Phoebe didn’t know what time it was, but she did know there shouldn’t be anyone but her in the house. The creaking sound of the bathroom door had her on full alert. She barely registered the clock flash 2:17 am, before she was up and out of bed.
There was a fight to be had, and Phoebe was going for blood. She grabbed the first thing she found: a heavy glass ball her mother had bought her. Phoebe took two steps closer to the bathroom door before she felt an arm around her throat.
The glass ball she carried shattered into a thousand pieces as her hands clutched at her assailant’s arm. “No!” She barely got out her protest, before the arm tightened around her throat and cut off her breathing.
“Shhhh… This will only hurt a little bit.” His voice sounded foreign to her, husky and dripping with anger. As he inched closer to her face she felt his breath; it was hot and stank of liquor. Phoebe’s mind raced — what could she do?
Phoebe mustered all the strength she could and kicked back at the man’s kneecap. He let his grip slip and she inhaled quickly, desperate to regain her breath as her attacker howled in pain. “You bitch, now it’s going to hurt a lot!” His hand curled around her throat and he squeezed.
Phoebe’s eyes bulged. Her head was yanked back when he wrapped his fingers in her hair. “You’ll do exactly what I say, or breathing will be the least of your worries. Got me?” The ski mask covered most of his face, but those eyes were pure evil as they stared back at her.
“No! No, please!” The hand released her throat long enough for her to answer, and then his hand squeezed again. Silently she prayed that he wouldn’t kill her.
“Wrong answer, whore. Try again.” He spat in her face, and her hands clawed at the fingers that surrounded her throat.
That time she nodded frantically. Phoebe’s situation was desperate, but if she was to survive she had to obey a madman. “Yes… Yes, I’ll obey. Please don’t kill me,” she said while tears poured down her cheeks.
“I don’t have any plans to kill you, slut — if I did that the pain would end.” His cackle was full of venom and spite. His dirty fingers were rough, and crawled like worms up the side of her throat. He dragged Phoebe across the room by her hair and tossed her onto the bed like a rag doll. “Take your clothes off, or I’m going to tear them off.” He growled and advanced towards the edge of the bed.
Frantically Phoebe crawled towards the top of her bed, as if trying to escape from him. She faced her assailant. “I…I’ll take them off. But please don’t do this. I have money. I have jewelry.” Her voice shook from the sobs that rocked her body.
While he unbuckled his belt, she peeled off her nightgown. “Shut up, fucking shut up! I’ve barely even touched you, but I will.” His voice cut her like a knife, and the last words stuck right in her gut and twisted.
The bed creaked as he climbed onto it and crawled towards her. She tried to think of a way out, but he outweighed her by at least fifty pounds. “I’ll take money and jewels when I’m done, but right now I plan to fuck you six ways to Sunday, and make you beg for more,” he said with an angry hiss.
Phoebe tried to slide past him, but he just slapped her and pushed her down on her back. “Owph.” One hand was at her throat again and pressed her down while the other pinned her wrists over her head.
“Try something else and I’ll be fucking you whether you’re conscious or not.” Again he spat right in her face. “Now, I can be nice or I can be nasty, so I’ll let you decide. But you’d better hurry — tick-tock.” Her eyes were wide with astonishment and disbelief as she listened to his demands. Why was this happening to her?
“Please — please don’t do this. You don’t understand. I’m begging you.” The words were muffled by her sobs, but he seemed to grasp her meaning loud and clear.
“Oh, I understand. You need the monster to come play with the pretty little bitch. It’s OK — most girls do. Let’s play a little game.” He had no intentions of being nice and every intention of doing exactly the opposite.
As Phoebe struggled his hand tightened around her throat, and the grip on her wrists became stronger. Her mouth opened for air, but none came beyond soft, inaudible gasps. Her eyes began to roll back as her vision clouded over until suddenly air-filled her lungs and she gasped, sucking it in with greedy gulps.
“I could kill you, Phoebe… Do you want to die?” His voice was calm, eerily calm.
Phoebe just shook her head back and forth, as he began to pry her legs apart with his knees.
“Then you’re going to take what’s coming to you, you little slut, and you’re going to like it.”
She couldn’t even protest before his lips crushed down upon her own, and his tongue invaded her like she was just a piece of flesh for the taking.
Phoebe was beautiful. Everyone saw it in her, but this man saw much more in her than her beauty. That night he saw what he wanted to see: a dirty whore, a slut that he was going to use until there was nothing left for him to take from her.
The kisses were not those of a lover — they were rough and demanding, just like him. His hand left her throat and trailed down her body to grasp his cock to guide it to her honey hole. When the tip of his dick brushed across her sex, he broke the kiss and let out a deep guttural laugh that shook Phoebe to her core. “You are so fucking wet. I don’t believe it. This excites you. Such a dirty … little …. whore.” Each word cut deeper into her and she inched towards total surrender as the urge to fight in her kept slipping away.
She felt so dirty. He was right, she was soaking wet. The mask, the monster it made him, she wanted it? Needed it? Craved it? Maybe she should’ve been grateful, for when he shoved his cock inside, her cry was one of surprise, rather than pain. “Fuck! Please, no, no,” she cried out through her tears. “Don’t do this. I can’t do this! You can’t do this!”
Phoebe continued to struggle, only to find his hand clamped over her mouth, and nose, and her airway was smothered again. “I … will … fuck … you…” Over and over he pounded into her after each word spoken. The smell of their sweaty bodies filled the room soon to be coupled with her cunt juices. He rutted and ground his hips down into her.
Each thrust brought his thumb off her nose, so she could get what little air that he allowed. His thrusts were soon met by her own in return — the dirty fucking whore was fucking her rapist. The sound of flesh slapping into flesh soon combined with their cries of raw, unadulterated passion.
He pressed down into her like a dead weight as he pounded her pussy in and out, in and out: Faster, longer, deeper, and harder. He was taking what rightfully was his, and she was giving it right back to him.
What had started out as an invasion, as a rape, had turned into one hot fuck. “Please fuck me harder. More … more.” Phoebe whimpered and moaned, and her assailant complied. His hips pounded her and her muscles tightened and contracted seeking to coax him into ejaculating with her own climax.
“Come for me, you fucking whore… Come for your Master.” He growled just before his lips bruised hers, like he’d never kiss another woman ever again. Her tongue tangled with his, and coupled their hips moved together, she began to shake.
Phoebe’s orgasm seemed to start in her toes, and it resonated through her entire body by the time it was finished. He groaned and moaned, and finally cried out. “Yes! Yes that’s it — come with me Phoebe… Come with me…” He knew just what to say to send her over the edge again, and together they convulsed and shook for what felt like an eternity.
He collapsing atop of her and grunted. “Dammit Phoebe, that knee shot almost ended the scene! You need to be a little more careful next time … but damn it if it didn’t make it hot.”
She chuckled with a hint of sheepish-ness in her voice. “Oh! Sorry. I was trying to make it more realistic.” Her slender fingers tugged the ski mask off his face; dark strands of hair clung to his forehead with sweat. Sweaty, sexy bastard, but he was her sweaty, sexy bastard!