Intruder Ch 12

Thank you all so much for your incredible patience. I've had to take a break from story writing for a while, but I haven't abandoned Intruder. Enjoy!

*****

I drifted leisurely back into the waking world, taking my sweet time before opening my eyes. It was a Saturday morning, no need to get up for anything. Even though I was still tired, I could sense that John had already left the bed. Slowly, I mustered the strength to reach over and press a button on the bedside table.

The curtains parted mechanically, revealing a sweeping, panoramic view of the entire city. Before the 2008 crash, John had told me, the top thirty floors were being developed as a set of luxury apartments, with five apartments on each floor of the perfectly cylindrical building. When the crash hit, demand for the finished apartments plummeted overnight, and with it, the price. John had bought all thirty floors, set up a shell company to rent out the bottom 29 for profit, and had had the walls separating the apartments on the top floor knocked down, creating one big, super-condominium for himself consisting of the entire floor.

I climbed out of bed and stood up carefully. At 25 weeks I was getting less and less agile. I stretched my back gently and hold my pregnant belly tenderly as I surveyed the awe-inspiring vista before me. It had been nearly three months since I'd left my old apartment, and the empowering feeling of being on top of the world was as strong as ever. I felt like a queen gazing down on her domain from a luxurious palace in the heavens, and the feeling brought a beaming smile to my face.

My moment of personal exhilaration was interrupted by a sticky trickling sensation seeping out of my pussy and down the inside of my thigh, injecting a little bit of reality into my fantasy. John's cum from the previous night was leaking from me, reminding me that he was the king in this heavenly palace, and I his subservient concubine. Not that I minded this arrangement. I had truly fallen in love with the father of my baby; the handsome, ex-commando, alpha male who had raped me out of raw lust; his sophisticated British accent and his insatiable desire for my pussy. Being his sexual plaything was an exciting price to pay for living like a queen.

John's sticky seed felt a little uncomfortable trickling down my inner thigh; now was a good time for a shower. I padded naked to the 7-star bathroom and relieved myself before getting in the shower. It was a power-shower which sprayed from all directions, as well as from above. It was also big enough for two people, deliberate maybe?

As the warm water poured down my skin in little rivers, I picked up a flannel and scrubbed between my legs, cleaning up the evidence of our coupling the previous night. John insisted on cumming inside me every time, which did at least mean less to clean up afterwards, but was also pretty distracting as his cum would keep dripping into my panties for hours afterwards. Sometimes, on the days when I wore skirts, I didn't even bother with underwear.

The shower door opened and my rapist entered, naked as a caveman, though with less hair.

"Nice of you to join me, pervert," I said, not bothering to cover myself anymore as I handed him another flannel, "now scrub me."

"Someone's feisty today," said John with a smile as he took the flannel.

"Since I've forfeited my privacy to you," I replied, "the least you can do is help me wash."

John stepped forward and pulled me into a sensual kiss. I closed my eyes and let his tongue invade my mouth.

"Certainly."

My intruder started to rub my body with the flannel, running it gently across my skin as we showered. I turned around and rested my back against his powerful chest, and before long John dropped the flannel and began to run his bare hands across my body, gently massaging my breasts, waist, and hips before predictably reaching for my womanhood. I took a hold of his wrists and guided them back up to my pregnant belly, making him gently caress the growing bump that he had created. I'd taken out my jewelled piercing a long time ago, anticipating the stretching that would make a barbell uncomfortable. But I'd replaced it with a flexible plastic one, remembering how much my rapist had liked my pierced belly, and anticipating future ravishment by him.

"I want you." My rapist whispered in my ear, his voice seething with masculine desire.

"And I want you," I replied softly but seriously, "to be a good father to our child, and any others I have for you."

There was a lengthy pause, but I gave John time to consider his response as he held me in his arms.

"I can try." He said pensively.

"You'll need to do a bit more than try." I replied.

"I don't know how to be a father," John replied, his normal, alpha male arrogance slipping into a tone of self-doubt, "I didn't have a father growing up, and his only contribution to my life is the DNA in my cells."

