("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2014. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Combination Lock by Quiller (quiller@live.co.uk) *** Two complete strangers find the bleakness of their existence suddenly relieved by the act of finding each other. An act of rape begins to take on another guise and there is suddenly and unexpectedly a chink of light amongst the gloom, fashioned by an amazing 'co-incidence of need'. (MF, nc, rp) *** The autumn night air was damp and still. The sounds of the town - traffic, random car horns and the occasional, remote police siren - were muted by the moisture hanging in the air and coalesced into a general background hum. Pools of sodium orange street lighting, poorly spaced in this semi-commercial, unfashionable district, struggled to throw any visibility through the imprisoning murk at the rows of business doorways and frontages, many of them boarded up against vandalism with graffiti-smeared blankness. Nothing was immediately or obviously heard issuing from the dingy alleyway leading back from the deserted road near the bus stop. To catch anything, you would have had to venture a few feet inwards, ever further away from what direct illumination there was. Even then, it would have been necessary to strain to hear the vague sounds at the limit of audibility. A rhythmic but dull thumping was in progress, accompanied by grunts which spoke both of determination and exertion. From closer up, you could make out the two figures entwined on a discarded, mud-stained mattress, its stuffing exuding from a tear along one side like blood from a wound. The man had his tracksuit trousers lowered around his ankles and his top unzipped. The woman was pinned underneath him, her face reddened from sharp slaps and held down by both wrists. Her nurse's dress had been ripped open at the top and her bra shunted upwards to expose her breasts. Her legs flailed the air in futility on either side of the man's pounding buttocks as he kept up the slow, deliberate rhythm. The woman's body shook with each successive shock. Her torn tights and panties, still caught on one of her shoes pennant-like, bore witness to the ferocity of her aggressor's initial assault. And yet... no cries came from the woman, no calls for help sallied forth to float on the moisture-laden air. Instead, gradually, her panicked breathing started to become more regular as she began to emit small gasps and moans, her legs slowly but noticeably beginning to encircle her attacker's torso. The latter, as if in recognition of his conquest, released his vice-like grip of her wrists and she responded further by placing her hands on the small of the man's back, drawing him into her. The man's piston movement became even more marked as he was able to hold his victim more easily and drove his stiff penis deep into her now fully lubricating vagina. The stinking mattress offered little now in the way of comfort, but served to save the woman's skin from being grazed by the rough stones of the uneven alley floor. Only a few days previously it had still been gracing a bed in one of the rooms providing accommodation for the hospital's student nurses and doctors – ironic now that, although it had been thrown out of the hospital, it was still being used to bed another nurse. Ironic also that even less time had passed since that same nurse had been feeling that her time for attracting male attention was well and truly behind her. *** 12 noon had found her sitting in the staff canteen, sourly watching the latest intake of nursing students flirting and giggling with some of the interns. She remembered, with a sudden jolt, doing the same at that stage in her career. Was it really twenty years since she had 'joined up'? Half her current age, truly? And career... what career? She had reached the dizzy heights of Ward Manager nine years ago and things seemed to have stalled now. Repeated applications for posts in the hospital's higher management had been rejected almost out of hand and it seemed she had bumped up against her professional ceiling in the judgement of her superiors. She bridled with suppressed indignation as she recalled less able colleagues being promoted over her, feeling helpless to do anything. She knew there was a position falling vacant imminently but further rejection would be just too embarrassing. Helplessness was not a situation which suited her - she was very much a control obsessive, wanting to know that everything was how she had planned it and that the future was also within her own ability to arrange it. Having others decide to the contrary was decidedly not to her liking. She could not help shooting further glances over to the group of younger nurses. It was obvious that they were attracting attention not only from their male peer group and junior doctors but also from older male staff. She bit her lip and wondered where her own looks had, apparently, vanished to. All right, she had never been a beauty but she had still managed to tease the boys in her time. Was it unavoidably, from-on-high ordained that you became invisible on your fortieth birthday? She sighed as she