Serviced in My Room

The victim’s view of Room Service – a companion story

I finally have my ad for “Missed Connections” in the weekly free paper ready to submit. I can’t believe I am doing this.

“Seeking former staff person from the Starlight Motel who provided me with room service on the afternoon of Thursday, December 12th. I was in room 321, and I never got the chance to thank you or to give you my contact information. Please drop me a note at box 4312. Marianne.”

If he sees this, he will probably think I am out to track him down and have him arrested, or maybe have his balls cut off by my big brother. I don’t even have a big brother. I was too embarrassed and ashamed to tell my husband. Or anyone for that matter. Certainly that is how I should feel after what he did to me. The bastard. I am appalled and humiliated and ashamed that just thinking about my rape is still making me wet. I can’t believe I have sunk so low that I am actually considering placing this ad, not to punish this man, but to have him take me again the way he took me that afternoon.

That day is still alive for me, and it made me feel more alive sexually that I have ever felt in my life. I had just gotten finished with my morning meeting, had lunch, and gone back to my room to pack up and head home. I am an attorney in a small town about four hours drive from the big city, and I occasionally have to come to town on behalf of my clients. I had finished my shower and I was in the middle of dressing. I had on my nice, tight jeans and my favorite silk blouse, without a bra. I love the feel of my breasts moving against the silk rather that all bound up. Since I plan to be in the car, I wear a light jacket so that I am not too obvious. It is one of my little luxuries on a long car trip.

When the guy knocked and announced room service, he said it with such authority and conviction that I just assumed he was delivering room service, but he just had the wrong room. I opened the door without thinking or setting the chain. That was stupid. I opened the door to tell him I didn’t order room service, and he was on me before I knew what was happening. He pushed me back into the room, and I fell on my ass by the bed.

No, you didn’t order this room service,” he said to me. “I did.” He closed and locked the door.

Then I knew I was in trouble, big trouble. I knew all the things to do. I should scream. I should get up and fight. I am trained in self defense. I know where to kick a man to put him down. At least down long enough for me to get out of the room. I didn’t do any of those things I was taught. I just sat there, dazed, looking up at him. He was a big man, at least 6’1” and well over two hundred pounds. He was built like a linebacker, with strong legs and a strong upper body. When he came at me, he moved quickly and smoothly.

Something in the way he looked at me was totally disarming. He acted as though he knew me, as if he was familiar with my looks and my body. Most disturbing, he acted as though he knew my darkest desires. I felt as though he were looking directly into my soul, seeing things that only came to me in troubled sleep and upsetting dreams, dreams that woke me flushed and wet. I crawled backwards until I bumped into the bed.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I pleaded. That made a wicked smile cross his face.

“Shut up, bitch” he commanded.

He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me to my feet.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” he said, ripping my blouse open, exposing my bare breast to him.

“No!” I exclaimed. I raised my hands to him. I wasn’t trying to hit him. They just came up to cover myself. Like lightning, he grabbed my hair again with just one hand and slapped my face with the other. Any thoughts of defending myself evaporated.

“Please don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want.” I whimpered.

“That’s better.” he said to me. “Get those jeans off.”

He held my hair firmly while I dropped my jeans and stepped out of them. The he pulled the torn silk blouse completely off, leaving me there before him in nothing but my new lavender silk panties. He just stared at me with that familiar and wicked grin on his face. He looked like a big kid that had just opened the one toy he really wanted for Christmas. The toy he really, really wanted. I was to be his toy. I felt a twinge of something as I looked at his face, something I knew I shouldn’t be feeling, and I looked down at the floor, ashamed of my thoughts. I thought he was attractive and very self assured. The cool air was making my nipples harden, I was sure. I looked down at the floor.

He put his hands on my shoulders, very lightly, gently, and moved them over my skin. I expected the hands of this big man to be rough, but they weren’t. I expected to be handled roughly but I wasn’t. He traced a lined down my chest with a finger, circling my right nipple with a finger. He took the nipple between his fingers. playing with it, toying with it slowly. I expected more, harder, faster. I wanted him to just get on with it. Where did those thoughts come from? Was I enjoying this? I felt my face flush with anger, anger at myself.

