A story about one of my first CnC experiences (home invasion). Consent worked out in advance, as always.
DM ME to recreate
I drive down a lightly wooded neighborhood road. The dusk glows on the almost deserted lanes, winding down through the sleepy town. The few people who can be seen are all ethnic, walking in groups and minding their own business. My kind of people, they don't see much, and they say less.
I follow the winding road for a few more minutes, and find a spot equidistant between two very weak light sources: a failing streetlight and an under powered porch light. Parking, I glance down at the small black bag on the floor of the car, peeking out from under the passenger's seat. Little more than a small duffel bag, its purpose is not at all obvious.
I glance at my watch, 8:03 pm, irritated. Details. I would have to wait. Glancing up at the sky, I take a breath and savor the moment. Soon. I can almost taste it.
...
Finally, full dark falls. The neighborhood lights do little against the onslaught of night, and shadow claims broad swathes of street providing a warm cloak for that which goes bump in the night. I am glad for the cover; the plan is as complete as it can be made, but only a fool fails to take account of contingencies. And contingencies were aplenty. I had to observe before I could move further.
As I walk down the street I begin to ponder my options. Timing would be critical. My window of opportunity is limited, but certainly there. If I can keep my wits about me, it should be strait forward, if a bit delicate. Unfortunately, delicate is not on my mind. There are brief seconds where the itch infused throbbing from my crotch are all I can consider.
The first time I walk by, I see a dark house. The thicket is dense, and keeps out all but the most purposeful observations. But this is a double edged sword; seeing out isn't much easier. I cross the street, thankful for the anonymity of my black t shirt and dark jeans.
The second pass brings a much luckier view - lit candles. The shadows dances within. I don't see you, as much as predict you. Feel your presence. The throbbing gets worse, and I decide - let's go. It's approximately 10:12 pm.
...
I re-cross the street and begin walking around the block. Luck is with me, and I see no one. Not that they would know, but my focus is elsewhere, and I prefer to keep things simple. Casually walking toward the car, I open the door and grab the black duffel. I continue to walk, keeping my pace slower than my pulse.
Making a quick right, I begin to approach the side gate. I wedge myself between the trash containers and the fence and drop my bag. First I remove a small pad to kneel on. Then a small can of wd40. A brief spray on the hinges and the latch are all that are needed. I'm careful to spray lightly, and only when the ambient noise is loudest. I have time, after all. After a few minutes, I test the the gate; it's not perfect, but it doesn't draw a bark. I exhale.
A glance at my watch shows 11:21. In about 40 minutes, I'm going to have to go back there. And once that happens, I'm going to be the most exposed. Still, risk can be controlled. And it wouldn't be for long. I sat down.
I have nothing to do but attempt (mostly unsuccessfully) to distract myself from the exquisite throbbing pain that is still burning through my groin, and only growing. My thoughts dwell on the "groundwork" that underlies this little operation. Two mornings before, UPS delivered a box with a pair of bottles of expensive vodka. There was a handwritten note on the inside which simply read "Had a few extra, remembered you liked the good stuff." It wasn't my handwriting. It was a risk, but one calculated to induce you to drink it; the factory seals were left intact.
Just as I'm beginning to contemplate jerking off in the bushes, my watch silently strikes midnight. Let the games begin.
...
Lying on the ground under your bedroom window, I am careful to be silent. I reach into the duffel bag's side pocket and take out a digital recorder. Top of the line, extreme playback volume. It's also very small, about the size of thumb drive. I click play and am relieved to hear absolute silence. No background noise at all. At least for the next two hours. Digital is the way to go. I glance at my watch: 12:07. I leave the recorder on the side of the walkway, shielding it from view from the backyard with a small rock.
T-minus two hours.
...
I am again crouched between the garbage cans and the gate. 2:02. Time to move. My legs groan as I work my way to the walkway to you front door. I hazard a glance down the walkway, and smiling as I put away the key. The front door is open, and only the screen bars entry. I pull a swiss army knife out of my right front pocket. You may have locked the screen, and I won't have time to be gentle with the lock.
...
