Author: Knight Title: Moments Of Weakness Part: 1 Summary: Erica is attacked in the dead of night, but all is not as it seems. Keywords: MF, nc, rp ---- Note From The Knight: Well, here it is: my long-awaited (by some) attempt at a rape story. I took it in what I think is a slightly unusual direction - let me know what you think! Warning: this story contains scenes of rape and violence, so it may not be for everyone. And remember: more feedback = more stories! ---- Moments Of Weakness Erica stepped lightly onto the pavement, and wrapped her coat around her as the bus pulled away from the kerb. A breeze sprang up, stirring the skeletal leaves at her feet, then died away once more. "Bollocks," she muttered, hitching her handbag up higher on her shoulder, and set off along the road. Her breathe misted in the cold autumn air, and, not for the first time, she wished she had taken a taxi instead of waiting for the late bus. The evening had been fun, a few drinks with the girls from the office followed by an hour and a half of feminist propaganda masquerading as a romantic comedy. The warm, comfortable haze of the time spent with her friends seemed very far away from the cold, barren street that stretched in front of her. One street led on to another, and then Erica's path led down a narrow alley between two office buildings, and from there into the underpass which ran beneath the busy motorway - a motorway that was all but silent at this hour of the night, but which was still bounded by high steel fences to prevent anyone from crossing. Erica clenched her teeth and quickened her pace. The underpass was illuminated only by two orange streetlights bolted to the wall behind toughened glass, their baleful glow pitifully inadequate. The rough concrete walls were covered in graffiti and posters for bands and for nightclubs which Erica had never heard of, while the floor was damp and dirty, the gutters full of dead leaves and discarded wrappers and cans. She knew from countless late-night walks that it took her exactly thirty-eight steps to reach the other end of the underpass and emerge back onto the streets. Steeling herself, she began counting. One. Two. Three. There was nothing to worry about. She'd been this way a hundred times, and never even been threatened. Things like that didn't really happen, it was all just stories. Nine. Ten. Eleven. And even if something did happen, she had her strategy all worked out. She'd say she had crabs, or maybe AIDS. That's scare them off. She'd be fine. She just had to be brave. Eighteen. Nineteen. TwenThe violent impact from behind almost knocked her off her feet. She fell hard onto the concrete, her ankle twisting painfully, her cry of alarm cut off by the impact of the rough ground on her cheek. Panic exploded in her mind. Was she being mugged? Something worse? Scrabbling around, she tried to get back to her feet, but a strong hand on her shoulder stopped her from rising. Next to her head, there was a flash of silver, and a long, curved knife was resting, point-first, on the ground. "Don't fight. Don't scream. I don't want to hurt you, but I will." Terrified, Erica allowed herself to be rolled over. Her assailant was clearly a man, tall and well-built, his upper body and head concealed within a baggy hooded top. He held the knife in his right hand, watching her for signs of flight. Erica lowered her eyes to distract him, a technique learned from a painfully brief self-defence class, then lunged at his face, her fingernails seeking his eyes Effortlessly, he caught her wrist in his impossibly strong grip, and leaned over her. The freezing point of his blade pressed hard against the soft, yielding flesh of her breast. "Fuck with me," he hissed, "and I'll cut your fucking tits off, bitch." "Please -" Erica whispered. "Please what? Are you asking for it, bitch?" "God, please," she moaned, her fear rising. "You are!" The shadowy figure laughed and Erica could feels flecks of his spittle landing on her breasts. "You're fucking begging me, you slut! Please? Say please again, bitch, and I'll do it. You want it, right? Say please, mister, I want your fat cock to tear into my little cunt!" "No, God," she protested, "listen, I've got money, you can take it, my mobile's in my bag -" "I don't want that shit, you dumb little fuck," snarled the voice, the cold, damp fingers pressing harder against her pale skin. "Now are you gunna play nice or am I gunna start cutting?" "Alright - alright, I'll do w-whatever you want." "I know you will," the voice chuckled. "You bitches all want it anyway, don't you? You all want a man to jump you and give the fuck of a lifetime, you're just too scared to ask for it. Aren't you?" His question was punctuated by a stinging slap across her face, and Erica forced herself to nod. "Say it, you stupid bitch. Say you want me to fuck you." "I do, you can do anything, just don't hurt -" His grip relaxed on her arm, and, a heartbeat later, she felt the breath explode from her lungs. The grim concrete walls of the underpass spun around her, and she suddenly realised that she was on the ground. He knelt across her, his face still obscured by the grey hood of his jacket, his hands pulling open her coat, her blouse, his thick, graceless fingers prodding