"That doesn't mean you can't be a good father," I reassured him, stroking his hands as they rested on my belly, "if you love me enough to help what you created, I'll happily have your babies for the rest of my years. And you'll be a much better man than your dad ever could be."

Another pause followed, then John leant down and kissed me on the neck with the shower water still pouring down our bodies. I closed my eyes and stretched my neck to one side as he kissed me, like an alpha she-wolf exposing her throat to her mate. I took this to be a yes even before he said it.

"Well, you're already living with me," he noted, "and your pussy feels so wonderful around my cock. Plus, it would be nice to finally tell my mother she has grandchildren."

"She doesn't know about your sexual adventures?" I asked.

"Dear god, no." John replied emphatically, "finding out that her son is a serial rapist and a father by the same token? I don't know how she'd react to that news."

"The one woman that every man is truly afraid of," I laughed, "his mother."

"I'm not afraid of her," John replied, "that's just not the sort of thing any parent would want to find out about their child."

"True," I answered, "A rapist's child fathering children through rape. That's disturbing."

"That rapists have an evolutionary advantage." My rapist said, his alpha smugness returning.

Even though I'd fallen for John and wanted him in my life, as well as in me, I still wrestled with his theories about rape. The idea of a 'rapist gene', if such a thing existed, being favoured by evolution, as if it were a GOOD thing, made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I still hadn't reconciled my love and lust for my rapist, with the idea of rape itself, which I couldn't quite bring myself to think of as 'normal', let alone something favoured by nature.

"Let's get breakfast before the sun gets too high in the sky." I said eventually. I could revisit that dilemma later in my own time.

***

John and I washed together without having sex. As my belly got bigger, the need to protect my bump meant sex in the tight quarters of the shower would be hard to pull off. My rapist contained his urges, but with a warning that he would need a release sooner or later. If anyone else had said that to me, it would have given me the creeps. But coming from John, with his sexy British elocution, it made my pussy tingle.

We dried off and got dressed before eating breakfast together, and then disappeared to different parts of the enormous super-apartment to pursue our own activities. John usually had some computing project he was working on to keep his expertise up, or else was managing his vast network of finances. Part of me worried he was planning another rape spree. That bothered me less because he would be violating some other innocent, unsuspecting girl, and more because he would be away from me while he was indulging his urges. It worried me that he might get bored and leave, so whenever he wanted sex, which was often, I usually gave it to him, eager to keep my alpha baby-daddy satisfied. I hoped it was enough.

I spent most of the morning doing aerobics - or at least the stretches I could still pull off safely - made myself a giant snack afterwards, and curled up on a couch in the living room to read a book. The living room felt like it had been taken from a mansion, complete with a giant marble fireplace, an electronic, simulated fire which glowed softly when the lights were switched off, and ornate furniture with wonderfully soft pillows and cushions.

As I read, I started to nod off from being curled up immobile on the soft fabric of the couch, so I put the book down and lay back against the cushions. I was wearing only a sports bra and leggings, leaving my belly and back exposed. The outfit was nice and comfortable, and baring so much skin made me feel sexy, too. It would certainly make John horny.

Eventually, my mind wandered back to the subject of rape, as it so often did, given my increasingly close relationship with my very own rapist. I was particularly bothered by our conversation about rape being advantageous for the rapist. I'd dabbled in evolutionary biology before settling on nursing, so I knew that technically it was true. The rapist wouldn't have to care for his victim after impregnating her, leaving the mother to raise the child by herself and the rapist free to force his genes into the next woman.

That raised an even more disturbing thought: did women who submitted to rape and bore their rapist's child afterwards have an advantage too? That thought grated against the grain of my instincts even more. It was obvious what the rapist gained from it: a quick, low cost means of fathering babies. But the idea that a woman was better off submitting to a forced breeding, if only because her rapist's baby would still contain her own DNA, was very different.

My hand drifted across my pregnant belly as I contemplated my own 'success'. Technically, I was a success. My 'mate' John was a handsome and vigorous, apex male, and our baby would inherit all of those qualities from him. And it was all because I'd failed to fight back adequately when he'd raped me. Did I have a leg up on the other members of womankind because I'd submitted to him? Were a woman's struggles just a test of strength to see if her rapist was 'man enough' to impregnate her? The idea was perverse, outrageous. And yet, there was something undeniably kinky about it.

