My Fertile Secret

The sun had set less than an hour ago, but it was already pitch-black outside. The only lights were the streetlamps and those inside people's houses, and the latter were going out one by one as people prepared to turn in for the night.

I was one of them, carefully checking all the windows and doors to make sure they were locked before closing the curtains and turning out the lights. At this time of night, normally I or my husband would be getting the kids ready for bed while I cleaned the last of the dishes; but they were both at a sleepover and my husband was out of town visiting his mother. I had the house all to myself and, honestly, I've missed this level of peace and quiet.

Once all the downstairs chores are done, I make my way upstairs to the master bedroom. I'm wearing nothing but sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt, and I slip them both off and admire my naked body in front of the mirror.

My skin is pale like the moon, and my beautiful curves are the product of regular Pilates and aerobics classes to burn off all the baby fat from giving birth to two gorgeous little girls. My chestnut hair flows over my shoulders almost to my elbows, and my eyes are slightly almond-shaped, reflecting the heritage of my Japanese mother.

It's my father's features that really show in my face, so much so that I can almost pass as fully White rather than mixed race. Not that it matters to me. I'm proud of my heritage on both sides of my family, a heritage my little girls will show as they grow.

My breasts are actually a D cup. Years ago, they were barely a B cup, then my first pregnancy came, and they swelled to the size they are now, and they stayed that way through my second pregnancy. Now that I'm in my mid-thirties, my breasts are drooping quite a bit and honestly, I'm a little self-conscious about that.

The rest of me looks just fine, though. I have the exquisite womanly curves of a statue of a Roman goddess, and a wild little tuft of chestnut-brown hair crowning my mound. I'm pretty sure my body makes me look about ten years younger than I am.

It's a shame my husband doesn't seem as interested in it.

I shake my head and pick up my sweatpants and t-shirt before tossing them in the hamper. Then I make sure the curtains are closed before heading to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth. My husband will pick up the girls from their sleepover on his way back from his mother's house. That gives me until tomorrow afternoon to do whatever I like.

Once I'm finished in the bathroom, I turn out the bathroom light. I don't even bother to put on pajamas. Sleeping in the nude is so much more liberating, and it makes no difference, since my husband only gets in the mood about once a week, anyway. It also means one less layer to get through if the mood for some self-love strikes me.

Before turning out the nightstand light, I pause to look at the framed photo of our family. I see myself holding our younger daughter on my lap while my husband sits next to me, holding our older daughter on his lap. They're both nearly the spitting image of me, except for their noses, which they get from their father.

My husband is dressed in jeans and a polo shirt which leaves his skinny arms bare, and he grins at the camera with brown eyes and a pair of spectacles. He looks every bit like the accountant that he is -- it certainly pays the bills, so I'm not complaining.

I sigh and turn out the light.

***

I don't know how he got into the house, and I'll probably never know.

I awoke to the sound of my sheets moving across the bed, uncovering my naked body splayed out on the mattress. My body felt cooler when exposed to the air. In my half-awake state, the cool air on my body felt soothing. I would have drifted off again if I hadn't felt the mattress sink as someone climbed onto the bed.

In the near total darkness, I only caught the faintest glimpse of a large silhouette bearing down on me before a hand clamped over my mouth. The scream that would have escaped my lips was little more than a surprised squeal. The drowsiness of sleep addled my mind and dulled my reflexes, preventing me from really fighting back as a strange man climbed on top of me.

Then it really hit me. There was an intruder trying to mount me, and the surge of adrenaline shocked me awake. I bucked my hips up at him and wriggled furiously, but he was too heavy and too strong. He'd taken me by total surprise, and there was no way to fight him off.

I could feel the bare skin of his naked body against mine. The thick, toned muscles of someone who could probably bench press or squat my entire bodyweight were rubbing against the soft skin of my own body. My heart was racing with fear and tears began to leak from the corners of my eyes as the man in my bed forced my thighs a little wider and prepared himself. I knew exactly what he wanted to do to me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

Sure enough, I felt the tip of his cock press against my pussy lips. I tried to squeeze my thighs and cunt muscles together in a last-ditch attempt to deny him entry, but he was having none of it. He still had one hand clamped over my mouth while the other was down between my legs, guiding his cock to my fertile entrance before slipping inside.

