Stormy Night

The driving rain beat a brilliant staccato on the roof of the old sedan, inhibiting the man's attempt to identify the woman coming out of the building across the street. Raindrops blurred the windows and transformed the passers-by into mottled bursts of color and light from the streetlamps above.

He cracked the driver side window a few inches to take an unobstructed look at the woman across the street. She wore a heavy raincoat, zipped up tight, and struggled to get her umbrella open in the gusting wind. He admired her hands, her hair, and her legs. Not bad at all, he thought, but it's not her.

He had waited for this moment for quite awhile, so he can wait here all night if need be. She is in there, and she will come out of that door. Tonight he is ready. The rain has come, and he is ready.

He had followed her home from work three times since the weather began to change. It was crucial to know every step of the walk home, and to see if she always took the same route. She did, and now he knew that route intimately. Two days ago, he bought a ski mask, and a gun.

Waiting, and listening to the sound of the rain on the roof, he began to fantasize. He reached down, and began to gently rub his swelling prick. He imagined her stroking his cock with her knowing hands, gently sliding a hand below to cradle his balls, as she placed her lips on the head and gently probed the tip with her delicate pink tongue.

Pants open now, and fully erect, he reached into the glovebox, produced a small bottle of hand lotion, and applied a small amount directly onto his throbbing cock. The sensation quickly intensified as he stroked his glistening dick up and down. He imagined her looking up at him with his cock in her mouth. He can visualize her full red lips sliding back and forth over every inch of his glistening meat, lips parting slightly as she opened for the downstroke, and sucking gently as she pulled back toward the throbbing tip. Squeezing tight, he imagined her tight pink pussy enveloping him, granting him passage, deeper and deeper with every stroke.

Almost there, he gripped his shaft and reached for a handkerchief. With a soft groan he erupted into the fabric, and admired the glistening pearlescence in the ambient light. He hesitated for a moment, and conjuring her clearly in his mind, he dipped a finger in, and closing his eyes, put his finger in his mouth. His mind racing, thinking of her. The rain droned on.

Suddenly she appeared at the building's entrance, looking optimistically for a cab, but knowing they would all be downtown at this hour. Soon, she accepted her fate, crossed Fulton St. and headed south through Golden Gate park. She hoped that the driving rain had driven most of the freaks into shelter. Though she had never made the journey at such a late hour, she was confident. She was always confident. That is what attracted him to her.

He watched her walk down the street until she was almost out of sight before starting the car and slowly pulling away from the curb. He followed her toward the park, pulling ahead for a bit and then waiting for her to walk past. There was a brief moment when he thought she might go around the perimeter of the park, rather than through it, and watched her struggling with her decision. She looked into the shadows, debating whether she should walk the extra mile and a half around the perimeter in the pouring rain.

Watching from the car, he began to panic. If she went around the park, his plan would be ruined. The last three days had been like clockwork. She went right through the park before, but it wasn't pouring rain, and she wasn't two hours late getting off of work. His fingers were crossed.

Her decision made, she crossed her arms against the cold, and headed south into the park. She followed a path off of Park Presidio toward Strawberry Hill.

"That's my girl" he muttered, and sped down the presidio with devious intent.

She was thankful that the dense canopy of trees offered some shelter from the rain, but the darkness and the silence of the park was frightening. There was virtually no moonlight because of the heavy clouds, and the mist that usually hovered a foot or so above the grass, has swelled into a dense fog that blurred the intermittent lampposts into a ghostly pale luminescence.

She could barely see twenty feet ahead, and all the sounds seemed muffled and distorted. Her own footsteps seemed to echo back from all directions, and a few times she thought she heard other footsteps besides her own. Heavy footsteps.

"Hello!" She called out, immediately regretting it.

No Response. She crouched low to the ground and listened carefully. She heard nothing but her own racing heart. Standing quickly, she hurried down the path toward the bridge.

Approaching the bridge, she began to relax a bit and scolded herself for letting her imagination get the best of her. She was over halfway home, and the scariest part was behind her.

"CRACK!!"

