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The Invader
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
PROLOGUE
The second time I slept with Ron, he asked me what my sexual
fantasies were like. "The ones you've had since you were a teenager,"
he said.
I told him they were private.
"Oh, come on," he wheedled.
So I told him the one that's brought me to a thousand
whimpering orgasms since I was eleven years old.
He hasn't called since.
That's okay. I have my trusty blue vibrator, Samantha Slut-
tickler (as I call her in whimsical moods); my KY jelly and "butt-
plugs" (as the sex shop catalogues insist on calling them in their
whimsical moods) and my two seven-inch dildoes and Fleet enema
kits and silk scarves and four-poster bed. . .
And the man in the dark; the man I named "the invader," when
he first came to me in my head, so many years ago.
THE INVADER, Part I
He's been quiet for a while. I strain, absurdly, to see, to
guess what he will do next.
But the blindfold stays in place.
I strain to hear his breathing. Maybe fifteen minutes ago he
was still gasping from the last session, and then his breath slowed,
quieted. Now it is inaudible.
I wait to see what he'll do next. What he can possibly still have
to do next.
* * * * *
It started much earlier tonight. I had woken from a deep sleep,
alerted by I didn't know what. Fuzzily, I had shaken my head to
clear it, checked the bedside digital clock--12:14 a.m.--and made my
way into the adjoining, darkened bathroom, not bothering to turn on
the light before I sat down to pee. I had just wiped myself between
the legs and turned to toss the paper into the toilet when I heard a
sound that, try as I might to dismiss it as the random movement of a
floorboard, seemed altogether too much like the stealthy creak of a
door--my bedroom door--opening a little wider. I froze, suddenly
wide awake, adrenalin sloshing sickeningly through me. My heart
beat in my ears. A minute passed. I began to relax; then did so. I
stepped forward and swung the bathroom door open.
And then I heard another sound. A sound that all single women
everywhere may go to bed at night dreading.
It was a chuckle, a man's light, deliberate, dryly amused laugh,
there in my bedroom in the middle of the night, inside locked doors
and locked windows, a local patrol car perhaps cruising past outside
at that very moment, a billion miles away.
I really think I could have died of fear right there in the
bathroom door; but the invader, my invader, was kind to me, in
those first moments of our meeting. He didn't let terror have its way
with me. That was a privilege he would reserve for himself. He
cleared the space between us in an invisible flash of motion that I
barely had time to feel, as a breeze coming towards me. The left side
of my head exploded with stars. I was flying sideways. The right side
of my head cracked savagely against the wall.
The next thing I knew I was choking, struggling with the near-
impossible proposition of retching straight upwards while lying on
my back, arms seemingly stretched back above my head. It was a
position that sent screaming agony all through me, a grim, vicious
battle for air, as though I were drowning and being crucified all at
once. I fought to use my hands to help myself, but they refused to
move.
A swift, fierce downward pressure just below my breasts sent
a spatter of muck flying out of my mouth. I let out all the air in my
body in an astonished Whoosh!
I found that I was breathing again, in great, ragged gasps. I
was tied by the wrists and the ankles, spread-eagled on my back, on
what could only be my bed. My arms were stretched in their sockets.
My legs were bound wide apart. Some kind of cloth had been knotted
about my eyes.
A man laughed.
Then, without warning, I felt him kiss me on the chin.
Then I screamed.
Then it began.
* * * * *
That was, by my best guess, about four hours ago. Now my
body is stiff with semen. My hair is clotted with sweat and tears. My
spread vagina throbs from the repeated insertion and thrusting of
his fingers and penis and tongue and things I could only guess at:
dildos? candles? root vegetables from the fridge? My breasts ache
where he has mouthed them like a puppy for fifteen minutes at a
stretch, then pulled and twisted at the nipples. My tongue is coated
with come. He held a knife at my throat and told me to open my
mouth. He pumped hot come in 'til it oozed down the sides of my
throat and I was almost choked and had to swallow.
He--the man I force myself to think of only as "the invader," a
desperately clinical name--has finished three distinct rounds of my
rape. During the first two attacks, I begged and cried and pleaded
until he cut me off by plastering strip after strip of electrical tape
across my mouth and, my nasal passages choked with tears and snot,
I lost consciousness again. Then he peeled the tape from my mouth
and let me come around. I am terrified to make a sound now.