As I was thinking all of this, the pressure on my nipple was growing. It began to register as pain, breaking my thoughts, and causing my face to show the feeling. He had been taking his time, waiting for that, watching my face. I felt as though he was watching my thoughts, feeding on my confusion and inner torment. He brought his face up to my neck, breathing me in, consuming me.

“Look at me” he commanded, still holding my hard nipple with enough pressure to be just at the edge of painful. I looked up and met his eyes. They were blue, cold steel, open sky, deep water. He sucked me into him with his gaze. Then he gave my nipple the hardest squeeze it had ever known, and then he twisted it viciously until I let out a scream of pain at the fire in my breast. He held it tight Still, I could not break away from his gaze.

“Make no mistake” he said to me, my eyes still locked with his, “I will show you no mercy. But if you cooperate, I will do nothing to cause you any permanent harm or to damage that lovely body in any way. Do you understand?”

“Yes” I said into his eyes, as much with my mind as my words.

“Good” he replied, and released my nipple. “Time to meet your playmate.”

With a hand back in my hair, he pushed me to my knees in front of him.

“Take it out.” That was all he had to say. I knew exactly what he meant.

When I undid his belt, button and zipper, he let his pants fall freely to the floor, and he stepped out of them. He was wearing underwear like I had never seen, tight black boxers of some stretchy material. It was a good thing it was stretchy, because his hard on was giving it a test. He had loosened his grip on my hair. I looked to him for permission to take it out, and I could see the pleasure that my small act of submission gave to him. He simply nodded at me with that satisfied smile, and I quickly pulled those off him, too. That exchange between us made him even harder, and I moved to take his cock in my mouth.

“Not yet” he commanded. “Just look at it. Study it. Get to know it”

And I did. I have certainly sucked cock before. My husband enjoys it. But I don’t believe I have ever just studied a man’s hard on. I watched it move as the blood pulsed in rhythm to his heart. I brought my hands up and rested them at the top of his thighs. I watched it, as he commanded. Barely noticing, I licked my lips. That wetness let them part. I felt my breathing get heavier. My lips parted further as I became engulfed in the sight of the cock before me. Without warning, both hand grabbed my hair hard, pulling my mouth onto his cock. He thrust my head onto it until my lips were pressed against his body. He hurt me. His cock touched the back of my throat, and I involuntarily gagged, but he held me there. He felt my pain, and I felt his cock swell up even larger as he fed from my pain. His fingers were wrapped in my hair, pulling it, hurting me. In firm control of me, he began stroking his cock with my mouth. I began to relax, but it was still hurting even time he reached his full depth in me. (My throat was sore for days afterward.) I felt his cock begin to throb with his oncoming orgasm, but he pulled out before cumming down my throat.

“I believe you were enjoying that.” he said to me. “Let’s have a look.”

Was I enjoying it? He was hurting me, but it wasn’t so bad once I got used to it. I remember my body rocking with him as he guided me up and down his shaft. But I don’t think I was enjoying it. Was I? At least I still had my panties on. I did feel a little wet, but I didn’t think he would be able to tell.

His hands still in my hair, he pulled me to my feet and pushed me onto my back on the bed. He did it roughly, and I landed awkwardly and just laid there waiting for what would come next. He stood at the foot of bed, looking at me, looking at my panties. He said nothing, but got a small smirk on his face. He took off his shirt and stood there fully naked. I felt small and helpless against his size and strength. He mounted the bed on his knees between my legs, and pulled off my panties with a smooth stroke. I, too, was naked now. He stepped back, and I closed my legs against his gaze, pleading with my eyes that he not do this to me.

“Open” he commanded me, and I did some. “Wider” I open completely to him.

I had never felt so vulnerable in my life, nor so humiliated. He was in full command of my body.