rose from the table, suddenly realising that her own children were not much younger than the girls in uniform she was about to order around the ward. On her way back, she paid a visit to the toilets where she examined her reflection in the washbasin mirror. Not bad, she thought, perhaps a few more pounds than there used to be, a little rounder in both body and face but surely not so bad as to merit zero attention, zero glances..? She didn't have wrinkles or saggy jowls – a picture of Clement Freud and his bloodhound suddenly came vividly to mind, causing her mirror self to raise an eyebrow in surprise, wondering where the thought had come from. Acknowledging wryly that the mental image would mean nothing to her younger colleagues, she realised with a sinking feeling that the vision had been prompted by her popular yet incredibly unattractive ward clerk – the woman had, to use one of her son's favourite phrases, 'been hit with the ugly stick', yet if her stories were to be believed she didn't lack for male attention. In fact just that morning she had been flirting outrageously with a pair of paramedics, both men seemingly vying for her attention and approval. "Like drooling dogs around a bitch on heat!" Her voice, dripping with contempt, shocked her and she glanced around the bathroom furtively. Empty. 'Just as well' she thought, because although there might well have been contempt in her voice she recognised only too well the taste in her mouth. Jealousy, as bitter and hot as bile, coated every one of the words that had spilled from her lips in that brief outburst. The afternoon wore on and her mood did not improve. A series of small incidents culminated in her tearing a strip off one of the junior nurses. The sullen expression on the girl's face as she listened to her ticking off reminded her of the bored, 'let's humour her' look she received from her husband on the rare occasions she suggested they go out for the evening, or perhaps have an early night – although the latter would not be repeated after the last time, when his agreement had raised hopes that were dashed the second he added that there 'was nothing worth watching on TV anyway' and he could 'do with a good night's sleep'. The memory rankled. Should a woman, admittedly no longer in the first flush of youth, settle down to mediocrity? Was she no longer wantable? The girl's love bite, barely concealed under a hastily applied layer of make up on her neck added vitriol to the chastisement. By the time she'd dismissed the girl she felt on the verge of screaming aloud, but what would she scream? 'Look at ME?' 'Pay ME some attention?' Ridiculous! She hastily turned her attention back to the paperwork piling up on her desk and took a deep breath as she started on the first in a series of mind numbing reports due by the next day. With luck they would render her oblivious to the passing of her feminine charms. Their hypnotic success was such that she did not even note the passage of the hours, and by the time she had stretched and checked the clock she knew that, even running, she'd be too late for her usual, mid-evening bus. Nonetheless she dared hope – surely something had to go right for her today? - and, struggling into her mac, she hurried to the stop just outside the well lit gates. The empty stop told its own story. No lucky bus to be found here, sorry lady, move along, ding ding! A cursory scan of the staff car park confirmed that she was indeed late and alone in her predicament – it was time for either a taxi or the walk to another, more distant stop. And then came the icing on the cake – with an expletive worthy of a dock worker she remembered her friend Cheryl's 'good advice' – 'only bring enough cash for your salad and bus fare and then you can't be tempted to buy chocolate in the canteen'. Strange how good advice often had a way of biting you on the backside, she mused, as she turned from the hospital and resignedly started the walk to the next stop. She didn't fancy taking a taxi and offering to pay the fare with her body; the thought of the expression this might bring to a driver's face nearly succeeded in lightening her mood from utter despair to mere misery, but failed, and it lodged somewhere around the 'angry and resentful' level. As she walked her mood darkened further, fuelled by revisiting all the slights of the week, both real and imagined. The stop was just coming into view as she reached the greatest niggle. A colleague, older than her by at least 10 years, had dropped by for a chat and a cup of tea. She'd suggested that perhaps it was time for her to consider HRT as 'women of our age sometimes need a little help when nature lets us down'. She'd snorted in disgust – she was 40, and still very much menstrual thank you, NOT menopausal. That had been perhaps the start of this current bout of angst. Buried deep in this soul-wringing parade of thoughts, she had barely noticed the man standing at the stop and managed only just in time to avoid cannoning into him. The man had obviously been out jogging because, despite the poor illumination from the street lamp in which she could barely make out his features, she