It's strange--when not being rough, he is gentle. He stroked my
vaginal lips and wet the hole with his tongue before pushing in a
dildo. He must have greased his finger with Vaseline or something
before inserting it in my rectum for the first time, and he waited
patiently for my outraged sphincter muscles to unclench a little
before first starting to move his finger back and forth in me. He has
not yet spoken, no matter how much I plead. His silence is beginning,
amongst all this fear, to feel like grace.
Now I can hear him begin to stir. Has he been sitting on the
chair at my vanity table, watching me? I think he has.
Soft pad of feet on carpet. A metallic groan of bathroom sink
taps being turned. Running water. Groan and quiet as the taps are
turned off again. Pad of feet toward the bed. Moments pass.
Suddenly my hips are being raised off the bed in his hands. I
gasp. He grasps the cheeks of my buttocks in his hands and parts
them. Despite my will to keep silent, I gasp again as he glops what
feels like Vaseline with a finger on my abused anus, rubbing it along
and within the rectal rim. Now a narrow something--a nozzle?--is
entering. It still feels so strange to be entered there. A pause. Slowly,
it pushes deeper. Deeper. Deeper--it must go in five inches! A
sloshing sound. Now I feel it: the unique, mildly nauseating sensation
of my bowels beginning to fill with cool liquid. I have had enemas in
childhood; I remember this feeling.
And, unfortunately, I am beginning to remember why I
actually loved getting them way back then, how I faked constipation
to get Daddy to give them to me, how they seemed to warm and
liquefy my little, hairless puss, though I didn't yet understand the
feeling.
"Uuugh," I grunt. My bowels fill; fill. My belly feels like it is
swelling up from the pressure within, though I suppose that is
impossible. This slow, even filling of my pained anus and deeper
bowels with cool water feels healing to me. And, yes, it is sexy--very,
very sexy. He has licked and sucked and fucked and fucked and
fucked my private parts tonight, and of course, despite myself, I
have begun sometimes to respond; but I have fought so very hard to
resist that ultimate humiliation. Because I know what he wants. I
know why he keeps doing this, hour after hour, why he didn't rape
me once and leave me or kill me and grab the stereo and my pearls
and run off into the night. Because he wants me to *like* it. He must
pride himself on this, his skill at tying up women in their beds at
night and taking them again and again and again, his ego must
demand that I respond.
I will not enjoy this. I will last this out and then he will leave.
I am so tired. He has begun to stroke my buttocks gently, in
time with the inward surges of fluid. He places his hand softly on the
curve of my belly. He pushes down a little, not hurting me, to feel
how full I am.
I enjoy this. I cannot help it; I enjoy this. I am (my god!)
starting to lubricate. I am getting *wet*. I am creaming! I arch my
back to feel the enema more. I am pushing down with tiny, I pray
invisible, movements of my hips to get it deeper up my ass. Deeper.
Up. My ASS.
Oh god, I am ass-fucking myself on the tube. I am creaming! I
can't keep my hips still--they're moving in tight little circles. I'm still
trying to keep the motion invisible, but I know I can't be succeeding.
A little harder. . . faster. . . Oh God this feels good! The water fills me,
fills me, fills me. . .
He must know, he must see it, but I don't care. This is what he
wants, isn't it?! I'm moving my hips like a slut, up and down, back
and forth, fucking my ass on that tube. Where it enters me is a point
of melting heat that radiates outward. My pussy is growing molten
with it, my nipples must be stiffening. . .
I want his finger in my pussy. I'm wet, can't he tell? Now he's
not doing anything for me, no finger no dildo no long fat cock, I want
something! Do something! You've done it all already, why can't you
do it now?
I hear his laughter, and suddenly, so that I cry out despitte
myself, the enema tube is yanked from me. Water pumps out of me
and soaks the bed. I can't help it, can't stop it, oh, oh, it is
humiliating, I am a child dirtying my panties on the playground. . .
My asshole flexes and pumps like a hose. I moan uncontrollably. He
grabs my legs and spreads them farther apart and I feel the water
really spray out in one last convulsive gulp of my anus. Oh god, I am
sopping. I am lying in water. My cunt aches with heat. The labia are
swollen wide apart, the juices must be gleaming in the hole in plain
sight.
