A cool breeze blew through my open patio door. I popped in my headphones, and scooted into the kitchen to tidy up. I had turned the volume up, to block out the sound of the water, as I washed my dishes. Reflexively, my hips swayed to the incessant thump of the bass line, keeping time like a metronome in short-shorts.
In an instant, a black cloth shrouded my head. I dropped the glass I was washing, and only faintly heard it shatter against the porcelain in the sink; the tinkling sound grew more distant as the sound of my pounding heart became almost deafening.
I froze in place. Before I could move, I felt a solid body pressed up against mine, his hips crushing mine in place at the countertop.
"Not a fucking word." he commanded; his growling voice was imbued with a thick accent.
Terrified, I complied. To my surprise, I was also a little excited.
I felt the sack being tightened at the nape of my neck. It sent a tingle down my spine, and I struggled to catch my breath.
He put his left arm around my slender waist, and yanked me back from the sink. Disoriented, I could only fall into him, and I felt his thickness behind my ass cheeks.
"Don't move." he ordered.
Then he was gone. It was suddenly very cold, and I was more frightened without him near me.