I squirmed at the sudden fullness in my pussy. He was big. Much bigger than my husband. If I had to guess, I'd say he was at least eight inches long and about two inches in girth. I've given birth twice, and still the way he stretched my vagina made me whimper with discomfort. Thankfully, the sudden fear and anticipation of the encounter had made me reflexively wet, and the extra lubrication eased his passage inside me.

He groaned with relief as he pushed himself into my body all the way up to the hilt. The noise was like the grunting of a beast, a deep bass note that my husband's throat could never produce. With his penis buried in my pussy, my rapist adjusted his position a little, making sure he was comfortable and that I was compliant.

And then he fucked me.

I whimpered in response to each thrust of his cock, my wet pussy stretching to accommodate his girth as his penis glided in and out of me. He let go of my wrists and pressed his chest right up against mine until his head was resting next to my ear. His hips rose and fell in slow but forceful strokes, making me moan helplessly as he fucked me.

I was being raped, and I was powerless to resist. He was far too heavy to dislodge, and even though my hands were now free, all I could do was hold on to his muscular shoulders and wait for him to finish inside me. I could feel his pubic bone grinding against my crotch, rubbing my clit mercilessly as he thrusted harder and harder into me.

My mind went blank as I hoped for him to be done soon. I knew there was no point in screaming or fighting back. He was already inside me, and it didn't feel like he was wearing a condom. I don't use the pill, so my husband and I use condoms when we have sex; that means I can tell the difference between a rubbered-up dick inside me and a raw one.

He was going to keep going until he came inside of me.

Then I noticed a strange feeling deep down in my belly: pleasure. I rarely came from vaginal intercourse and usually had to finish myself off with a toy after my husband was done. But the feeling growing down there was definitely pleasure. The more my rapist fucked me, the more the pleasure grew in my belly, filling my pussy the same way his cock was now doing.

It wasn't just the sensation of his huge penis ramming into my depths. He made a deep grunting noise every time he thrust inwards, like an enraged bull fucking an obedient cow, or a barbarian warlord ravishing a helpless damsel who had fallen into his clutches. The noises he was making -- not to mention the feeling of his sweaty muscles sliding back and forth across my body -- were exciting to me. The harder he fucked me, the more I began to enjoy it.

A small part of me cried out from the depths of my mind in outrage at the idea of enjoying this violation. This man was an intruder in my home. A rapist who had dared to force himself on a married woman in her own marital bed. This beast belonged in jail, not in me.

And yet here he was, his hips grinding back and forth with an animalistic determination that my husband had never bothered to muster -- if he even could. I found my hands slipping from his broad shoulders down the contours of his muscular back until my fingers found his ass. My fingers sank into the flesh of his butt as he fucked me like a beast, the sound of our surprise sex filling the darkened bedroom along with the creaking of the bed.

It wasn't just his hips slapping against my crotch or the slurping sound of his thrusting cock pistoning in out of my scandalously wet pussy. Nor was it just the ultra-deep grunting sounds that escaped his lips every time his cock stretched me out. The other sounds were coming from my own mouth; moans of involuntary but unfeigned pleasure as his raping cock stimulated the wet walls of my lawfully wedded womanhood.

The pleasure in my crotch was undeniable. I didn't want this. I didn't want to want this. But my body absolutely wanted this. The proof was in the lubrication of my pussy as my rapist laid vigorous claim to my body. It was in the increasingly orgasmic moans escaping from between my lips even as his cock slid back and forth between my lower lips.

He could sense my mounting pleasure, and he responded by fucking me even harder. This time, I really moaned aloud. If any neighbors had been awake to hear or witness the rape, they would have heard me squealing with sexual delight as another man fucked me in the bed I shared with my husband. They would also have seen my legs rise into the air in slutty surrender to his thrusting cock, and my hands squeezing his butt cheeks as they rose and fell faster and faster between my spread thighs.