the soft, yielding flesh of her breasts. The razor-sharp knife traced a dispassionate arc across her throat, sliding down across her heart until, with a flick of his wrist, the shadowy figure cut through her bra. Slowly, moving only the knife, he lifted the delicate lace cups of her bra away from the alabaster skin of her bosom. The air was freezing, but the steel of the knife seemed colder still. The man nodded appreciatively, and his hood fell back far enough from his face that Erica could make out a pair of thick, expressive lips, pressed together in a cruel smile. There was nothing about the man that she recognised, nothing that seemed even vaguely familiar. Even when she tried to concentrate, thinking that she must be able to give the police a description if - no, damn it, when - she walked out of this, the details wavered and changed, her mind refusing to accept the grim reality of her situation. Working methodically, the man revealed her round, generous breasts, her chest rising and falling erratically as she struggled to breathe around terrified sobs. Teasing her hard nipples with the point of the dagger, the man's smile broadened, and he suddenly slapped her fleshy right breast with his open hand, the sound echoing around the dank underpass. Erica cried out, but quickly stifled the sound as the blade returned to her throat. "No noise," he whispered. "No noise, and I'll fuck you nice. I'll make it good for you, bitch." Moving quickly, her pulled the hem of her dress upward, exposing the blue satin panties she had chosen that morning. Moaning in appreciation, he slipped his fingers into the waistband, his blunt fingertips brushing through her sparse pubic hair in search of her tender pussy. Then, with a vicious wrench, he tore the panties from her body, leaving her bare buttocks to slap against the cold concrete floor, his hands on her knees, pulling her legs open savagely, leaning in toward her. Erica opened her mouth to scream, but she had no breath. There was nothing she could do. He leaned over her, maneuvering his body into position, the sodium glow of the streetlights glistening on the wet flesh of his prick. "I'm going to rape you, you fucking slut, just the way you want it." Erica sobbed, her shoulders heaving, but the sharp pressure of the blade re-appeared at her throat. "Don't fucking move, or you're a dead slut," the man snarled. Erica bit her lip as the bulbous head of his penis touched her slit. He pushed forward with his hips, trying to find a way inside her body. Suddenly, a sharp pain blazed through her, and she could feel the thick flesh of his cock pressing into her, violating her in the most horrific way she could imagine. The pain intensified, and blurred, until she could feel the insistent pressure of his thick penis against her cervix. "Fuck, no," she moaned in agony, her stomach heaving. "You're a tight bitch," the man grunted, shifting the angle of his cock to thrust it deeper inside her. "You must be desperate for this, huh? Huh, you fucking slut? You need my fat cock inside you?" Erica shook her head, hot tears leaking through her eyelids. She couldn't bear to look at him, it was bad enough to feel his filthy penis inside her. She coughed as the bile rose in her throat. This disgusting pervert was fucking her, was ruining her, was killing her... but something, deep within her mind, exulted in this crude assault. She shook her head again, trying to reject the hot, damp excitement that was leaking from this warped place into the rest of her being. She couldn't be aroused by his despicable actions; she couldn't be hot for the guy who was fucking her so deep and so hard and so hungrily that she would be ruined for any other man; she couldn't be turned on to be powerless, to be used, to be abused, to be discarded in the gutter when she was full of his slimy spunk... It was impossible. Wasn't it? Even considering the question was impossible, but, against her wishes, her body began to respond to the man's brutal invasion. Something primitive, something Erica didn't even have a name for, was taking over her rational mind, whispering sweetly to her about the joys of submission, the pleasure that lay in being used in the cruelest way possible. Her stomach lurched with nausea, but her abused pussy also began to moisten. She was sick, disgusted with herself, disgusted with this beast and what he was doing to her. Oh, God, what's he's doing to me... "Fuck baby," the man groaned, his breath hot against her ear. "Oh, baby, you're gunna make me cum." Erica groaned, despite herself, helpless to fight the rising passions which stirred within her. The stark cruelty of their surroundings faded into darkness; the cold concrete beneath her, the sickly orange glow of the streetlight, the freezing air that burned her lungs with every tortured breath... These sensation fell away suddenly, and a single thought blazed in the maelstrom of Erica's mind. He was going to cum. He was going to fill her body with his disgusting seed. She felt cold and feverish all at once, and gritted her teeth against the inevitable realisation. He was going to do it, and she didn't want it. He was going to do it, and she wasn't ready. He was going to do it and... and... And she needed more. With