At 2:07, as expected, the silence is shattered by noise that no one can hear, and the little black dog begins to roar. At almost the same time, I hear you yell groggily. She doesn't stop, and I hear the sliding door to the outside room open. Now or never. I run for the door, muffling my steps the best I can. The screen door is locked, but a small tap with the screw driver opens it easily. I hear you begin to scream at the small dog, who will not stop her onslaught. If all is going according to plan, she is at the white gate, barking at nothing. 2:08. Shit.
I duck into the hallway and remove a roll of duct tape and a pillow case from the duffel bag. This leaves only small parcels wrapped in towels. No sound is made as it hits the thickly carpeted floor. 2:09. The small dog tapers off, apparently satisfied. The inaudible noise has ceased, and she stops barking at phantoms. I drop several doggie bones onto the floor from my pocket. My jeans are looser now, more accommodating to my raging erection. ...
When the dog goes silent and your scolding ends, I know I have about 20 seconds. I hear the sliding door to the backyard slide closed, and then the door to the outside room. I have used the time to move into the extra bedroom. As I see your silhouette move past I notice you stagger a bit. You had been drinking. Excellent. Then you might enjoy this as well.
But I'm not paying attention to your gait - you're topless, and two perfectly shaped breasts sway with your steps. The extra bedroom is pitch black, but the small dog smells the treats, and comes running. Excited to see me, she is distracted only by food. I hear you yell at her once more, but retire to bed. I remove the knife from my pocket.
I wait silently for a few moments, straining to hear something. As expected, I can hear you rise to investigate the sound of the dog feasting. Excellent. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, there is an echo of a stitch popping in my jeans.
As you approach, I make my move. I wait against a closet door, careful not to touch it. When you enter the room, there is the briefest of moments where I cannot help but admire the view. There is a beautiful woman before me, your curves better sculpted than the milk white marble shaped by Michelangelo.
The thought of defacing you, degrading you, is literally intoxicating. The very air begins to sweeten at the thought.
These thoughts take much less than a second. Overwhelmed by lust, I move.
You shout as the pillow case descends over your world. I am claiming you.
...
There's not much of a fight. The pillow case tight around your head allows me to toss you about like a rag doll. First onto the bed, then to flip you face down. The robe is bulky, but my knife is sharp. Cutting it away is easy. I can hear your drunken muffled shouts, but there's no one here to hear them other than I.
Being a bigger guy has its advantages; straddling you to pin you down is simply done. Cuffs around your wrists, I grab you by the handcuff chain and raise your hands over your head. Pinning you down with my thighs, I run a cable under the bed. Attaching the handcuffs to the cable is a simple click. It is done, you're mine. It took less than 15 seconds, but I realize I haven't been breathing. Letting out a breath, I look back to savor my work. It is only then that I notice you're crying, muffled by the now damp pillow case; hands cuffed and raised, legs kicking into the air.
Standing back, I drop my jeans to the floor. Sweet relief, my pulsing cock no longer chafing against denim, it begins to leak its precum.
I know I should savor this, but I really do have you all to myself. I know enough to know that you don't ever get visitors, and you work from home. It will be at least a week before anyone even notices you're missing. I have all kinds of time to experiment with you, for now I can afford some quick fun.
When I grab your hips, the struggle which had died down is renewed. But it doesn't matter. 150 lbs will never be a match for 300 lbs. Especially handcuffed with your head in a pillow case.
I've always worked my way into a woman slowly, wetting my cock to slide in easily. But this isnt about having sex, this is about fucking you. Without so much as a warning, I bury my cock in your cunt. Your howl is hard to describe, pain and pleasure intermixed. I love every second of it. I begin to ram, the wet slapping sounds now blending with the soft crying. You were wet at first, but now you begin to leak. I feel your cunt spasm, clutching my cock in waves. I honestly cannot believe you came so fast, and am a bit annoyed; this isn't for you, this is for me!
To teach you a lesson, I grab your hair from behind, pulling it until you scream. It is only then, with you howling in pain, your ass in the air, my cock splitting your cunt, that I cum. Spasming my relief, I continued to fuck you until I'm soft, my cum flooding out of you.
I hear the small sound asking me if I'm done. I'm not. Not even close.
[link] [comments] Via Sex Stories https://bit.ly/3arcMTN
Comments
Post a Comment