As the thunder crashed once more causing the windows to rattle, I closed the bedroom door after checking on the four-year-old to make sure he was still sleeping. Nights like this, I am thankful he is a heavy sleeper, just like his father.
I swiftly walk the short hallway, my canvas junior high cheerleader style sneakers barely making noise on the polished hardwood floor. I snuggle deeper into my oversized white sweater that brushed my jeans at mid-thigh, trying to warm myself against the chill of the storm. As I set a kettle of water on the stove for a cup of tea, a flash of lightning causes the lights to flicker. I decide to abandon the idea of tea.
I turned to the fridge, my back to the window in the living room, when the next round of thunder caused the house to rattle. The noise from the thunder, combined with the house rattling from the force of it, masked the sound as the window opened. I did not realize someone was opening the window, reaching in to unlock the door, and slipping inside until it was too late.
Before I knew what was going on, before I even realized there was a man in the house, a blindfold had been placed over my eyes and a balled up cloth had been roughly shoved into my mouth. When I realized what was going on, I struggled and tried to fight off the hands that were wrenching my arms behind my back. When he went to tie my hands behind me, I caught the slight scent of Irish Spring soap mixed with the mild smell of Aqua Velva and stale cigarette smoke.
"Do as I say and no one gets hurt," came the order from behind me, close to my ear. He jerked my head back with a yank of my hair and pulled me into what I guessed was the living room from the distance he directed me. He threw me down to the floor so he could tie my legs together, my cheek hitting the carpet, confirming my guess that I was in the living room now, the only room with carpet.
With a knee in the small of my back, he untied my arms just long enough to remove my sweater, revealing a plain white cotton bra. He took care to retie my hands behind my back.
He picked me up as though I was a sack of flour and tossed me onto my back on the near by couch. As I struggled against him, his hand covered my breast and groped hard enough to leave a bruise. While pinching one nipple through the material of my bra, he again took my hair in his other fist and pressed his full weight on top of me. "Scream and you will regret it," came the whispered command from the raspy voice which was obviously affected by the two-packs-a-day.
He removed the gag, and before I could form any voice to protest, his mouth crushed mine. My lips closed tight in protest and he put his hand around my throat, applying enough pressure to restrict my breathing, forcing my mouth to open slightly in an attempt to gasp a breath. As soon as my lips parted in a desperate attempt to get a breath, his tongue plunged into my mouth and his hand left my throat to continue groping my breasts. In an act of defiance, I bit down on his tongue.
Suddenly, I felt his hand leave my hair and come crashing down across my cheek, his left hand continued to maul my breasts, but in a harsher manner now, a way to make me regret biting him. I was startled when I felt the cold steel edge of his ever-present pocket knife he keeps in the right hip pocket of his jeans. He slipped the blade under the material that joins the cups of my bra in the middle and cut through it. I gasp as he, still holding the knife between my breasts, as if threatening me with it, unzips his jeans and shoves his entire length into my mouth.
"Repeat that little stunt and you will wish all you get is the back of my hand," comes the grumbled warning. I start to gag from the sheer sudden length of his cock. It was more from the lack of warning before he invaded the back of my throat that caused the gagging reflex then anything else. As soon as he felt the first motion of my throat closing to him, however unintentional it was, he brought his hand down hard against my already bruised and sore breasts.
As he is standing there, forcing himself into my throat over and over, he uses the knife to cut my belt, and then pulls the snap of my jeans open, breaking the zipper in his attempt to open it. He removes himself from my mouth and replaces the balled up cloth gag. I try to struggle to free myself from him, but another slap to the face causes me to be still. He out weighs me by a considerable amount and uses this to his advantage in restricting my ability to move as he unties my legs and quickly removes my shoes, socks and pants.
He retied my ankles and picked me up over his shoulder. As he made his way to the chair across the room, he landed several slaps to my now almost bare ass. When he got to the chair, he threw me into it with enough force to cause it to slide back several inches.
Despite my struggles, I could not prevent him from forcing my legs open and binding my legs to the chair, forced open, my ankles tied to the bottoms of the chair legs, my knees forced wide open, tied over the arms of the chair, my arms tied to the horizontal slats on the back, still behind my back.
I hear a muffle, as if his breathing had been altered or masked. He comes close to my ear again, but this time I can't feel his breathing. With one hand tangled in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat to him, and the other around my throat, he grumbles into my ear, "Now, I want you to see what I'm about to do to you. I want you to see my cock as it enters you." With that he removes the blindfold and I discover why I could not feel his breath as he leaned in to speak to me. The muffling sound I heard was him putting on a knit ski mask to obscure his face from me.