Freezing at the sound of a branch breaking, under a large foot, she knew this was not her imagination. She heard a scraping noise, and the sound of footsteps coming closer. Fear gripping her, she ran blindly into the fog toward the bridge.

He watched her running right toward him and smiled. He thought he would have to chase her when he tripped on that branch, but in the darkness and confusion she must have thought he was behind her. He crouched near the wall on the side of the bridge, and waited for her to reach him.

She didn't even see him when he reached out and grabbed her by the waist. Still running, she realized she was falling and rolling down the wet grassy slope along the side of the bridge, and there was a strange man with his arms tightly around her body.

Her first thought was to scream, but by the time she drew a deep breath, a gloved hand came down tightly across her mouth. She bit down hard on one of the fingers and quickly received a sharp slap across the face. She could feel his handprint glowing there, and enraged, she began to struggle fiercely until he placed the cold metal gun barrel against her neck and then she lay still.

"Please don't hurt me" she begged.

He got up, and using the gun, motioned her to her feet. She stood before him getting her first good look at her assailant. He was dressed in black jeans, boots, leather jacket, and ski mask. It was too dark to see his eyes, and she was thankful for that. She didn't want to see the madness that must be there.

He motioned for her to walk in front of him. He gently but firmly grabbed her by the hair, and led her underneath the bridge. Stopping near a small door set into the flagstone wall, he opened it, and followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. For a few long moments, they just stood together silently in the dark. She heard him move away from her, and then there was a flicker of a match, and then the wavering glow of candlelight.

They were in some sort of groundskeeper shed by the looks of it. Though the room was still draped in shadow, she could make out a few rakes and shovels along one wall as well as some other gardening tools on the dilapidated workbench in the corner. A rusty pair of hedge clippers caught her eye, and she mentally made a note of the potential weapon. The opposite side of the room was in total darkness, and try as she might she could not make out any details beyond the dim circle of candlelight.

She turned her attention back to the workbench and the hedge clippers, though she must have looked obvious because the man glanced at her and quickly followed her gaze to the rusty weapon. He laughed for a moment, and shook his finger at her while he walked over and picked up the deadly looking shears. Her blood turned to ice water as he held them up to the light and gazed at them thoughtfully. He stared at her for a moment and then tossed the shears into the corner. She breathed a sigh of relief thinking that if worse came to worse, at least she would be shot instead of stabbed. She closed her eyes and tried not to cry.

Standing there watching her cringing, shaking and holding back the tears, he fought the urge to give up this insanity, and run away as fast as he could. She wouldn't chase him. He could get away easily. It was too late now though, he knew that. He walked to the bench instead and picked up a coil of rope.

She opened her eyes when she heard him approach. He was standing before her uncoiling a length of white silken rope. He wrapped some around his wrist and twisted it a few times as if testing the feel of it. He seemed satisfied, for suddenly he reached out and grabbed her left arm and tied the rope securely about her wrist. He then secured her right hand, and bound them in front of her. With surprising gentleness now, he walked her toward the workbench where he swept the tools and other junk off onto the floor with a loud clatter.

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, shaking his head and looking at the rough surface of the wooden work table, before pulling off his leather jacket to spread it out on the table exposing the soft lining. This act confused her somewhat. This was the second time he seemed to show concern for her comfort, an act inconsistent for your average rapist.

Seemingly satisfied with the surface of the table, he turned back to her and gently lifted her bound hands above her head. She looked up, and saw a large pulley with an iron hook hanging from the ceiling by a very thick rope. He lowered the pulley until the hook was just above her outstretched hands, and then pressing his body tightly against hers, gently lifted her up onto the hook where she swayed lazily, her feet a few inches above the floor.

He stepped back and admired her for a moment while she hung there at his mercy. He was dizzy with the thoughts of what he could do to her. Then, with a reverence saved for something quite sacred, he slowly unbuttoned her grass stained skirt and let it slide down her legs and land in a small heap at her feet.

