Intruder

It's been over a year and a half since I submitted Chapter 12 of the Intruder saga. I had planned several other chapters after that, but I became busy with other things and never got round to writing them. A lot of people were disappointed with the fact that I left the series on a perpetual cliffhanger. I know that because I continue to get fanmail telling me so. I really enjoyed composing this series back in the day, and I'm still proud of what I produced; so I decided to make the time to write one final chapter that draws everything to a fitting close. Enjoy.

*

I opened my eyes. It was still pitch black. My brain - only recently roused from slumber - could at least register that much. I closed my heavy eyelids once again and tried to return to the land of dreams; but try as I might, I was no longer tired enough to manage it. And besides, I needed to pee. Mustering enough energy to move my tired limbs, I climbed out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, feeling my way through the dark towards the door. Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I did my business, flushed, and washed my hands in the sink.

Looking up at the mirror I couldn't help but pause in thought. It had been just over three and a half years since I'd quit working as a nurse - hardly an age - and yet I had changed so much, not least in my body. I reached up and cupped my breasts, giving them a gentle massage through the see-through material of my negligee. They were still firm and perky with youth, but were swollen due to motherhood; at least they weren't sagging yet.

My hands drifted down to my almost washboard-like stomach, idly fiddling with the piercing in my belly. I had insisted on keeping my jewelled navel piercing, my sexuality belonged to him - and to his to me - but I kept the body piercing as a reminder that this was still my body.

I cradled my belly just below my navel before bringing my hands to rest on my hips. Daily pilates sessions kept the baby fat at bay, but three pregnancies and the natural births that had followed had irreversibly widened my hips. I crossed my feet and posed in front of the mirror. My mom-hips gave my body a beautifully feminine, hourglass figure. Part of me kind of missed having a fawn-like, virginal body, but now I looked like a statue of a roman goddess.

I uncrossed my legs as I felt an awkward trickling sensation down the inside of my leg. I reached down and wiped the substance from my inner thigh up to the cleft of my womanhood and held it up to eye level: my rapist's seed. The substance that had so dramatically changed my life, and for the better. I gave the sticky white goo on my fingers a thoughtful look, then stuck both fingers in my mouth.

I gave my fingers a slow and sensual clean with my lips and tongue before giving them a quick rinse under the tap. I looked back up at the mirror as if I'd been caught in the act. Swallowing, I flashed a sexy smile at myself and walked away. I was a MILF, we have dirty minds.

***

Turning out the bathroom light, I shut the door behind me. It happened on a regular basis, but it caught me by surprise every time.

A large, male hand covered my mouth and I panicked instinctively, my surprised yelp muffled by the hand. I gripped his wrist and struggled to pull his palm away with my own tiny hands even as he wrapped his other arm around my belly and hugged me close from behind. I bucked instinctively against his imprisoning embrace, but my struggles grew weaker as it became clear he was simply holding me in place. Like someone trapped in a quicksand, I slowly relaxed. I felt his breath on my neck and heard his voice in my ear.

"You know it's only me, Leah." John whispered in my ear. His familiar voice and pussy-moistening British accent made my sense of panic melt away and I truly settled into his embrace. He uncovered my mouth and I exhaled the remaining the tension.

"I still have mixed feelings about you doing that." I told him, craning my head backwards to rest on his shoulder. His embrace softened in response and both hands came to rest on my belly.

"I think part of you will always enjoy that," was the sultry, whispered response, "I certainly do."

"Only when you recreate our first meeting," I answered, "other than that, Mrs Thornton would like to feel safe in her own home."

John paused briefly in thought. "Mr Thornton will be sure to take that on board."

My hands came to rest on his hands, and there was a soft clink as our rings touched. The room was still pitch black, so we couldn't actually see anything. That was a shame, since I loved looking at the round-cut, 3 carat diamond on my finger; but turning on the lights would wake up the newborn, so we cuddled in the dark.

"Speaking of 'taking things on board'," John began to stroke my belly, "is there anything I should know about?"

"You know our arrangement," I gently reminded him, "you can touch it wherever you want, you can enter it whenever you want, but you don't get a running commentary on its functions."

"Always keeping me in suspense." He said a little resignedly.

"It's my uterus," I shot back defensively, "and you keep filling it up again within a few months of me giving birth."