And I think, If I come for him, maybe he'll leave.
Tentatively I start to move my hips again, this time in circles.
My back arches against my bonds. My breasts feel swollen and the
nipples must point straight up, begging for stimulation. My ass
clenches.
He makes a small amused sound, half-exhalation, half-laugh.
He has not touched me again yet. I feel his eyes soaking in every
exposed inch of me, studying my bared cunt and asshole, noting the
condition of my nipples.
Then I feel his hands on me. He is caressing the outside of my
thighs, sliding his hands around and under my ass and parting my
buttocks on each stroke. Now I feel his hands move around to my
inner thighs. They stroke higher, higher. I-want-them-to-reach-my-
cunt. Higher, higher! I want this! I almost sob with relief when in one
swift move he parts my labia with both hands. He spreads them
wide. Cool air on my clit and my hole. My hips are lifted off the bed.
I moan. A finger touches the hood of my clit, pulls at it and slides it
around the nub, which is painfully aroused. I am starting to cream
again. Cream is leaking out my hole. I can feel it, I know it must be, I
have never been this excited in my life, God help me. God, the juice is
just running out of me! It feels so good I want to scream!. He's
holding and touching me like this so long it's torture. I want
something in my cunt; my hole is open and wet and I need
something up it, right up it, right up into my belly. . .
"Pleeeaaase," I moan.
He says, quietly, in a light, hard voice--the first time I have
heard him speak--"Yes."
With two or three finger he slowly rubs my slit. He strokes it
uuuup and down, uuup and down. I shudder all through my body
and my hips begin to pump. Aaaaahhh, his thumb is pushing at the
entrance to my hole. I raise my hips even farther off the bed and try
to spread my splayed legs even more. It hurts but I don't care, I
want my holes wider so he can fuck me there. Oh please fuck me
now. . . . Fuck me! Fuck me!!
He pushes his thumb deeper into my steaming, dripping hole
and then it's all the way in and he's fucking it slowly innn and out,
innn and out. Innn and oouuut. Oh my gooodddd. I need something in
my ass--my asshole is spread wide open too, it's pouting right out, I
need someting to fill me there, the harder and longer the better deep
in my bowels. He fingers me there and starts to push his finger in,
and it hurts, it hurts too much pushing in, and my asshole is
clamping shut around it. "Eeeaaasy," he croons. He pulls his finger
out--aaiiee! it hurts!--and now he is wetting his finger in the cream
that's pouring out my cunt. He probes my back hole again, this time
his finger turns and twists and---it's in! deeper! Deeper. . .
Now I am completely lost in pleasure. I am humping myself
back and forth faster and faster. I fuck myself on his hand at both
holes, he fingerfucks me slow, then faster and faster deeper and
deeper in both holes. I fuck myself like a slut on his thumb up my
cunt and ass-fuck my dripping hole on his finger. FUCK me FUCK
me FUCK me!!
My belly muscles clench and my hips and ass are churning and
it's starting it's starting it's starting oh god my cunt is twitching and
now it's gulping and my asshole is spasming open and closed oh
christ I'm coming! I'm coming! I'm coming like an express train,
can't stop it, my body raises clean off the bed and shakes, my hips
and ass are shaking and shuddering as the my cunt spasms and
asshole and my come-juice sprays out my hole and splashes on my
things and he's fucking me faster harder deeper just fucks me like a
slut, like a whore, deep and hard and he laughs and says, "Come,
bitch, come, come on, give it to daddy, your pussy's coming all over
my motherfucking hand, you slut, come on, give me that hot cream . .
.. ." Now I'm screaming behind the mask. He puts his free hand over
my mouth. I bite at his fingers and taste blood. He cuffs me, not hard
but not too gently. He cuffs me again and again as my spasms rock
through me.
Finally, the spasms slow. My cunt gulps, slower, quieter, slower,
quieter. One last gulp; no, one after that. I slump flat. Tears run from
my eyes under the blindfold. Slowly he pulls his thumb and finger
out of me. They come free with sucking sounds. A last spasm shakes
me as they leave my body. I can't move a muscle, not even turn my
head. I am so limp and his.
And for the third time I hear his voice. "Just relax, baby, relax,"
he says.
"'Cause there's more."
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