That tiny part of me that remembered that this was rape cried out in shame in the back of my head. I should be clawing out this animal's eyes and instead I'm clawing at his ass, encouraging him with my every sound and action to fuck me harder and harder until he's down with me. I ought to be afraid. I ought to be ashamed. I ought to zone out and pretend it's happening to someone else. But that part of me is drowned by my climax.

The orgasm that hit me was one of the most powerful I've ever felt. It bloomed like an orgasmic shock wave that surged up and down my cunt, rippling up through my belly and causing me to buck and scream like a nymphomaniac. There's no pretending I'm a victim of rape now. I really do want this. My whole body wants this. I want this sexy beast to fuck me over and over for the rest of the night and unload every drop of his seed into my vulnerable pussy.

My rapist's reaction to my vaginal orgasm is the same as before, only dialed up to fifteen. His hips rise and fall faster and faster, humping me like a beast in a rut that knows nothing other than the tight, fertile pussy that has his cock in its fleshy embrace. I'm still in the throes of my orgasm as he rapes me with even more ferocity, fucking me so hard that it terrifies me.

Then he thrusts himself all the way into me and lets out a roar of exertion so loud and deep I almost can't believe it came from a Human man's vocal cords. Then I feel his cock twitching inside my pussy, and I feel the warm gush of his cum flooding my vagina. His cock keeps on spurting and spurting inside of me, enough to get half the married women on the street pregnant.

I drag my nails across the flesh of his ass and up the sides of his body, almost caressing him like a lover as he unloads the last few drops of his seed into me. Surrendering to your rapist is one thing. Actively welcoming his violation of you and teasing his body the way you would a lover is something else entirely. I truly have no shame.

I'm absolutely wiped out as my rapist finally withdraws his cock from inside me. I notice the sudden emptiness in my pussy more than I notice the faint trickle of his semen leaking out of me. He leaves me splayed out on the bed, catching my breath, and wondering what the hell just happened, while he disappears into the darkness.

Not quite. I hear the click of the bathroom light being switched on, and I barely get a chance to look up before he's disappeared into the bathroom. If I still had the energy or my wits about me, this would be the perfect time to escape downstairs and grab the nearest phone. Instead, I continue lying down on the bed and stay exactly where I am.

Fear keeps me in place as much as exhaustion. Now that he's had his way with me, I'm the only potential witness to his crimes. If I let him go quietly and take what he wants on the way out, he might let me live. If I try to call the police or do anything else to defy him, maybe not.

He's rummaging about in the bathroom. I don't know what he could be looking for in there. Drugs? Who the hell breaks into a house and rapes a woman just to ransack her drugs cabinet? To get high on painkillers? Somehow, I don't think he's looking for money or valuables, though. He's already helped himself to the most valuable thing in this house.

As the intruder continues rummaging through my drugs cabinet, my fingers slip down between my open thighs and locate my clit. I gasp silently as I begin to tease myself, rubbing my clitoris in slow circles while ignoring the awkward trickling of his cum out of my pussy. Since I dare not move, part of me wants to use my fingers to recreate that incredible orgasm he gave me.

Then I hear the bathroom light click off and the bedroom is plunged back into darkness. I withdraw my fingers from my clit as if I'm the one doing something bad. My heart beats with fear as his footsteps approach the bed once again.

Then I feel the bed sink under his weight and feel the familiar weight of his naked body on top of mine once again. It's been less than ten minutes and he's already eager for a second round.

He's already conquered me so thoroughly -- and I'm apparently such a shameless whore -- that I welcome him into my arms and my pussy once again. I pull his face close to mine and kiss him in the dark. He's clean-shaven and his nose is small and thin, and his strong jawline makes me think of any number of rugged warrior love interests in all those trashy romance novels.

His hands are all over me, pawing at my breasts and caressing my belly as he maneuvers into position once again. I spread my thighs for him in a submissive gesture, my own hands sliding across the toned muscles of his body down to his ass, guiding him back in between my thighs.

I gasp as he enters me again. The delicious feeling of fullness as his thick penis stretches my pussy out once again makes me crave even more. I dig my fingers into the flesh of his ass while he kisses my neck and begins to thrust.