She could not possibly look more exquisite than this he thought, as he reached down and felt his hardness increasing. He loved the look of strain on her face which she tried to hide from him behind her outstretched arms. He could see her pulse throbbing in her neck, and her breasts heaving with each hitching breath.

It was then that he realized he needed to remove her jacket and blouse as well, so he removed a small but very sharp knife from his back pocket and carefully slit the seam along the underside of her sleeves, and down the sides tearing it off of her body in a flourish. She wore a sheer black blouse that came off with much the same technique.

Now she hung before him like a dream made real, a dream in scarlet silk with thigh-high stockings attached by a black lace garter belt. It was more than he had dared hope, and in that moment, all his qualms and reservations about what he was doing vanished. He knew this was right. The panties were a sign, and he wondered what the odds were of her wearing them tonight. He smiled to himself and reached into his pocket for a blindfold.

She hung there silently for some time with her eyes closed, waiting. She was thankful that he put the knife away after destroying her jacket and shirt, but she began to doubt her chances of getting out of here alive. Hell, even if she survived her ordeal with this psycho, she would have a tough time getting home unmolested in San Francisco wearing only her underwear.

The ropes didn't really hurt, but she was beginning to get numb in her fingers when she heard him approach. He was standing right in front of her, just inches away. She could smell his perspiration, and feel his hot breath on her cheek. She was afraid to open her eyes. She gasped as he slid his hands down her back and cupped her ass firmly. He pressed himself against her, and lifted her up and onto the workbench, thus easing the strain on her aching wrists. She opened her eyes and he was standing in front of her, smiling wickedly behind the small hole in his ski mask. In the dim candlelight, it was hard to see his expression, but it she thought it looked somehow familiar. He held up his hand, and showed her a long piece of heavy satin about 2 inches wide. He held it before her momentarily, as if to earn her approval, and then tied it securely around her head covering her eyes. Then, in total darkness, she felt him tie her legs to the table so that she was spread apart before him.

Once he had tied her legs apart and blindfolded her, he took off his ski mask and begin to undress himself. He took a joint from his shirt pocket and smoked it while he took off his pants and shoes, and standing naked before her, placed the joint between her lips. She hesitated at first, but then obediently inhaled the fragrant smoke. They took turns this way until their heads begin to feel foggy.

He wondered what was going on in her mind at this moment and watched her closely. Was she scared? He wondered. Her pulse was still quite visible in her neck, and her breasts twitched ever-so-slightly beneath her silk bra with each beat of her racing heart.

"Don't be afraid." He whispered darting his tongue inside her ear.

She gasped and clenched her teeth, her body going instantly rigid. He placed his left hand on the small of her back, and cupped her satin-covered breast with his right hand. He gently stroked with his thumb and felt her nipple hardening beneath his touch. He pinched her nipple gently while sliding his left hand up between her shoulder blades and into her silken burgundy hair.

Taking her firmly by the hair he pulled her head back to expose her pulsing throat and placed his lips right over the throbbing artery. He opened his mouth and tasted the mixture of sweat and perfume he found so intoxicating. Licking and sucking her mouth and neck from jaw to clavicle and back again, lost in a world of smell and taste, he reached down and touched the satin between her legs. He shuddered with an audible groan when he discovered the wetness there. Slipping his finger underneath her panties for a moment, and relishing the hot moisture of her pussy, he then took his finger and put it into her mouth.

She couldn't believe what was happening to her as she tasted her juices on his fingers. She was scared to death a few minutes ago, but now she was feeling genuinely aroused. Her nerves seemed to buzz with electricity amplifying every sensation until it was almost overwhelming. Perhaps it was the adrenalyn, or the marijuana. She felt a mixture of helplessness, pleasure, fear, and desire that was making her wet, and he knew it. He was literally shoving it in her face.

He continued fingering her wet pussy while licking and biting her neck and ears, staying close enough to her mouth to hear her tiny groans and ragged breathing. He gently alternated between stroking her clit and sliding his finger inside her hot wet cunt.

