by Paul Blades
Kelly had felt her arms being joined behind her back. She knew she should fight him, struggle to the very last, but was too weak to resist. When the man rolled her over and climbed on top of her, she wanted to speak to him, to negotiate, to plead for release. She whined with fright and frustration when the man imprisoned her lips with the silvery tape. She had lost what was in all probability her last, best chance at escape. Her mind reeled with fear of what he was going to do to her, how long it would last, what he would do to her when he was finished. Tears came to her eyes. She didn't want to cry, but a wave of sorrow passed through her. She had never thought her life would end like this.
The visitor watched the emotions pass through his captive's face. He could feel them emanating from her. They strengthened him. And the contact of his naked body with hers, the sight of her bare breasts, the thrill of his physical control of her, had excited his human body. His cock had grown hard. He placed his smooth, strong hands on the woman's soft, inviting breasts. It was strange to him how his body derived such pleasure from the feel of the plump mounds. She moaned her unhappiness at his touch. But once he began to send his signals of pleasure to her, her face began to soften and her breath eased from its rapid, panicky pace, to a long, soft sigh.
Kelly watched with fear as the man gave her breasts gentle, loving strokes. Warmth and pleasure seemed to flow through the strong, large hands that had engulfed them. She felt her desire begin to rise and she cursed herself for it. What kind of woman was she, she thought, that a mere caress of her breasts could so immediately and intensely drive her lusts. Unwillingly, she gave a long, deep sigh of passion. She thought of her naked and exposed sex. The fact that her lower body was restricted from her view, blocked by the bulk of the man's body, made it feel more exposed and vulnerable than it would have otherwise. It made her think of a phrase from a book she had read as a young girl, “...that part of her body that could be used independent of the rest.” The book had made her, at the time, long for the release from responsibility for her desires. She had forgotten about it, put those feelings away as foibles of youth. But now it came back to her, how the men in the book had imposed pleasure on the pretty, young woman. It was what this man was doing to her now.
Kelly felt as if the man was transmitting some kind of drug or power to her body through his hands. What kind of man was he? Why had she dreamed of him? She did not believe in precognition or any such hocus pocus. But here he was, identical to the dream man of her visions. It just couldn't be happening!
He had still not spoken a word to her. His cold gaze belied the passion she knew her body raised in him. She could feel his stiff prick on her belly, his unsheathed sword with which he would soon penetrate her. How could he be capable of such strong desire, such raging lust that he would invade a stranger's home and violate her against her will and yet remain apparently so self possessed?
The man had been softly caressing her blood filled breasts for several minutes now. He stroked them slowly upwards, his large hands virtually surrounding them and then closing as they reached the tips, administering sharp pinches to the hard, distended nipples. Kelly felt as if every inch of her breasts were hotwired for sensation. The man's motions mesmerized her, caused her exposed pussy to burn. Her mind didn't want it, but her body relished the man's touch, each connection between their bare skins.
Having satisfied his hands’ lust for her soft orbs, Kelly's tormentor slid his body down her torso, until his lips could reach her stiff teats. He took them in his mouth, one by one, savoring their hardness, sucking and licking at them. His hard prick lay along the puffed lips of her sexual opening, as if presaging its penetration of her. The heat of his tongue and lips sent tingles of pleasure through the captive woman's body. She moaned again, half in protest, half in pleasure. She tried to will her bound hands free, but the cords that held them, imprisoned them under her back, were tight and sure. He slid further down her body, forcing his legs between hers. She watched as his hand glided across her taut belly and over her upper thighs. She tried to push them together to deny her assailant access to her tender flesh, but the man had captured her right leg with his left and was pushing against her other with his right knee, forcing her legs wide apart.
Kelly's body shuddered as she felt the man's thick finger trace the line of her already moistened slit. Delicately, as if handling a baby bird, he stroked her there, drawing her deeper and deeper into her need. She felt the tender lips parted, felt the finger delve inside. It slid easily upwards until it made soft contact with her stiff pleasure bud, teasing it gently, circling it, rubbing it, sending her into a deep longing for release.
The impassioned woman felt the man's lips leave her breasts. She had closed her eyes, to shut out the vision of the callous man above her, to try and block out what was happening to her body. She opened them now and the man's eyes captured them. He was peering deeply into her, she could just feel it. It was like he was examining her soul. She waited for him to mount her, wanting him despite her dismay at her powerlessness to refuse him. She then realized he had no immediate intention to do so. He was going to bring her off with his hand. She was going to put on a show for him, she thought dismally: woman in the throes of an orgasm.
Kelly's passion grew higher and higher. Her mind disobeyed her desperate attempts to ward off the pleasure of the man's caresses and instead, shut out all else but the messages of passion the man's determined fingers were sending her and his mesmerizing, deep, dark gaze. When she felt her orgasm rising, she tried once more, feebly, to shut her legs, to drive the tormenting hand away. When the first, pounding, wrenching contractions of her pussy began, she gave up all efforts at denying the man what he wanted. Her body shook as the waves of pleasure engulfed her. She moaned staccato behind her sealed lips at each intense pulse of pleasure, “Mmm! Mmm! Mmm! Mmm!” Humiliated at the loss of control of her body, her eyes peered frantically at the man's, begging and pleading for him to halt the almost painful seizures within her womb.