“If you are wet, I am going to fuck you for your pleasure. If you are not, I am going to fuck you for my pleasure.” His words slapped me. Just that statement set off a wave of wetness. I could feel it begin to flow from me, and I could feel the shame burning in my face. I was wet, as wet as I had ever been, and now I was to be his unwilling accomplice in receiving pleasure. How can that be? How can it become pleasure if I am unwilling? He had thrown my panties on the bed beside me, and I could see that the crotch is obviously damp. He is just toying with me, like a cat and an injured mouse.

Back on the bed, he started at the inside of my left knee with his mouth. I have never known such a mouth. There was the soft, tickling dart of a tongue, a gentle kiss, a hard sucking kiss. He sucked that tender flesh into his mouth and took it between his teeth. He bit me. Hard enough to know a flash of pain, and then he released the flesh. He worked down that leg to the softest flesh at the very inside of the thigh. Then he did the other leg. The alternation of pain and softness had me gushing. He inhaled me and sucked my whole being into him through his nose and mouth. At those most tender spots at the inside of the thigh, where the flesh is smooth and soft, he bit me hard, hard enough to bruise me, and I cried out. (It took a week for the bruises to fade away, but in our lovemaking later, my husband never noticed a thing. It was wham bam thank you mam. Without the thank you. To my further surprise and shame, I made no attempt to hide the bruises.)

Finally, he came to my pussy. He circled me with his tongue, round and round and finally began caressing my clit. I almost came when he touched it, but I was scared. He began kissing it, then sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue. I became frightened and tensed, and he stopped to enjoy the wave of fear passing through me. Of course, after the thighs, I expected him to bite me, and I knew the pain would be excruciating. But he didn’t.

Instead, he got up on his knees and put on a condom. I felt a wave of gratitude. Between that and the fact he hadn’t bitten me in my most private place, I relaxed. He climbed back between my open legs, and brought his mouth to my breasts. He gave my breasts the same attention he gave my thighs, lightly licking, sucking and biting each of them. He scrupulously worked a pattern around each nipple, and moved from breast to breast without attending to either nipple. The man moved with a symmetry that was both predictable and reassuring. I became my nipples, waiting, wanting? I could not think or be anything else. He took each of them as I feared and hoped. I gasped at the white pain in my left nipple as he abused it with his teeth. Before the pain began to fade at all, he was on the right nipple, it exploded in a cloud of sensation. (To my surprise, my breasts did not bruise, but my nipples were tender for days.) He straightened his arms, arching above me, watching my face intently as the pain washed over me. In the middle of that moment, he thrust his cock deep into me. I was lost, exploded, dissolved into nothing. And he pulled out of me just as suddenly, and began very gentle strokes with his cock, teasing my engorged clit. Involuntarily, my hips rolled up to pull him into me.

I looked at him in surprise.

“What!?” he demanded. “Say it!”

“Fuck me!” I moaned, completing my total humiliation.

And he did. I didn’t last long. His long deep strokes took me to a place where we were one body, moving together. I felt my whole body contort as I arched into him in a wild frenzy of orgasm. Wave after wave of orgasm rolled through me until my body was like a puddle in the middle of the bed. With the exception of that hard on still inside me. He pulled out of me and rolled me onto my stomach.

“Get that ass up in the air!” he ordered, and I pulled my knees up under me, pointing my ass at him.

“Like this?” I asked glancing at him over my shoulder. The sound of my voice and the look on my face must have pleased him greatly because a broad smile broke across his face. He had me where he wanted me. I was fully and completely his toy now.

“This is going to hurt” he said to me, as if he needed to explain himself. “It will not leave any permanent marks on you, but there may be some bruising.” I can’t imagine it hurting any more than what he did to my thighs or my nipples, but my body stiffens anyway. To my surprise, my nipples felt hot and aroused. The pain had faded completely.

From his jacket, he pulls out this thing I had never seen before. It was all black with a rigid handle and many long strings, black and thick and rough. The whole thing was maybe two or three feet long. It was my first flogger.

He began stroking my ass with it. At first I was tense, but the sensation was not pain. Sharp and warm, but not pain. He got into a rhythm, and I settled in to the warmth and the feeling. Suddenly, the pattern was broken by two hard strokes and the sting of pain sweeping each butt cheek. I let out a small cry.

