she was jolted out of it by the vibration of her phone. Her ride was here.

There was no time left. No time to pack up her things. She chastised herself for her failure to act even as she bolted out of Katie's room, her phone and purse the only things she grabbed. Through the hall and down the stairs she ran, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor, making her cringe with every step. On the first floor, she slipped on some piece of clothing, but managed to get her arms under her, arresting her fall. Her left hand brushed against some fabric and she grabbed it, sticking it into her purse, realizing that it was her panties that she forgot to put back on. Then, blood pounding in her ears, she covered the rest of the distance to the door, opening it and shutting it behind her as quickly and soundlessly as she dared.

She didn't even grab her shoes.

...

There were moments, it seemed, when she was a fly on the wall observing her own self.

The Johnsons, who were Katie's neighbors, had seven-year-old twins. Emily babysat them twice a week and Katie would sometimes visit and hang out as she watched the kids.

Katie wasn't with her this time, as she knocked on the door and Mr. Johnson let her in. The evening was a quiet one. The twins were sleeping on the floor in front of the basement television set. Emily herself was starting to doze off, when the weight of the couch she was lying on shifted with Mr. Johnson's weight plopping down next to her.

Staying in and having a babysitter watch your children seemed like an odd arrangement to Emily, but perhaps there was an unforeseen change of plans which had Mr. Johnson cancel his outing. She was grateful that she was allowed to stay and get paid despite the circumstances and would have dozed off with that thought, had she not felt the weight shift again.

Johnson's arm dug into the couch and wrapped around and behind her, so that her head now rested on its bicep. She angled her head to look up at him, but the man just stared at the television set without acknowledging her.

Now the hand of that arm began rubbing her own and then slipping in between it and her chest. She tried to move away, pushing herself against his side, but the man kept her in the same exact position. They sat like this for a few seconds, then, Johnson's arm flexed and jerked, popping her left breast out of her shirt and bra. He fondled it for a moment and then his fingers found her nipple.

Emily wanted to scream, but found that she couldn't. There was nothing keeping her from doing so. Still, she couldn't.

Now Johnson placed his other hand on her knee and slowly inched it up her thigh, dipping it below her shorts. Emily felt him turn his head. She felt his breath and then jerked when he kissed her neck. Chaste, at first, his lips making a soft smacking sound with every kiss. Then, his tongue slipped out and lapped up and down her neck.

Emily whimpered and struggled to break free, but Johnson simply stopped groping her and wrapped her in a bear hug, immobilizing her almost completely.

His worked his way up to her ear and into it.

"No," Emily sobbed. "No. No. No," she repeated, but Johnson did not cease.

Then, there was another shifting of the couch and, with a jerk of her head, Emily saw Russell sitting on her other side.

The scream came this time, but cut off almost immediately as Johnson, now completely naked, switched positions and thrust his cock into her mouth. Emily's head spun with the impacts, as Johnson began his forceful thrusts, sinking himself within her mouth completely. The thrusts became even wilder and Emily slid off the couch, Johnson following after her. There was a brief pause at this point and she found her shirt and bra torn off her body, her shorts following soon after.

Then, another pair of hands lifted and propped her up sideways on the floor. She felt Russell's body lay down behind her, as Johnson, also laying on his side, took up his position in front. Emily screamed what she could and thrashed, but was swiftly subdued with some harsh words and harsher squeezes.

Slowly, this time, Johnson thrust in half-way and then back, maintaining this pace. Russell placed one hand on her sweat-slicked hips and gripped and moved in closer, guiding his cock up to her slit with his other hand.

She felt him at her entrance and then there was a sharp thrust and he was in deep. She felt his cock bottom out and smash into something within her. Russell's hand quested upwards to her breasts, gripping them tight as he began his own slow thrusts.

Emily floated and watched herself sobbing and gasping for as much air as she could manage in between Johnson's fucking of her mouth. It was just sound for a while. The darkness concealed what was happening, but the television would occasionally flash and illuminate the room for a few moments, during which she would glimpse her writhing body sandwiched in between the two men as they worked her from both ends.

All she could see now was Johnson's pubic hair, as he buried himself into her throat and did not relent. She could taste the semen, could feel it spurting from Johnson's cock. There was too much of it. She felt it fill her and burst out of her mouth and nose. Behind her, Russell grunted and gripped her tight enough to hurt, as he ground his cock into her and came as well.

She felt semen leaking out unto her thigh and down to the carpet. The leak turned into a flood. There was too much of it.

She was lying on her face, propped up by her knees, with her behind in the air. She must have passed out from the lack of oxygen, because she didn't remember how she got into this position. She felt Johnson slapping her face lightly and she propped herself up on all fours. She must have been unconscious for just a few moments, because she still had a mouth full of Johnson's come.

Was it over?

She spluttered and groped around her to find her clothes, but hands arrested her movement. Emily felt Johnson step in between her legs. Russell stepped in front of her and jerked her head up by her hair. She felt Johnson enter her, Russell doing the same on his own side. Her jaw and throat ached with the strain.

They were bigger now. Both of them. She felt as if she was spitted by one enormous cock, from her mouth, through her stomach, and out her slit.

Then they were thrusting and coming. There was no end to it. They made no sound signaling orgasm, made no movements except for the slow and steady thrusting.

Still, it came. The semen ran down her chin, throat, and down her arms. With every thrust in, Russell displaced more and more of it out of her mouth. Her inner thighs were drenched with Johnson's come as it poured out of her. It began pooling on the carpet below her.

It never stopped. It will never stop, she thought, as the orgasm built up and exploded, waking her up.

She rolled over and off her bed, landing hard on the floor. She gasped and retched, trying to expel semen that wasn't there. She did all of this, even as her legs shook with her waning orgasm. When she could walk, she stumbled down to the bathroom and collapsed under the shower, letting the water wash off her sweat. She sat like that letting the adrenaline fade as her mind bounced back and forth between feeling sorry and angry with herself. Her fingers were pruney by the time she made herself towel off and head back to her room.

This was not the first time she found herself in this situation. It has been a week. The morning after Russell took her, she exchanged apology text messages with Katie and Jessica who were surprised and amused with her sudden disappearance. She couldn't imagine herself carrying on as if nothing was wrong and dreaded having to see Russell again, so she concocted a lie of convenience. She posted a message on her social media account, further explaining that she hasn't been feeling well at Katie's house the night before, and that she was self-quarantining herself in case she had COVID. With that excuse in place, she shut off the outside world and tried to pull herself together.

The next week felt like one unending day. Sleep eluded her, except for brief naps precipitated by exhaustion. When she did pass out, she jerked back into wakefulness within the same hour, to find herself sweating through her clothes, her adrenaline-fueled heart pounding in her chest. Most nightmares were hazy, fading in moments after she woke up. But not all of them.

When she felt like she was starving, she picked herself up off the bed and headed to the kitchen. With leftovers in the microwave, she headed to the washer, sweat-stained laundry in tow. She found herself lost in thought, staring at the clothes spinning inside the machine, when there was a knock on the door.

Shortly after, a second knock.

Silently, she crept up to the door and stood there, too terrified to look into the peep-hole. She bit her lip and prayed for whoever it was to give her up as out of the house, but the knocking persisted.

Finally, she summoned up the courage to tip-toe up to the peep-hole, when the visitor spoke up and she no longer needed to check it.

"I know you're in there, Emi," Russell said, as he rapped on the door one more time.