His grip on my body tightened possessively, a firm embrace to remind me that I was his and his alone; exactly the way it should be. One of his hands reached down below my navel to my sex, casually sliding a finger in between my lower lips. I squeezed my thighs shut, squirming instinctively, and his grip on my crotch tightened.

"Relax," he whispered soothingly, "you know this is mine."

His beautiful accent made me believe it, and I relaxed my thighs for him. His grip on my crotch turned into a gentle massage, moistening my entrance for him. I exhaled a gentle moan of pleasure before bending over forwards, reaching back between my thighs and cupping his balls in my palm.

John tensed up at the power reversal, his hands moving quickly to get a hold on my hips and pull my ass in close to his crotch. I was bent over in a nominally submissive doggy-style, but we were both acutely aware of the power I now held in my hand.

"Relax," I whispered to him, "you know this is mine."

I began a gentle, one-handed massage of his testes. He tried to wrestle free - squirming wasn't his style - but he didn't dare wrestle too hard given the gentle but firm grip I had on his family jewels.

And what a pair of jewels they were. With just one small hand, it felt like I was trying to cup a pair of squidgy tennis balls, no wonder he was so potent. And in spite of his obvious discomfort with a woman having such a commanding hold of his manhood, the other part of his manhood was steadily hardening.

I relaxed my grip and relinquished my hand. As soon as I did that, John's other side came out. He spun me round aggressively, his powerful chest right up against my own as he held my shoulders. With a shove, he forced me onto the bed.

"That was an uppity move, Leah," he said in a low growl, advancing towards the bed, "you need to be reminded of your place."

I scootched backwards away from him. Being, pitch black I couldn't actually see him crawling across the bed towards me; that made my fear even more acute. But it wasn't regular fear, it was an exhilarating fear, tinged with primal excitement. I had fallen in lust with this side of John, and I knew exactly which buttons to push - and which parts to grab - to entice my rapist to come out and play.

When I hit the silk-embroidered headboard I was trapped, and my heart leapt when John grabbed my ankles and yanked me forwards again. I felt his overpowering weight and strength bear down on me and responded with a token struggle against the fingers that wrapped around my throat, even as I instinctively spread my legs for him. His chest bore down on my own as his hips aligned with mine, and I felt the bare head of his penis pressing against my entrance. One sharp thrust, and he was in.

I released a sharp gasp, clamping my hand over my mouth so as not to wake the children. The feeling of fullness was incredible. I had squeezed out three babies through that tunnel, and still the fit was remarkably snug, as if the coupling had been made to order. Then my rapist began to fuck.

His strokes were not gentle. They were rough and rhythmic, an aggressive assertion of penile power over the pussy. Men loved to labour under the delusion that they could fuck the fairer sex into compliance, none more so than my very own rapist, but what an experience to lie back and let him try. Each inward stroke made me release a muffled yelp as the head of his penis kissed my cervix with the force of a battering ram. I was already wet from earlier, and my canal moistened even further to lubricate its walls, welcoming and easing the passage of each powerful stroke.

His fingers were still wrapped around my throat, not to squeeze but to ensure my compliance, to keep his captive submissive as he had his way with me. But my own hands were free to roam across his strong arms, his chiselled chest, and his toned abs. Even up across his neck to stroke his cheeks.

His thrusting became more aggressive. He had entered the final stretch, and I could feel my own crotch beginning to tingle. He relinquished his grip on my throat and leant forward until we were chest to chest. His head was next to mine, his laboured breathing heavy in my ear, and his arms slipped under my own to hold me close as he humped me like a stallion. I took the opportunity to wrap my arms across his back, squeezing him close to me as best I could. I didn't want him to leave me, not ever. He could breed me as many times as he wanted to as long as we could continue this every day and night forever.

The growing cloud of arousal in my groin was getting harder to suppress. John's crotch was grinding furiously against my clit, and the pleasure was reaching critical mass. Finally, I couldn't hold it back any longer. My orgasm detonated inside my belly, setting off a ripple of full body contractions concentrated in my pussy. My rapist felt the contractions aggressively massaging his penis, and he responded with a furious acceleration in his strokes. Finally, he too could hold back no longer, and one last inward thrust, coupled with a barely suppressed snarl of masculine pleasure signalled his climax.

I felt a jet of liquid warmth bloom deep inside my cunt, followed by another, and another, and another. My rapist and I cuddled each other close as I accepted his virile seed into my depths, my ongoing vaginal contractions milking his manhood for every drop it could muster even as my cervix hoovered up as much as it could. Slowly, the jets became spurts, and the spurts became dribbles, and we coasted down from our mutual ecstatic high.

