Story Details

Illegal Entry

whitebeard on Forced Stories

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Illegal Entry

     She entered her apartment, tossing her briefcase onto the couch, and making a beeline to the bedroom for a quick switch; to exchange her work clothes for something much more comfortable.  It had been another horrendous day; taxing her nerves, and making her wonder whether she should have chosen a calmer, less stressful profession. 

     Shucking her gray suit and frilly white blouse, she stood before the mirror for a few moments; fondling her 36-D breasts, her fingers caressing their dark, quarter-sized aeriolas, before wandering down the firm muscles of her stomach to her thatch.  God, despite all; she was still one hell of a sexy woman!  At forty-three, she could easily rival the bodies of most twenty-year-olds.  It was a shame that her husband had abandoned ship; his maleness completely obliterated by her ever-growing success.  Poor men; their egos were so fragile, so easily and utterly destroyed.  

      She turned and headed for her closet, feeling a sudden gust of cool air. And that’s when she noticed it; the broken window, its glass shards strewn across the carpeting!  Before she could react, a gloved hand was clamped across her mouth, a voice at her ear, warning, “Keep quiet, or I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

     When the hand let up a little, she warbled.  “ Please, don’t hurt me.  I’ll --- I’ll do anything you say.”

     “Fucking A, you will.”

     “If you’re looking for money, I -- I have some in my purse”

     “Money is a perk for me, lady; I want a hell of a lot more than that.”

     “I could write you out a check -- please.”

     His hands roamed from her mouth, down over her neck and breastbone to her jugs, cupping and bouncing them in his hands.  “I saw you preening in the mirror.  You think you’re real hot-shit, don’t you?”

     “No, no; I’m really not like that.”

     The hands left her breasts and groped their way down the length of her stomach, fingering her navel, before moving on to her snatch.

     “I’ll -- I’ll do anything you say, but, please, don’t hurt me.”

     “Self-worshipping bitches, like you, really piss me off,” he snapped, flinging her onto the bed.  “You won’t be so arrogant when I’m finished with you.”

     She rolled off the mattress and tried for the door, but he caught her by the hair, yanking her back, and driving a fist into her kidney area.  Before she could recover, he ran her hard, ramming her head into the door frame; then again and again, until she nearly collapsed, a virtual solar system exploding in her brain.

     “If you want to make this tough, that’s just fine by me. I have no problem with that, at all.”

     Dazed and in pain, she lashed out, blindly, delivering a glancing blow to his jaw.

     “Oh yeah; I love fighters.  You’re getting me all wet, here.”

     He smacked her across the face, sending her flying onto the bed, where she laid like a worn-out, old dishrag; panting, head and heart throbbing, trying to regain her senses.  She felt the lump on her forehead, wincing in pain.  Would he kill her when he was finished?  With all the commotion, in her panic, she hadn’t even caught a glimpse of his face.  Was he white or black, Oriental or Hispanic?  He sounded as though he was white, but, hell, he could be an Eskimo for all she knew.  Dare she chance a look?  Would it seal her fate if she saw his face?

     The light suddenly went out, as if he had anticipated her thoughts, and she could hear his animal-like grunts as he tried to tear off his clothes in a hurry.  Then the mattress bounced and he was next to her, his scent a mixture of cologne, cigarette smoke and what -- maybe vodka. 

     “I’ve been watching you for weeks, bitch; strutting around in your high-and-mighty power suits.  You really think you’re the cat’s meow, don’t you?”

     “No -- no --.”

     “Yeah, yeah!”

     He roughly rolled her onto her back, squeezing her breasts together and sucking each of her nipples in turn, rolling them between his teeth.  She tried to squirm away, but he adjusted his weight, pinning her down.

     “I got to say one thing; you have a hell of a set of knockers.  What size are they?”

     When she didn’t answer, he repeated the question, much louder.

     “They’re thirty-six-D.”

     “I’ll say.  You have it all, huh; power suits, power car, power boobs.”

     Then, in a flash, he was on her, his warm tongue wandering her lips, and she felt his hardness enter her, roughly at first, then much more gentle.  Before she knew it, they were moving in rhythm, her legs wrapped around his butt, her nails digging into his back. She felt the adrenaline rush come quickly, gasping, a euphoric feeling swimming in her head.  His chest hair scrapped her boobs, as their tongues darted into one another’s mouths.  On and on it went; the rocking, the groaning, the panting; both squealing in unison as they blew their cookies at the same time.

     He rolled off of her and they laid there for a long time, trying to catch their breath.  Cool air rustled the curtains, traffic humming in the distance, an occasional horn.

     “You’re --,” he rasped.  “You’re even better than I had thought.”

     She didn’t answer, confused by a strange mixture of fear and ecstasy.

     “Well?”

     “Well what?”

     “How was I?”

     She pondered for a moment, unable to answer.

     “C’mon; how was I?”

     She answered with a giddy, schoolgirl laugh.  “Not bad, considering it was an illegal entry.”

     He chuckled at the remark and flung out of bed, gathering up his clothes.  “You stay right where you are, don’t move a muscle.”

     “You’re -- You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

     “After a fuck like that, I don’t want to have to.  I will, though, if you give me no choice.  So, like I said; you just stay there while I get the hell out of here.”

     She watched as he quickly dressed, a dark form, his eyes never leaving her.  Without another word, he made his way to the window, freezing with one foot out as she switched on the light.

     “Fuck, damn-it-all; now you saw my face!  Now I have no choice but to --.”

     She jumped out of bed and walked to him, her fingers toying with his curly black hair, then roaming down his cheek to trace his jaw.  “And a nice face it is.”

     He could only stare, mouth agape, eyes as wide as saucers.  Finally, after considering his options, he started back out the window.

     “Wait -- wait, wait, wait.”

     He froze again, utterly confused.

     She rummaged through her purse, squealing in frustration and pouring its contents onto the bed.  Then she snatched up a card and walked to him, holding it out.

     “What’s this?”

     “You’ll find my office number, as well as my home number on there.  If you ever want another go-round, like tonight, give me a call.”

     He reached for it, hesitantly, his eyes growing wider.  “Are -- Are you serious?”

     “I am dead serious.”

     He considered her for a long moment, chuckling at the absurdity of it all, then tucked the card into his pocket and made his way out the window.

     “Or, if you prefer; you can just surprise me, like earlier!” she called after him.

     He hustled down the darkened street, glancing back at her window.  She wasn’t such a “bitch” after all.  At the corner, he stopped, the suspense killing him.  Pulling out a small pocket light, he shined it on the card, sucking in a startled breath.  “Jesus, would you look at this,” he whispered to himself.

     There, in bold black-and-gold lettering – Samantha Eggers; Assistant Police Commissioner, City of New York.

 

 

    

    

    

    

    

    

    

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

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