could see his sweating brow and the slowing puffing of his respiration. She tried to remember the last time she had seen her husband sweating - perhaps that time a few years ago when he had come in from the garden after replacing a fence post, mopping his face and perspiring freely down his bare chest and back. She remembered how this had excited her irrationally, to her embarrassment. But fancy standing there in the gloom, dressed in dark clothing! It would have been his fault if she had walked straight into him. She half turned away with a sniff – not that he'd bother to talk to an old woman like her anyway, she sighed. She realised vaguely that she was excited now, now as well, for no obvious reason except perhaps for the presence of this man. *** The jogger's mind was clouded with bitterness and brooding as he pounded on his way. The repeating thud of his footfall on the dampened pavement provided a metronomic background to his dark thoughts. Skirting park railings, churchyard and rows of bungaloid growth, his course through the suburb followed its usual, erratic and unplanned winding, all the more so this evening as his mind returned ever and again to the events of the day. Like a tongue which cannot resist the probing of new dental work, he could not force his thoughts away from the 'what ifs' and the 'if onlies'. Upping his pace as if it were possible to eradicate, by dint of sheer physical exertion, the negative nature of the last twelve hours, he ran on through the shadows cast by the street lamps. His City finance job, after promising so much initially, had revealed itself in recent years as being the dead end of all dead ends. It seemed there was a built-in incongruity to the situation. His lords and masters required of him risk taking and bravura account management... and by nature he was fundamentally a play- it-safe type. This had gradually become clear to both sides as the investment opportunities he selected for his clients grew safely and respectably... but modestly. Colleagues around him seemed to achieve overnight miracles with their portfolios and were showered with bonuses and superlatives-bespangled praise from Those On High, while he became regarded ever more commonly as a safe but boring pair of hands. In the pressurised, frenetic atmosphere of get-rich-quickery, his dullness stood out like the plodding of a tramp steamer among the wakes of speedboats. Solid and reliable... but unspectacular. The meeting with Sir had been short and to the point - unspectacular was rapidly becoming not good enough. In these days of performance ratings and cut-throat competition, short term fireworks were the essential. There was little likelihood of any future in The Firm for long term, slow burning incendiaries. Maybe he could and should have seen it coming. A two month probationary period, accompanied by a final warning and, oh by the way, here's your new departmental manager... the young woman he himself had taken on only two years before. HRH had, predictably, taken the news with something less than equanimity. He had grown used to more than the occasional nagging session from a wife who had changed over seven years from simpering bride to hausfrau-cum- camp commandant, but this particular tongue lashing left no room for doubt... get your act together or take a loving, last look at your children... He had few hobbies. Jogging was his little act of defiance, a resurrected piece of his bachelor-era, college sporting existence which had the added benefit of getting him away from the house and... that tongue. Jogging had become... frequent. Maybe he could see Sir again and put forward some new investment strategies for the portfolio? Ah, but then he'd have to go through that jumped-up piece of skirt... The sudden hoot of a horn from a passing van brought him back to an awareness of his surroundings - he had, without realising it, crossed through the entire town centre and was now several more miles from home than intended for the return run. What to do? Still loping along, he searched hastily in his pocket and was relieved to find sufficient change for a bus fare. He made a scan of his memory for the nearest stop and jogged off along the uneven pavement, past a long row of darkened shop windows, some boarded up. Still heading away from the centre, the surrounding air grew ever quieter as a backdrop to his exertions and, as he finally arrived at the stop, his panting and blowing were the main event to be heard. He had kept himself in reasonable shape though. His trained six foot of wiry physique did not need an extended recovery period, even from the half hour of solid exercise he had just put in. The fatigue was soon draining from his muscular legs and, just as the woman arrived next to him, his panting was under control if still just audible. He removed his glasses, now fogging badly from the combined effects of the sweat on his brow and the lack of forward movement. He towered a good head taller than the woman alongside him. The thought occurred to him that she had shown no little bravery in casually joining his 'queue' in what was possibly a risky situation for her. Or was it, the idea suggested itself, more a case of yet another pushy tart? His breathing and composure now both almost back to default levels, he repositioned his glasses and risked a closer look at his companion. Hmm... quite pretty... and wasn't there something about her of the lecturer he'd lusted after at college..? A trick of the light that she'd glanced up at him..? 