I felt his penis gradually turn flaccid as my rapist, satiated by the sacrifice I had provided, returned to his dormant state. My husband slid his fingers through my hair and stroked my head with loving gentleness.

"You never seem to learn." He said. It was still pitch black, but I knew he was smiling.

"Au contraire," I replied, "I learnt a long time ago that 'man-handling' your junk is the best way to make you fuck like a god."

"Is that so?" He said with a doubtful tone.

"You're a rapist," I answered, "you live in fear of your manhood being at a woman's mercy, just like women fear being raped. I've found a way to turn that fear into an erotic release. It's given me the best husband a woman could ask for, the best sex anyone could imagine, and produced three beautiful children."

John paused in thought. Then he withdraw his cock from inside me and moved backwards, bringing his mouth to rest on my belly button, his tongue playing with the piercing in my navel.

"With a fourth one soon to follow." he whispered.

I smiled in the dark and stroked his hair as he moved further down and gave my clit a playful lick.

***

I had a blissful awakening as the Saturday morning sunlight peaked in between the curtains. In the faint light, I could see the door where our older two children shared a room, and beside it, the cot where our youngest - only nine months old - was mercifully still sound asleep. John's enthusiasm had meant there was barely a year's age difference between our first three children, until I had convinced him to wait a few months more. Being full of life was beautiful, but it was also tiring. Plus, handling two crying children at once - with the newborn often waking up the one-year old in this way - was a little much even for him. Number four, and the siblings to follow, would need a larger age difference. Speaking of which...

I caressed my belly thoughtfully. John could barely hide, mich less suppress, how much he loved the raw masculine power of impregnating a woman, but actually caring for and raising the end result had really changed him. His procreative urges still kept him coming back for more, though, and refusing to confirm whether or not I was actually pregnant was a fun piece of power to have over him. A pee test conducted a few weeks ago in the secrecy of the bathroom had shown that he'd already succeeded in that department, but of course there was no need to tell him that right now. My belly would give me away in a few months.

The bedroom door opened slightly, and a little figure snuck inside, pitter-pattering around the edge of the bed and clambering quietly atop the mattress.

"Morning, daddy!" Our firstborn announced to her father in hushed excitement.

Most children would still be sleeping like logs this early in the morning. Not little Allison. Our bouncy little three year old had made it a ritual to wake daddy from his slumber in the early hours of the weekend.

Of course, my special forces veteran husband never really slept like a nornal human. "We only got four hours worth of power-naps during training," he had told me once, "it was good enough then, and it's good enough now."

"Morning, munchkin." John replied, clearly pretending to have been fast asleep.

Allison climbed atop her father's chest, dressed in sky blue pyjamas decorated with cartoon dinosaurs, and he scooped her up with both hands, and lifted her up into the air. She giggled and spread her limbs like an aeroplane as I reached over and switched on the morning light with the setting dimmed so as not to wake our youngest child.

John brought Allison in for a landing on his chest and she rolled off of him onto the mattress to greet me.

"Morning, mawmy!" She hadn't sorted out whether it should be 'mommy' or 'mummy', and so had settled for a phonetic amalgamation of the two.

"Morning, sweetheart." Rather than make her fly, I settled for a tired smile and stroking her head of jet black hair. Allison's face resembled my own, but she had clearly inherited John's hair colour, along with his lovely green eyes. Of course, I remembered vividly the circumstances of her conception, but the end result was absolutely worth it. Her conception...

Allison and her sisters were lucky to have their father around, and John had done himself a huge favour in choosing to stick around. But I would have had Allison no matter what; she was my flesh and blood no matter how she was conceived. But how could John square the manner in which he had brought her into being with his determination to safeguard her and her siblings from such things as they grew up?

Logically, he couldn't. I knew that anyone who dared threaten our children was signing up for death by John, but he struggled for an answer every time I asked him; beyond stating his intention to ensure that anyone who threatened our family would suffer a fatal "accident". I believed him.

I banished such dark thoughts from my mind. Allison had found my stomach to be a comfortable pillow and had already dozed off again, with her unborn sibling growing inside me.

Allison, Belle, and Catherine. Three beautiful daughters. And maybe a son or several to follow.

*

Comments welcome as always.