Sharon and Steve could barely look at each other for the first few days. Immediately after the invasion, they quietly cleaned themselves and the house up and went to bed, lying motionless and awake atop the covers for hours. They didn't even discuss calling the cops. Sharon made a mental note to get an std screening.
Two days later, Steve made an abortive attempt. After a grim dinner and a couple of beers, he managed to make eye contact and stammer, "Um, if you think we should talk about..." but the words died on his lips as an unreadable expression crossed her face.
How could she possibly admit that the intruder had made her cum harder than anyone ever had before? That the thought of being forced to service his massive cock, being violated by it... soaked her panties instantly, even now, right now? The best thing was to just try to forget about it as quickly as possible.
A few days later, Sharon was lying in bed in the late morning on her day off. She had pretended to sleep until Steve left, then alternated between lazily rubbing her clit as she remembered what happened, and curling up in a ball of self-loathing. The doorbell interrupted her reverie, followed by footsteps and the sound of a van driving away. Idly wondering what Amazon delivery had arrived, she wrapped herself in her blue fluffy bathrobe and padded to the front door.
It turned out to be a small brown box, heavily taped up, no return address, with a fairly detailed and imaginative drawing of a cat posed in mid-stretch. Her mouth went dry and she felt slightly dizzy. She watched herself snatch up the package, slam the door, double-latch it, and sink down to the floor. The package wasn't heavily, but something dense shifted inside it when she gently shook it.
For a few minutes, she sat there, slightly stunned, aware of her growing excitement. She cried for a few seconds, then laughed abruptly and unevenly. She got up, walked purposefully to the kitchen, and slit open the package. Inside, in a bed of crushed tissue paper, was a small steel butt plug. Attached to it was a note, reading, "You were supposed to call me."
Sharon picked up the butt plug and hefted it in her hand. The ball was somewhere around an inch and a half, the base a mound of faceted plastic jewels. She placed it experimentally in her mouth. The ball was perfectly smooth, and imagining it in her ass was incredibly sexy. She'd never even liked to look at anal porn, hadn't played with her ass before. Bending over the kitchen counter, she pulled her robe to one side and rubbed the ball up against her tight bud. It hurt, being mostly dry, but in a weirdly sexy way.
She grabbed a bottle of olive oil sitting nearby and poured some of it down her crack and onto the ball. It ran down her leg and puddled on the floor, but she barely noticed. She rubbed the ball up and down her asshole, pushing in a little as she did. Her clit began to swell and she groaned aloud. She closed her eyes, muttered, "stick it in, kitten," and pushed it past her ring.
Her ass squeezed tightly on the plug, and she cried out again. "Fuck!" She relaxed, then squeezed again, and continued the cycle a few times. It had hurt at first, but she was getting used to it. Moreover, it was pressing on spots in the back of her cunt that the intruder had abused so artfully a few days before with his thick cock. She closed her eyes and rubbed her clit vigorously as she remembered.
Her knees began to shake and a wave of pleasure began to creep towards her, but the cheerful ringing of her phone banished it for the moment. A text message had arrived, from Steve's stolen phone. "Call me after you put it in, kitten."