'We could be here all night!' It was his attempt at jolly, small talk, at being nice... well, all right, you had to start somewhere if you intended to flirt. He was brought to regret the remark almost instantly. They had, after all, been waiting less than five minutes... and then there was the non-answer, nothing more than an impenetrable mumble. Rejection, accompanied by what sounded uncannily like yet another sniff. Rejection... and not for the first time today. Not this time. Pent up frustration and rage at the unfairness of the world combined to obliterate normal thought processes. Not this time... 'You're a pretty, little thing', he muttered. Not giving her time to sniff again, he cupped one hand over the woman's mouth and, with the other arm around her waist, began dragging her towards the nearby alleyway. Evading her kicking heels, he was able easily to half drag, half carry his struggling package inside the all-enveloping darkness... Disbelief kept her from struggling at first – disbelief at the situation that was unfolding, disbelief at the sheer, laughable absurdity of it. Disbelief suspended her ability for rational thought, so much so that even as the man clamped his hand over her mouth after calling her 'a pretty little thing' she obliged him by walking backwards for a pace or two, her hands hanging limply by her side as she complied with the demand of the hands pulling at her, forcing her to move with him. Her mind went blank – what was he doing? Despite the shock, she felt calm, detached almost, as if being accosted and propelled backwards towards an uncertain destination was perfectly usual for her. It crossed her mind that if he was planning on robbing her he'd be sorely disappointed. Afterwards she was also to remember that she vaguely wondered if her husband would notice that she wasn't home, and if so, whether he would care. Would he realise, as he sat like a smug, bloated toad in his Parker Knoll recliner watching the late news, that it was her body that had been found beaten and bloodied, dumped like some half-full bag of rubbish in a side road near her place of work? Or would he just grunt in boredom as he reached for the remote control, glad of an excuse to be able to watch the late night sport with no interruptions from a wife who needed more attention than he was capable of giving? In the present though, the thought of the man's anger once he found she had nothing of value to take cut through her torpor, and she began to struggle against his grip. There was a time when she had been athletic, defined even, and might have been some trouble to her assailant, even with his clear height advantage, but those days were behind her, long gone, a distant memory along with her feminine charms and perpetual good humour. Nowadays she was soft, dumpy almost. The muscles in her legs bore testimony still to the hours of walking she put it in performing her duty, but increasing piles of paperwork needing constant attention had allowed her upper body tone to loosen, and white, easily bruised flesh made curves out of formerly willow- like arms. Yet of course she did her best to fight him. She lashed out with her feet, the stout heeled sturdy leather brogues that afforded her such comfort on her shifts might have left a telling bruise if they'd connected but, with barely an effort, the man shifted his grip, his one hand still firmly holding her mouth closed whilst the other snaked around her back and up under her shoulder, grabbing at the front of her mac, and half lifting her. She found herself frantically pedalling her legs to stay upright. Despite the speed he was moving at, she felt compelled to try and maintain her balance, stay upright, little realising that her movements only added to her backwards momentum, aiding her attacker in his intent by providing impetus that he needed only to direct. Had she slumped in his arms he might have been impeded, there might have been a window of opportunity for someone to come to her aid as he struggled to move a dead weight. As it was they were out of sight and already invisible in the gloom of the maze of red brick walls long before a solitary dog walker passed by, tugging on the lead and muttering at the terrier he was exercising as it strained to sniff at the strange smell of sweating, excited human that was lingering around the bus stop. The nurse had begun to think again, her mind becoming clearer as visibility lessened in the darkness of the rat run of alleyways. Her lips were being pressed hard against her teeth by the man's hand, and in a movement she'd maybe seen in a movie she snatched her head back, giving her a momentary space in which to bare her teeth and then as his hand connected again with her mouth it encountered her incisors, biting hard