He rapes me much more slowly and gently this time. Is it even rape anymore when I've already surrendered to him? That tiny part of me that still feels shame still wants to fight this outrageous injustice. He has no right to be in my home. He has no right to be inside me. Yet here he is, fucking me as if he owns me. As if only his cock has any right to the wet caresses of my pussy.

I gasp with pleasure at each inward strike, each thrust of his cock sliding inside of me, the walls of my vagina soaking with the liquid pleasure that makes it so easy for this fleshy invader. My body wants this even more than I do. My cunt craves a real man to fuck me and fill me.

That thought reminds me that I'm not on birth control. The pill has always screwed up my moods, and when I tried an IUD, it was rejected by my body. But there's no point in worrying about it now. He's already shot a quart of cum inside my body. I'll just have to cross my fingers and hope that his sperm doesn't find the grand prize.

The heat of our lovemaking is intense. We're both sweating, the beads of liquid exertion rolling off our brows and flowing across our naked bodies, lubricating the grinding of his chiseled abs and pecs against the softer flesh of my breasts and belly. I can feel him speeding up. The rise and fall of his hips between my spread thighs is accelerating and growing more vigorous.

My breathy gasps of pleasure are becoming audible moans once again, encouraging my rapist to claim his prize a second time. He responds with deep grunts of pleasure, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of a married woman's pussy caressing and squeezing the flesh of his cock. I embrace him like my chosen mate, wrapping my arms behind his neck and holding on as he fucks me.

His grunting gets louder, and his humping gets faster. He's close to climaxing again, and my legs achieve liftoff as I prepare to receive a second offering of his seed.

Then he groans and holds himself balls-deep inside my pussy, and I feel his seed spurt once again into my vagina. It's a more modest load than before, but I don't blame him since he's already drained his balls into me. I smile silently in the dark, savoring the warmth and fullness collecting inside of me. In my dazed state, I wish he would come back every night.

He withdraws himself from me and climbs off the bed. I hear his footsteps across the floor and the shuffling of clothes as he gets dressed in the dark. By the time he's collected himself and disappeared down the stairs of my home, I'm already asleep again.

***

It's almost Christmas. Snow has fallen in deep drifts across the lawn and the sidewalk, and the neighbors are busy shoveling it out of their driveways or building snowmen with their kids. My own are inside making Christmas decorations with my husband.

I step out onto the porch wearing winter pants, snow boots, a tight-fitting nylon shirt, and a puffer jacket. My breath crystallizes before my eyes every time I exhale, forming a soft cloud in the air that evaporates in moments.

I'm not planning on going anywhere. I've been doing this every morning since that night: just standing on the porch for ten minutes a day, watching for any signs that he's still watching me.

Every time I do this, I wonder what the point is. He's probably long gone, staying as far away from the scene of his crime as possible to avoid the long arm of the law. Would he really come back to observe me and see how I'm getting along?

He needn't worry about the law. I never told the police about that night. In fact, I haven't told anyone. My husband came home late in the afternoon the next day with our daughters, none the wiser. They found a clean house and a mommy who was just happy to have them back.

He doesn't know that his wife is a rape victim. Part of me doesn't even feel like I deserve to be called a rape victim. After all, I orgasmed powerfully that night and shamelessly kissed and caressed him each time that he fucked me. The next morning, I'd jumped in the shower and scrubbed myself clean, then washed and changed the sheets -- the better to erase any evidence of what had occurred the previous night.

Only afterwards did it occur to me to check the rest of the house. I was sure I'd locked every door and window before going to bed, and I found no signs of forced entry anywhere. In fact, I didn't find any signs that the intruder had stolen anything. No missing cash or jewelry or other valuables. Everything was in the same place as before.

He hadn't come to my home to steal.

The only thing out of the ordinary was the ransacked drugs cabinet, but even that didn't look like anything was taken. It was almost as if he'd been looking for something specific. He can't have been after drugs. Otherwise, why not raid the drugs cabinet and leave?

Actually, I have a theory about what he was really looking for, and I know he didn't find it. The clue is in the bulge in my belly that could almost be mistaken for a few extra pounds of fat.