Out of breath, drained by her climax, Kelly's body went limp as her orgasm subsided. She was grateful for the surcease of her passion. She thought she detected a hint of a smile of satisfaction on the man's face, his first expression of emotion other than desire. He took his hand from her loins and caressed her belly and her breasts, softly. He brought it to his nose, inhaling her scent. He then grabbed her by the hips and turned her over.
The vision of the female in the throes of her orgasm had been, in fact, very satisfying to the man. He had felt her energy enter him, working to solidify their bond. Now he had his own needs to satisfy. His body was hot with lust. He had learned the ABC's of coitus from the woman's mind and wanted to possess her from behind. He grabbed her hips and flipped her to her belly. He pulled her hips back until she was on her knees, her head on the mattress, her breasts pressed against her thighs, her legs spread beneath her. Kneeling behind the woman's finely shaped, taut, rear cheeks, he grabbed his stiff and burning cock with his right hand, maneuvered it to her dilated slit and pushed up and into her hot, tight canal.
The woman's body seemed to vibrate with pleasure as he pressed his thick manhood deeply into her still burning pussy. She uttered a deep, forlorn groan. Her bound hands twisted and writhed on her pale, curvaceous back. Her long, silky, auburn ponytail rested on the mattress beside her. He placed his hands on her hips and began to rock back and forth, first slowly, and then with more and more urgency. The female emitted a low, continuous moan as he traversed the walls of her cleft. She began to come again, almost immediately, and he could feel her fierce contractions on his heated pole. He felt his testes tighten, a tingle all along the shaft of his cock. His mind clouded over, receiving not only the throes of his own pleasure, but the woman's intense sexual passion. When his cock exploded and began to throb and pulse within the woman's sex, he grunted and groaned, pulling sharply at her hips to meet each one of his mighty thrusts. When the crest of his passion passed, he plunged his cock deeply inside her, holding it ther
e, letting his cock feel the final echoes of his orgasm while fully encased in her flesh.
The man let his body drape across the kneeling, moaning form of the woman. He needed to sleep, to process her spent energies, to gather his strength. First, though, he needed to complete the female's securements.
Rising from her limp, exhausted form, he took hold of her knees and pulled her legs straight. She gave out another low moan as he manipulated her body. The roll of heavy cord was still on the bed and he cut another long piece. He crossed her ankles and tied them together, wrapping them several times horizontally and vertically with one end of the cord. He took the other end and, bending her knees, affixed it to the tie that imprisoned her wrists behind her.
He leaned back and appreciated the picture of the confined woman. Something inside him, some part of his human brain, was enraptured by the sight of her helplessness, her subservience to his control. The word ‘hogtied’ came to him, a word placed there by her mind, a vision of some picture she had seen or some description she had read. She had kept it there, at the upper levels of her mind, not buried deep in her subconscious, a level he hadn't reached yet. He wondered why.
The dark haired man pulled the unhappy woman's body to its side so her back was towards him. He took one more length of rope and, after securing it to the woman's bound hands, tied the other end to his wrist. If she struggled too much, or managed to slip off the bed, he would know right away and awaken. He laid down beside her, and fell immediately asleep.
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CHAPTER FOUR
While her assailant slept peacefully behind her, Kelly agonized over her fate. It had taken her a while to recover from the torpor that had seized her following the intense orgasms the man had inflicted on her, but now she was awake and alert. She could actually see her naked body, arched and helpless, in the mirror across from her bed. She could gaze into her own terrified eyes, the wide, silvery tape obscuring her mouth, see her exposed breasts, her naked thighs and the patch of furry hair that covered the object of the man's lusts. Having the man behind her was actually more perturbing to her than if he had turned her to face him. She wanted to study him, to try and decipher what his plan was for her. She wanted to know when he awoke so she could prepare herself mentally for his next assault. Having to stare at her bare breasts and belly so open and exposed to the now bright room was more discomforting than if she had been turned towards him, away from her reflected image.
She tested her bonds frantically when she first heard the man's evenly spaced, deep breaths signaling his loss of consciousness. She realized quickly, to her dismay, that the efficiency with which he had tied her barred any slippage of the bindings that would permit her to ease one of her wrists free of the cords. When she realized the hopelessness of her yearning for freedom, she began to cry in self pity. After a short while, though, her rational self took over. She was a scientist, a weigher of facts, an expert in logic and reasoning. She realized she would have to use all of her mental skills to develop some strategy to deal with her frightful and terrorizing new reality.
First, she had to outline what she knew about the man, what she could deduce from her observations. That he was real was indisputable. She was way past imagining she was still in a dream. His silence was disturbing, but it might very well be indicative of the fact he was not mentally deranged. If he were, he would likely have ranted and raved while he assaulted her. He had not shown any of the typical quirks or idiosyncrasies of the psychotic. He had acted coolly and efficiently and with definite purpose. He had not taken the opportunity to vent rage on her when she made her desperate fight to escape. So, to use the vernacular, he was probably not crazy.