down, snapping closed on the fleshy padding at the base of his index finger. Luckily for him his hands had begun to sweat, and her teeth barely grazed his skin before slipping harmlessly over it and connecting in a jarring snap that left her dizzy for a moment. "Bitch!" he snarled, yanking his hand free. Jerking at the back of her coat he pulled her in front of him, and slapped her hard across the face with the hand she'd tried to bite. Her outraged expression as she glared back at him caused his heart to pound staccato time, and he backhanded her across her other cheek. A third slap followed, and another backhand, his cock twitching within his pants as each time she met his gaze with contempt and defiance, and for each hostile look he lashed out again. A jaundiced clichι crossed his mind – a generic scene from many an old film where a girl is struggling against a man, and her tormentor leers at her as she protests that he 'likes a girl with spirit!' He'd always snorted at the sentiment, sure that really that was the last thing you'd want. His lurching cock would seem to vouch for the truth of the matter though. God, he was aching to bury himself in this cunt, to pound into her, to fuck her till she bled, and to look into her eyes as she took every inch of every thrust, accommodated his cock in her hot hole, knowing that she knew he was between her legs for as long as he wanted, and she had better just damn well take it and be glad it was only her cunt he was fucking! The strange, excited smile on his face scared her far more than the blows and for the first time her anger slipped, and fear surfaced. Not able to focus on anything other than the need to run, she managed to dodge the next slap and turn away from him, launching herself into a trot – not in any particular direction as she had no idea where safety was right now, but simply 'away' from him. However the disorientation and pain from the half dozen heavy handed blows made her movement rather more of a lurch, and he was easily able to jump forward and catch hold of her. The mac protested under the sudden strain, and its buttons gave up the fight easier than their mistress, pinging in all directions across the alley floor. The garment half slid from her shoulders, and slipped partway down her upper arms, becoming trapped just above her elbows. Her squeal of terror was trapped in her throat as the constricting coat caught her arms behind her, pinioning them, and in her struggle she bent her arms, pulling at it, simply making it impossible to free herself. The chuckle in her ear paralysed her and time seemed to stand still as the man pulled her back against his body with a handful of her hair. She felt the heat flood her face as her bladder muscles betrayed her and she squirted a splash of hot urine into her knickers. 'N-no please!' was as much as she could gasp out before he span her around, to face him again. She cringed a little this time, eyes widening as she took in his manner and glittering eyes. He licked his lips a little and one hand pushed her hard in her chest and she staggered back; caught unawares and with no hands free to balance herself, she stumbled and fell backwards. Instinctively she tensed herself, head pulled forwards to avoid hitting it on the hard cobbles. The shock was mitigated when her landing was cushioned by something soft but that small mercy was barely noted as she scrabbled with her heels to try and push herself away from the man advancing on her. Her arms underneath her, still encased in her mac, prevented her from achieving more than a foot or two's distance, catching as they did on the soft, bulging mass underneath her. The sudden draught between her wet thighs drew her attention to the fact that her struggles were achieving nothing other than causing her dress to ride up to a level where it was little more than a pelmet, a window dressing to the main view of her spread thighs, topped off with knickers and tights. A noise, half sob, half sigh, broke from her lips as she saw her attacker's gaze shift from her face to her splayed legs – it looked as if she finally had the attention she had been craving.... The jogger advanced on her and fell with judged athleticism between her open legs, even as she belatedly attempted to close them, intent on silencing any cries for help. She managed to start a 'Please, what...' sentence of unknown conclusion, in a semi-pleading tone, before his hand closed once more over her mouth. With her arms still pinned beneath her by her own weight, she could offer little resistance as he found her dress top and wrenched it apart, sending yet more buttons into crevices of the old mattress and the obscurity of the alley. He fondled her plump breasts through her bra and then, as if realising the possibility, hiked it up and over to expose them to the night air. Her tights and panties posed more of a problem. After struggling in vain with them one-handedly, his impatience overtook him and he loosed his grip on her mouth to give them full attention. As the nurse then attempted to utter something, presumably a cry for help or a finish to her previous effort, he shaped as if to