I couldn't pursue this line of thinking without feeling a twinge of guilt at doing so. Most rapists were not like John, and for their victims, rape was decidedly NOT a pleasant experience. Never mind the spiel about rape as a reproductive strategy, I had still felt violated the morning after John had first taken me; and for those women who discovered that their rapists had left something behind to grow inside them, the whole thing was doubly traumatic. Did I really believe that rape was somehow evolutionarily justified? Did John?

I caressed my bump pensively. The answer didn't really matter. Even if I had hated John for what he'd done to me and to so many other women, I would rather my unborn baby have her biological father around, with all his flaws, than grow up with no father at all, not to mention a comfortable childhood. If I ran away, then raising a child on a nurse's salary - and as a single parent - would be a punishing task. With this arrangement, I could be a full time mom in the lap of luxury; and with a man I genuinely loved - whether in spite of, or because of how we met didn't matter - if I had to spread my legs and indulge my rapist's urges and fantasies to secure my baby's future, so be it.

Most women might be prepared to make that sacrifice, but for me it wasn't a grim trade-off. John and this baby were the two best things to have happened to me so far. And, in any case, even though I'd felt dirty and violated afterwards, I still liked to fantasise about my ravishment. John may be a rapist, but in spite of my qualms about rape in general, I no longer felt guilty about the fact that that was what most attracted my inner cave woman to him.

I lay back and closed my eyes, immersing myself in the memory of our first 'encounter'. He'd come to me in the middle of summer, in the dead of night, ready to assail me as I slept. I'd woken up a second too late as he covered my mouth and squeezed my throat until I submitted. My hand slipped down to the crotch of my leggings as I remembered John stripping away my panties and forcing his manhood in between my pussy lips, robbing me of my precious virginity as he violated my sacred entrance. In my mind's eye, I recalled him bearing down on me and thrusting into my womanhood like a rutting beast, a rough-cut, ultra-masculine barbarian defiling a beautiful, untouched maiden. Then the moment he came. That glorious explosion of wet warmth inside me for the first time had sealed my fate.

"Having fun?" Asked a familiar male voice.

I started in surprise and quickly withdrew my fingers from my crotch. John was towering over me, clearly amused that I had been fantasising about him.

"I don't burst in on you when you're jacking off!" I spouted indignantly, crossing my legs to hide my wet patch.

"I don't jack off," replied John, brushing off my irritation with an amused smile "do you mind if I join you?"

That was fine by me, and I scooted forward as John stripped off his shirt, leaving himself bare chested as he slid in behind me on the couch and held me in his arms. I quickly relaxed again as I snuggled back against my rapist-lover. I felt truly safe in his powerful, gym-sculpted arms, and I felt that our baby was safe with its father embracing me from behind. I almost dozed off in his arms until it occurred to me how strange this was.

"How come you don't want sex?" I asked John, a little suspiciously.

"I'm happy just to cuddle," John replied, "plus, I want my baby-mother to be happy and safe."

"It's 'baby-momma'." I corrected him, laughing.

"I don't like to use slang," John answered, "but I'm serious. I thought about what you said earlier in the shower. I have over fifty children by women I've seduced or overpowered over the years. I may be the most prolific serial rapist in the country. But I want to be a father in more than just the biological sense, and you're my best chance of doing that."

There was a spell of silence as I processed his words and the implication behind them.

"The big, bad rapist," I said with a smile, snuggling further back into his embrace, "has finally been tamed."

My statement elicited an almost evil chuckle from John.

"Oh no," he clarified, "I'm still a rapist, and I still have an alpha rapist's instincts. I genuinely want to be a father to at least some of the children I've brought into this world. But I'll always be a sexual threat to women old enough to bear my children, including you."

"I guess you can't have the gentleman without the savage underneath." I sighed in response, actually relieved that I would still be on the receiving end of an uninhibited alpha stud.

"Of course you can't." My intruder said to me, his hand drifting across my belly and down between my legs, "once I claim your pussy, I own your pussy."