At first she tried futilely to withdraw from his touch, but her legs were tied too far apart, and soon the bucking of her hips slowed to match the rhythm of his stroking touch. Her pussy was on fire, and she was losing all control.

He knelt between her open legs, and looked lovingly at her luscious pussy. He was still stroking her clit and fucking her with his thumb, watching her glistening slit open and close as he moved his thumb in and out. Then, holding her lips apart, he probed his tongue deep into her hot pink slit, licking and sucking up towards her throbbing clit.

He held her hips down, and rammed his tongue up into her pussy, and placed his lips directly over her clit sucking gently. It was so swollen, like a tiny pink rosebud nestled in the folds of her sweet flesh. He sucked, kissed and licked her swollen clit, occasionally probing deep down with his fingers, and sending her hips into violent thrashing movements. He knew she was close, but the best was yet to come.

She was crazy with desire now. Her head swam in ecstasy, and she scarcely noticed the pain in her legs as she strained for leverage against the ropes, lifting her ass off the jacket covered table in time with his delicious tongue strokes. She couldn't believe she was about to cum in the face of this stranger. She was repulsed, yet strangely moved at the same time by this man who was taking her so forcefully. He was not at all what she had expected from a rapist, he was in fact not too far from her darkest fantasies. Her clit was so hard and aching. She was craving to have his hard cock thrusting and stabbing deep inside her. She must be going mad.

As her moans and whimpers intensified, he stopped for a moment and watched her tremble. She looked so incredibly delicious tied up and blindfolded in her stockings and high heeled shoes. He reached down and slid her hips forward so that her glistening cunt was at the table's edge, and placed his aching, swollen cock against her wet pussy lips. With a slight movement of his hips, he slid his shaft up and down the outside of her cunt, greasing his dick with her flowing juices. He pressed down on the head with his hand to make sure that the tip stroked her clit firmly.

She tried to match the rhythm of her hips to his own, and felt a slight penetration that sends a racking sob of pleasure through her tingling body. She arched her back, and stood up in her ankle restraints trying to maneuver her aching pussy onto him, but only managed an inch or two before he withdrew and resumed stroking the outside, teasing her clit. This crazy fuckhead was making her beg for it!

"Oh please!" she gasped. "Just fuck me!"

He reached up, took her hands down from the hook above her head, and lowered them into her lap. She immediately began massaging her clit with her fingers, and then reached out and took hold of his throbbing dick. He held the pistol against the soft flesh under her jaw in case she got any violent ideas while holding his cock, but she only stroked it and pressed it tight against her clit. She then guided it up inside of her aching flesh with a long moan. He penetrated her again and again, deeper and deeper. She was still stroking her clit while he thrust into her, a soft moan rising and falling with every collision of their gyrating hips.

He knew he was about to cum, so he reached down and grabs her bound hands. He pressed the pistol into her right hand, and put the barrel against his own throat. She paused for a moment, pulled back the hammer of the pistol, prepared to fire, but then resumed fucking him with even greater fervor than before. She pressed the gun harder into his throat and laughed out loud.

"Fuck me harder you stupid son of a bitch!" She screamed, eyes wild, her mouth pulled into a tortured grimace of pleasure and hate, her hand stroking her clit in a frenzy.

Screaming like a banshee, she bucked and grinded, fucking every drop out of that dick.

She screamed out with a feral cry. "Oh Fuck!!"

She shuddered violently, jerked rigidly upright, and then slowly deflated leaning forward into his chest, panting. She came in a series of spastic contractions each one more intense than the last, wracking, and shaking her body until she could think no more.

She layed back on his leather jacket, hands still bound, the gun in her hands all but forgotten. She hadn't even taken off the blindfold yet.

In one quick movement, he withdrew from her and hopped up onto the table so that his legs straddled her chest. She raised the pistol and held it against his neck, but didn't struggle or resist. He gently placed his throbbing cock against her lips and she opened her mouth to receive him. With one hand he lifted her head from behind to allow him access deep into her throat. She opened wide and eagerly swallowed every inch of his hard cock. With his other hand he held her gun clenched-fist, keeping the barrel against his neck