strike her again across the face. This had the desired effect and he was able to apply all his strength to the tearing of her undergarments. After some resistance they gave way with a dull, unzipping sound. He sat back on his haunches as if satisfied with his work and surveyed the goal achieved, his hand once more raised and ready to strike, if necessary, in defence of the status quo. The nurse's dark bush and labia were open to his inspection, the former appearing as an arrowhead indicator to the latter. His sighting of it reached into dark parts of his brain and turned what remaining keys were still in standby mode to 'action'. He rose to a kneeling position and lowered his tracksuit trousers and underpants down over his erect penis, not huge but fully aroused and intent on the hunt. The woman whimpered beneath him as he pulled her legs higher and positioned himself. He considered - should he perhaps do this gently? But there was lttle of gentleness in his penetration of her. After finding his way through the immediate tightness of her labia, he virtually fell into her, slamming his full length into a dry vagina. He heard the whimper again, somewhat louder this time, a half sob, half cry of pain. Losing no time, he set up a slow but powerful rhythm, pushing fully up and inside her with each stroke. Her breasts bounced and her whole body shook with each grunt-accompanied thrust. His tiredness from the run overtaken by his need and facilitated by his lean, muscled athlete's physique, he lost himself in using the nurse to vent his sexual and psychological frustrations on the female of the species. The movement of the two bodies on the muddy mattress allowed the nurse's raincoat to ride up and thus allow some movement again to her arms. She used this to make a half-hearted pushing away movement to the chest riding above her... but a stinging slapping of both cheeks again brought her to order... and she then found her wrists pinned down by the same powerful hands... *** Thud, thud, thud. The dull thumping of the man's pelvis connecting with her pubic bone gave her something to focus on, some constant in this skewed night that had become her immediate world. Her brain, overwhelmed by the assault, refused to function as it should, self- preservation wrapping temporary blankets of comforting cotton wool around her thought processes and allowing her to just lie there, to accept, and not to try and rationalise the situation. The mind is a wondrously selfish entity, caring only to keep itself whole. The nurse's body could handle the rape; the mind took itself off to green pastures and clear blue skies. Meanwhile, back in the alley, on the damp squalid mattress the nurse continued to provide the jogger with an opportune vessel into which to vent his spleen. Her face was as numb as her mind, but her vagina was burning as the man's stiff flesh tore and poked its way inside her. The friction of his rhythmic entry and exit translated the initial stinging pain into heat, as the delicate inner membranes became inflamed. The nurse blinked rapidly, and licked her lips as the prickling flames scorched through the fuzzy haze cocooning her from her ordeal. The man wedged between her gaping thighs was not to be denied, that she'd quickly learnt, but nonetheless she managed to wriggle her hips circumspectly under him, not seeking to displace him, or anger him further, merely hoping for some little relief from the shards of pain skewering her nether regions as she was soundly fucked. If he noticed her movements he gave no sign; his thrusting continued unabated. Measured, unhurried – his withdrawal never quite complete but his re-entry always to the hilt, every inch of him buried inside her as if testing the depth of her spongy tunnel. She grunted as she felt the change – her pelvis lifting a mere millimetre or two had allowed him even more intimate access to her as her thighs dropped slightly and his weight rested a fraction more heavily on her mound. Her heart missed a beat and the passage of time became blurred for a brief moment before crashing back into awful clarity around her as the blood surged, pumping oxygen around her prone body, waking nerve endings long since thought atrophied as the jogger's groin impacted her clitoris. In disbelief she held her breath as it happened again – and again. Time after time as he pressed home his cock into her cunt the motion rubbed the tiny nub and stimulated it. His hairs tickled it, his weight compressed it, his groin pummelled it. Light headed, the nurse gasped for breath, too weak to do more than widen her eyes as she felt his penis slide into her again. Yes, the thought hit her nearly as hard as his hands had; his cock was sliding in and out of her now. His victory was complete. Her cunt was growing wet, welcoming him in, and enjoying this male member's most vigorous attention. She whimpered, her initial thought being to try and distance herself from this new horror but with a flash of her old self, the self who took her pleasure where she found it and never worried about age hobbling her or others' passing her by, her anger re-surfaced. FUCK this rapist, this