That statement made me feel tingly all over. It felt so true. As John idly massaged my crotch, I stroked my pregnant belly, physical evidence of the truth of John's words. A simple act of male lust had changed my life forever, sparking a brand new life into being, a life which was growing inside me. And as long as my rapist continued to lust after me, there would be many siblings on the way. He truly did own my pussy.

Then on second thoughts, John's words made me wonder if it was all that true. He'd certainly claimed my body for himself, but his base desires kept drawing him back to me, and as a result, I had a multimillionaire to pamper me and our baby in a luxury home on top of the world. Better still, this multimillionaire doubled as a virile apex caveman constantly lusting after the treasure between my legs. All I had to do was let him have that treasure whenever he wanted, and I could live like a queen.

He didn't own my pussy, my pussy owned him.

"Yes, you do." I murmured sweetly. No need to tell him that.

I shifted my butt sideways and rolled carefully onto my side. John dutifully rolled in my direction and wrapped his arms around me. I held him close like a man-blanket, savouring the tender warmth of his embrace. I wasn't horny anymore, but I did drift off to sleep again.

***

Leah's breathing slowed as she lay in my arms, dozing off slowly. It actually felt nice. I carefully removed my arm from Leah's grasp and began to caress her belly. My daughter was growing in there. The ultrasound had confirmed it was a girl. I didn't doubt that I'd love her when she arrived; but for some reason, I still felt smugger than I should. I conquered Leah's body, and her expanding belly was the ultimate mark of that conquest. As the months had gone by, that feeling chimed less and less with me.

The pervert in me eventually came to the fore and my hand drifted up to caress Leah's breasts. They were getting swollen as her belly grew, firmer and more mature. I touched her gently so as not to wake her; no need for her to wake up and find me groping her. My hand slipped down towards her crotch and I began to fondle it. Leah gave a silent, but open-mouthed gasp in her slumber. She could feel it. My own body was stirring, and my cock hardened in anticipation. I tried to worm my fingers down into her gym shorts, but the elastic band was too tight. I couldn't take them off without waking her. Eventually, I gave up.

Disappointed, I removed my hand from Leah's crotch and wrapped my arm back across her body, snuggling her back against my chest. Leah slept like a rock, but I wasn't even remotely tired. As the minutes passed, I realised I didn't feel relaxed at all. In fact, I was bored. Bored? What the hell for? It wasn't just frustration at not getting any action; that, I could deal with. I needed to go out and do something. But what?

It didn't matter what, I just needed to go and find something. Once again, I extricated my arm from Leah's snuggling grasp, and slid quietly off the couch. She regularly napped like this for hours at a time, she wouldn't notice if I left the super-condo for a while.

As I put on my shirt, I turned and looked back at Leah, still slumbering in her sexy yoga outfit, and cradling her pregnant belly as she slept. Without a thought, I knelt down and spontaneously kissed her belly.

"I'll be back." I whispered. Without wondering whether that assurance was addressed to my unborn daughter or her mother, or both, I went out the door.

***

I took the elevator down to the gym and walked in to find it deserted. Odd for a weekend. Less so given that it didn't technically open until lunchtime. Plus, there weren't that many people who came down to use it. Even though the economy was turning a corner, most of the apartments were still empty. It was also a rather small gym, with an array of weight machines at one end, a row of treadmills and Stairmasters at the other end, and a dance studio.

I walked past the unused equipment to the dance studio. The door was open and I peeked in. There was a woman already inside, she was dressed for yoga, and was carefully rolling up an exercise mat. Evidently, she was just finishing.

I ducked out as she turned to leave and flattened myself against the wall, waiting almost casually for her. Out she came with her stretch mat in the crook of her arm, and her jet black hair tied back in a bun. She was dressed in knee-length yoga pants and a sports bra, showing off her stomach. The tight yoga pants brought out the shape of her hips and thighs, giving her a deliciously Venus-like figure. I watched, completely unnoticed by her, as she turned right out the door and headed for the changing rooms. The shape of her hips and ass captivated me, and my cock hardened. It needed a taste of what was between those taut thighs.