that traitorous thought, something changed deep within Erica's mind. For a heartbeat, the light changed, the world shifted, the shadows around her became deeper pits of black that stretched to infinity. Everything changed, until, deep within herself, Erica could feel a pulsing, blood-red desire, slowly rising. All thought fell away. She knew what she needed. She knew what she must do. Intent on his vigorous thrusting, he hardly noticed as Erica's slender fingers stroked his biceps, his forearms, and his wrists. His cock pounded deeper into her, feeding the strange cold fire that burned within her. He grunted as she squeezed her pussy experimentally, then gasped in pleasure as she lifted her hips to more easily accommodate her rapist's weapon of choice. Unable to believe his luck, his mind fogged with lust and power, the shadowy man moaned exultantly as he felt the semen begin to boil and rise... Then, in a blur of motion, she twisted the knife from his grip and, before he could make a sound, the blood-stained tip of the blade was pressing against his chest. "Oh, baby, I'm not done," Erica sighed sweetly. "If you stop fucking me before I cum, you know I'll have to kill you." An indistinct moan fell from his slack, rubbery lips, the blood draining from his face. Inside her, Erica could feel the steel rod of his cock soften and tremble. Hissing in anger, she pressed the knife harder against his clammy skin, a fat greasy droplet of blood oozing out onto the merciless steel. "Just like a fucking man," Erica sighed, grinding her hips hard against his flagging penis. "You finally get what you want, and you're too much of a fucking coward to finish the job. But you picked on the wrong woman, didn't you?" "Please..." the man mumbled, his eyes wet with tears. Erica leaned in close and tasted his cold lips. "If you don't make me cum," she whispered hungrily, "I am going to start by cutting off that pitiful flap of skin you call a cock and then I'll feed it to the fucking birds." The man's jaw clenched in concentration, and Erica was gratified to feel his cock twitch and thicken inside her. Raising her hips to meet his hesitant thrusts, she smiled wickedly. "Not so bad, huh, fucker? See, you can do it when you want to." The man's terrified grunt was like music to her ears. She hooked her ankles around the small of his back and lifted her hips higher, encouraging him to fuck her deeper and harder. The fear was making him tremble, and she could smell the sour odour of his skin, but the cock that she hungered for so madly kept thrusting, kept violating her body, faster and faster as his basest instincts took over the his cum started to rise... Gritting her teeth, Erica raised the blade and plunged it hard into the flesh of his upper arm just as the first brutal assault of her orgasm ripped through her trembling body. A hot spray of blood covered her hand, her wrist, and it seemed to sink through her skin, burning through her own veins until her body sang with his pain and humiliation. He screamed out and tugged his trembling cock from her quaking pussy, his pitiful seed spilling forth onto the uncaring concrete. Erica didn't care. She gasped at the intoxicating agony of her orgasm, and twisted the blade deeper into the yielding flesh of her assailant. Nothing mattered but her pleasure. Finally, she curled her right hand into a fist and lashed out with enough force to roll the man off her. She came quickly to her feet, the blade held low, ready for possible retribution, but there was none. The frigid air carried the hot stink of their sex and the faint sound of his sobbing. Straightening slowly, her senses alive, Erica took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. The sense of power was so palpable she expected to see sparks earthing themselves from her fingertips, but the only movement was the erratic heaving of the man's shoulders as his lips twitched in silent pleading. Holding the blade of the knife up to the orange streetlight, Erica studied the dark, bloody stain, then touched the cold steel to her tongue, tasting the blood of her victim. Then, she turned on her heel, and, whistling a merry tune, made her way out of the underpass and down the dark, brooding street. The knife in her hand was two things, she now understood: it was security against the ills of the world, a guarantee of safe passage no matter how dark the streets were... And it was power. She understood perfectly that the effortless dominance of another human being had changed her, had twisted her, and she did not care. She would not indulge the desire again tonight, nor tomorrow. But some time, at some point on a dark night, she would walk these streets and she would rape again. Perhaps a man, perhaps a woman. It didn't matter. Her gratification, and the terror of her chosen victim, was all that mattered to her now. Erica smiled, her hot lips moist in the darkness. She had security, and she had power. What more could a woman ask for? ---- (c) Knight Of Passion 2006 Feedback, comments and criticisms gratefully received at knight-of-passion@hotmail.co.uk _________________________________________________________________ Download the new Windows Live Toolbar, including Desktop search! http://toolbar.live.com/?mkt=en-gb