man with no identity who had seen fit to drag to the floor and take what HE wanted without so much as asking her name! FUCK her husband, who would not notice if she grew two heads and walked around naked as long as his meals were on his lap tray when he plonked himself down to gawk at the TV. In fact, fuck the bloody whole world! She closed her eyes and let herself go. She gave in to the tingling in her cunt and allowed the sensations being wrought throughout her loins to flood her whole body. Her demeanour changed, along with her breathing. Gone was the apologetic cowering victim, gone was the angry, caustic-tongued harridan; instead she was a woman in the throes of lust responding to a man intent on rutting her. She coaxed her aching hip joints into movement, and scissored her legs around his torso, wrapping them around him for all the world like a welcoming lover might. He loosed her wrists and she braced herself for a blow but her capitulation was rewarded as he allowed her some freedom of movement. Emboldened to participate further by this act of trust and full of increasingly urgent need, she allowed her hands to touch him, to stroke his lean ribs, to run along his flanks before coming to rest on the base of his back. His thrusting became more marked, and she moaned as her hands felt the strength of his muscles when he powered into her. Her face flushed with embarrassment as a grunted 'Yes!' was forced from her throat. She found his measured, heavy thrusts much more pleasurable than the desperate clockwork patter, never questioned, to which she had been previously subjected in her marital bed. Each thrust led to a pregnant, anticipation-filled pause before the next. It was bringing her to a pitch of unresolved tension she had never known before except through self-manipulation. This was like coming home - the experience of a scene which she had been owed these many years but never enjoyed in reality until now. The pace quickened again and now nothing mattered apart from the throbbing building inside her. She whimpered, not uttering coherent words but half formed pleas for fulfilment. The man responded with a snarl of triumph and a series of rapid slamming thrusts that lifted the nurse's ample backside quite clear of the mattress. "No, oh godohgodohgoddddd!" the nurse wailed her release as her orgasm hit and surged outwards, the violent contractions of her cunt grabbing his swollen cock and holding it tightly within her, milking it, as she writhed beneath him, wracked with an expression of physical ecstasy. With timing that could not have been bettered, the jogger threw his head back and uttered a series of deep, guttural grunts as his buttocks clenched, convulsing as his balls contracted and began to spit out their heavy load deep into her unprotected womb. She scarcely registered the fact of his seed spurting into her, although his short cry of triumph was transmitted into her cheeks by his gouging nails. She would be marked for weeks, gloriously marked. The jogger and the nurse were one, frozen together, locked in place as their fluids mingled and their bodies jerked. All rational thought suspended, the animals within were released and sated themselves with each other's flesh. Seconds slowed and indeed time itself ceased to exist before finally a last cry from each of them allowed it to cut in again, the muscles that had been pushed to the limit suddenly tired and relaxed, and the entwined pair crashed back down onto the mattress and back into the reality of the dark, wet alley and themselves, gasping for breath. There was, inevitably, much collective sheepishness and self-conscious 'what now?'-ism to the dιnouement. A curious shyness reigned. When rape becomes an accepted - or even welcomed act, there is very little role left for mere words. Of course, there were wild thoughts; of course, there was embarrassment; of course, there was the general feeling of helpless shock which accompanies the aftermath of an impulsive act and the realisation of an important fact: They had made a woman... and a man of each other. Eventually nevertheless, there came the moment of straightening of clothing and best attempts to brush away mud. How to fend off the inevitable questions from spouses, how to explain the muddied and torn clothing to spouses and families, these were still distant thoughts, if now approaching with moderate speed from over the mental horizon. There was an exchange of names and phone numbers in tones which spoke of desire mixed with awkwardness. There was a low murmured agreement to 'next Thursday'... The jogger and the nurse were to meet many times thereafter and fill, again, the voids that nobody else seemed to care about. In one small corner of the universe, two keys had met and turned two locks... ...but never again would their encounters be filled with the same intensity nor purity of profane delight... END ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life in any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of the scenarios in this story should seriously consider seeking professional help. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 80