She had noticed several other things. His piercing gaze was abnormal. It was as if he were seeing a woman for the first time. He had used her expertly, but the expression on his face when he had massaged and pleasured her breasts was one of wonderment. It was unlikely a man of his age, he looked to be in his mid thirties, would never have touched a woman's breasts before. His bringing her off with his hand had almost seemed like he was conducting some kind of experiment.
When she saw him coming up the steps outside the house, he looked wobbly, as if unsure of his feet. And what was with the parading around naked outside? His body and hair had been all wet, like he had gone for a swim in the stream. How weird was that?
The thing that was most inexplicable was how she felt when he had placed his hand to her head during their struggle. He had actually, somehow, disabled her body. Kelly knew the human nervous system well. There was no way he could have affected her body that way by a mere touch. She knew what an electric shock was like and a sudden infusion into her system of a high voltage charge could produce similar results, a loss of bodily control and unconsciousness. He didn't have anything in his hands. She had seen them during the fight. And she would have felt extreme pain at the point of contact if she had been zapped. The feeling she had when he touched her, the emptiness, angst, sourness, was more like a sudden massive attack of illness. An injection of a drug could produce, perhaps, such a result, a nerve agent of some kind, but she experienced no after effects from his actions, no sickness or vomiting. Once she had awakened, she had been completely recovered.
And where were his clothes? Surely he didn't come to her house to assault her naked. He could have left them outside, but there would be no reason for him to do that. And why didn't he tie her up when he first assaulted her? Was he so sure he would be able to entrance her with his sexual skills that she would not try and escape?
The word ‘entrance’ triggered a whole new line of inquiry. She had been entranced. He had cast some kind of spell over her. She knew her normal sexual responses well and her reactions to his handling of her body were not consistent with her own history. For a moment, her mind swooned at the recollection of the passionate heights to which he had driven her. She felt a twinge of desire as she thought of it. Her body seemed to yearn for his touch. She recalled how quickly her heat had risen when he had massaged her breasts, as if he was transmitting some force into her through his hands.
Kelly realized she had raised more questions than supplied answers. What had happened to her, what she had seen, the evidence of the man's actions, defied logic. She needed more evidence, more facts. Miserably, she realized she would get them soon enough when the man awoke. She might learn things about him and his intentions she would regret knowing.
She lay motionless and confined for a long while, unhappily awaiting the man's pleasure. Her body actually shivered in fear. When she ran through the possibilities of her fate, her stomach quailed and she began to sweat. His unseen presence loomed behind her ominously.
Kelly's arms and shoulders began to ache from their forced extension behind her back. She tried to stretch her legs higher to relieve them, but only managed to bring soreness to her hips and her thighs. When she let the force of her body's natural desire to be at rest reestablish equilibrium between her limbs, it hurt worse than before. If the man would so cruelly tie her like this, what else might he do, she thought miserably. She realized that if she were to keep her sanity, she would need to think about something else other than the worst case scenarios of what he might have in store for her. Her mind drifted as she tried to calm herself.
So this is what it's like to be hogtied, she thought. In her wild days, she had been secretly intrigued by the whole idea of bondage, of surrender of control to a lover. The book she had read had instilled strange thoughts and feelings in her, something she had never talked to anyone about. She had never found the nerve to ask any of her boyfriends to tie her up, to use her as their sexual plaything. Once, she had spent an evening surfing forbidden web sites, marveling at the sights of the bound women and how they were treated. Her pussy had grown wet and her lust had risen while she carefully studied the faces and bodies of the women, imagining what it would feel like. She had never had the nerve to go back. Her feelings had shamed her. She was a modern woman, a
feminist. Her mind told her it was wrong. If her current situation was different, if the man did not seem so strange, almost other worldly, she might be able to see these events as a kind of experiment, something to explore. But she realized the man's actions were no game. She had no ‘safe word’ she could give him to call it all off. She could not discern his ultimate purpose, but she had to consider the possibility he was a madman, perhaps sociopathic. He could kill her.
Suddenly, she felt as if she had been gifted with an inspiration. That phrase which had entered her desperate musings, ‘other worldly', could there be something to it? Her rational mind fought against it. There had been a movie she had seen once, a science fiction movie her boyfriend had shown her. In the movie, the characters had conjured up creatures they referred to as “monsters from the id.” They had acquired a super intelligence and were able to bring their emotions into reality. They created a physical presence that carried out their subconscious desires.
Could she have somehow conjured this man from her subconscious desires? The dreams she had been having were so strong, so realistic, especially the last one. The man sleeping behind her mirrored the image of the man she had seen in her dreams. Although his features had been obscure at first, they had become clearer and clearer as they went on. It was dark in her room when he had first assaulted her. She did not actually see his face until she had attempted her escape. When she had seen him ascending the stairs to her porch during her escape attempt she had recognized him immediately. How could she have known in her dream what he would look like in advance of actually seeing him? For his face in the dream last night was crystal clear. His body, his hair, the color of his skin was all the same. Even his height, tall, over 6', as Adele had suggested last night back at the lab, was consistent with his actual, now real, physical presence.
