She had awakened way too horny to get back to sleep. Her thoughts were always random at such a dark hour, but they often strayed between her handful of lovers of the years and the ones she hadn't had, the ones whose cocks she only imagined while she masturbated in the lonely hours.
She writhed in the bed while her fingers traced fiery trails over her body. She stroked her neck, but she couldn't bring herself to squeeze the way she wanted it to happen, though she experimented by herself a little when she was this hot. A bag over her head, maybe? She'd heard of such things, but she dismissed them with the thought that, god, what if she died and her mom read the report about how she was found? The thought made her giggle a little in its absurdity, but her breath caught quickly, back to business, as she found an already-erect nipple and nearly tore it off...
She didn't move immediately to her pussy, but she was certainly aware of it. She knew it was wet and flowing already, the way it was when she knew she was going to get fucked hard, like she loved it, and she started contemplating moving to get a toy from the drawer, dismissed the idea, and continued to stroke her skin, feeling the heat of the room and the tingling of every nerve ending. What she didn't notice was the man standing just a few feet from her bed, interrupted in whatever he'd been doing when he'd made the small noise that had awakened her, suddenly no longer interested in petty larceny. The show was about to begin.
She rarely opened her eyes at these times; the fantasy world sucked her in, and she felt dirty. She was a nasty slut, and she knew it. While she'd been pushed to the limits of her depravity a few times (not that she wouldn't have liked to have been pushed a little further), it hadn't been very often. A lot of the stuff that she would have liked as a regular diet only went down (as it were) here, alone, where others couldn't see her blush or feel the violent waves of her loud and convulsive orgasms. She guessed immediately that she wouldn't get back to sleep for a little while.
She raised her hips to meet the thrusts of the two fingers she intended to plunge deeply into her sopping-wet pussy, the thoughts of what she wanted spinning through her head, and she felt her hips pop with the sudden action. She was so wet, she only barely felt the lips part past the hungry cock that she imagined fucking her, but between the other fingers working on her clit and the depth to which she started fucking herself immediately, it didn't much matter that she'd missed the tingle of entry.
She liked it when her man, the one she was fucking now, took her hard and fast, made it last, stretching her out and making her sore for days afterward, pretty much when he knocked the bottom out of what she knew was a very tight pussy for his thick cock. She wasn't getting that sensation now, but she did wonder how challenging it might be to fist herself.
Between the rubbing and the pounding (god, she was really horny this morning!), she got herself off to a great start in under a minute. She thought she might pull something in her lower back when she came, as hard as she was bucking, but she survived, and the waves flooded over her, helping her to lose her last little inhibitions amid the din of her cries and taunts to an imaginary lover: fuck me, you bastard; pound my tight pussy; fuck me harder; yeah, now fuck my mouth.
The last little cry, heard not by her alone, by the way, was something she'd been working with on her own lately. While her lover would fuck her mouth, and with great zeal, she didn't get it enough, since he would tend to lose himself in her pussy. She lifted her fingers to her mouth now, most of her hand slick and aromatic from her juices, and slid two heavily-coated fingers into her mouth. She sucked at them, thinking of her lover's cock, covered with her own come, drilling her mouth while her other set of fingers danced around her swollen clit.
She gobbled and gobbled, dreaming of his sack against her chin, bringing herself to another throbbing orgasm in just minutes. Two sets of slick fingers traced lines of come and saliva over her body now, and she reveled in the feelings inside her, on her skin, the slow ache of receding orgasms and the soft heat of her afterglow.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" The whisper, harsh and deep, shocked her from her luxury.
"Shh!" The reply was insistent and impatient, and it wasn't far away. She sat up instantly, struggling to make her eyes work in the darkness, and she was immediately met with a hard slap across the face that sent her reeling back down to the mattress. Two metallic clicks and a painful impact on her wrist told her that one hand had been cuffed to the rail of her headboard, and she knew more was to follow. She turned, determined to do more than be a victim, and she swung out hard with a closed fist.
The crack of contact and the yell of pain told her that she'd struck a blow for unaccompanied sex, but she didn't think it would last. Another strike to her face, harder, this one making her eyes tear and bringing blood to her lip, made her sprawl again, and the other click happened, and she was a prisoner. She kicked her feet a little, but the man (she could see him now, dark and menacing above her bed) just stood there and watched her. Then, he spoke:
"I didn't come here for you, but you certainly seemed like you could use something I have to give. I don't mind if you struggle. Just tell me later if you liked it."
With that, he slapped her across the face again and she whimpered a little. Truth be told, as much as she was frightened and angry, she was also about as curious as she had ever been. As she watched him unbuckle his belt in almost no light, her breath caught, and she determined that, under the circumstances, she was going to make the most of this.
Another figure appeared in the doorway, tentatively, and this one was much shorter and slighter than the first. The man wore a stocking over his face, like the first, and he slid into the room, leaned against the wall, and watched. There was something familiar about them both, but there simply wasn't enough light to see. The familiarity made her relax even more, and she started to slide her ass, the ass that her lover loved to eat, as she recalled, on the sheets as she spoke to her rapist:
"So, now what, tough guy? I sure hope you have enough in there to do the job. If I'm gonna be violated, I hope you can do more than just slap my face."