“Quietly.” he says soothingly, and I bury my face into the pillow to muffle the sound for him. He repeats this pattern, until my ass is on fire. Not the white fire like the pain in my nipples, but a smoldering fire, like hot coals. Just when I think I have this handled, hard strokes come one after the other, and I break down crying into my pillow. Sobbing. Sobbing for him. And the flogging stops, but that is not the end.

He begins to spank my bottom with his bare hand. He is not after the places the flogger reached. He is after the tender places inside my thighs. He beats me with his hand and lets the tips of his finger slap my cunt. I am still wet and my ass is throbbing.

He is on the bed behind me, his hand grabbing my cunt and spreading my wetness up to my ass, working the moistness into my asshole with a finger. Suddenly, I know what is coming and I am terrified. The only attempt my husband and I ever made at anal penetration ended in tears and hurt feelings. But this man will only become engorged and relentless at my tears. He has shown me that clearly. The finger comes out. I am crying into the pillow when he reaches under me and takes my breasts into his big hands. He works them. He works me. He knows my body like I have never known it, and my nipples rise to his rough touch.

The head of his cock is set at my opening. Every inch of flesh on my ass in burning. I expect the pain to be more that I can take as he rams me as he has done with my mouth and my cunt. But he does not ram. He has taken me to the edge, found my limit, and works his way slowly into me. Even so, the pain is white hot as he slips in past that outer ring of tightness. Slowly that pain merges into the embers of pain still flooding the flesh of my ass and inner thighs. I am with him, in his head. He is also going slow because he is finally ready to explode himself. I can feel it. To my shame and humiliation, I want it. I stop my crying. All my attention is focused on relaxing so that he can fully penetrate me. Finally he is there. I can feel his balls against my pussy. He has reached my depths, and he begins slow long strokes.

“Rub yourself” he orders.

“What? I ask. I forgot there were words left in the world.

“Reach under yourself and rub your clit with your fingers.” he explains, as if talking to a child. I respond like a child. I am obedient, and after just a minute I become enthusiastic. I find myself rocking back into his cock as he pushed forward into me. I can keep my fingers in one place, and let the movement of my body be the stimulation. I feel his whole body stiffen, his cock a steel shaft inside me. He erupts, driving my face into the pillow, as I cry out with my own orgasm. All my muscles spasm and contract around him as he fills me. Time stops, or at least looses any meaning for either of us. There is only the sound of the two of us breathing as one. Without a word he pulls himself from me, gets up and gets dressed. I cannot move.

“I’ll be in touch.” he says matter of factly, and leaves as quickly as he came.

I laid there for an hour, maybe hours, reliving those orgasms. I should be calling the police, but I just can’t. The longer I wait, the dimmer that thought becomes. Does he know who I am? Did he take my ID? Can he find me? He said he would be in touch. What did that mean? Nothing is missing from my purse. He had no time to go through it or write anything down. What did he mean? I spend time turning this stuff over in my mind instead of feeling the outrage that should be my response. If I call the cops, then I will have to see a doctor. Will she, or he, be able to tell how much of the wetness was mine? In fact, all the wetness was mine. He wore a condom. Chances are there would be no genetic evidence to gather. I stayed busy talking myself out of reporting this to anyone as I laid on the bed, my body throbbing with the after effects of the pain and the pleasure.

It’s been a month since the rape, my rape. I have come to accept the fact that just calling it my rape makes my body respond. Everything I have been taught, everything I believe in has been violated. All my social contracts are null and void. And yet it fulfilled some deep animal need in me, it opened a part of me that has lurked in the shadows. Just as my rapist let out the animal in himself to prey on me, to feed on my fear and my pain and my lust, so did I discover the shadow woman who offers herself to the fire to be consumed in uninhibited lust and passion. I hate this man for exposing that shadow woman to the light. I love this man for giving me what I never knew I needed. And I want more. Yes, I will place this ad.