Control [extreme Non-Con] [m/f]

The following is part 1 of a 2-part a cop/civilian extreme noncon story. About 3900 words. It is violent, has usage of weapons/the threat of weapons, and probable psychopathy. Turn away now if this is not your jam!!

--

Sebastian sighed as he flipped his cruiser's lights on. For the life of him, he could not grasp why people would pass in a non-passing lane, and in a residential area at that. If you're about to shit yourself that badly, it's all coming out when you inevitably die in the car crash you cause.

The black Ford pulled over in a small residential neighborhood of affluent homes. *"Of course it's an F-150"*, he muttered to himself as he pulled in behind the car. He took a brief moment to glance at the nice historic homes surrounding him - he was nothing if not a appreciator of fine Victorian and Edwardian architecture - and went about ticketing the asshole who was making him do the least favorite part of his job as a state trooper.

As he was walking back to his car with the driver's - Michael or something or other - license and registration, he noticed a little Audi Q8 waiting quietly behind his cruiser. Even from his vantage point, he could see the driver was beautiful - long, silky black waves, large almond shaped eyes framed by thick lashes, and full, pink lips. She was definitely East Asian, Korean, maybe? Her hands rested on top of the steering wheel - no ring. And she was giving him a small, tired, apologetic smile.

He grinned at her and waved her on. He couldn't help but sneak a look at her plate. Not vanity, always an immediate +1 in his book. For a split second, he watched her car ascend up the hill silently - *ooh, electric* - and for another split second his monkey brain said ***follow her.*** He shook his head like a dog shaking off water. *Fucking idiot. Focus on your job. You're a fucking cop and that shit is behind you.*

He finished ticketing the dumbass that wouldn't shut up about how slow the car in front of him had been going, and sent them on their way. Sebastian - Bas, for short - walked back to his car and sat in the drivers seat for a bit, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, staring at the hill up which the Audi had disappeared. Suddenly, as if they'd developed a mind of their own, his hands guided his car up that hill.

Each house was well-enclosed in its own mini forest - deep, winding driveways disappeared into trees. Bas knew this neighborhood well - it was known as one of the richest neighborhoods in their small city. Pembroke only had about 250k people, but was home to one of the world's best private hospitals. Hundreds of affluent doctors moved here to get paid $800,000 and live lavishly in a medium cost-of-living town.

Bas was paid pretty decently himself, especially for someone with a bachelor's degree. As a lieutenant, he made about $152k a year. Nothing to scoff at for a 34-year-old single man with no kids. He lived in a nice 13th-floor apartment with walls of windows overlooking the quiet city and lived comfortably. Plenty of time for hobbies-- woodworking lent him strength in his large, veiny hands, and powerlifting lent him strength, well, everywhere else. At 6'4", he was formidable, and his stature, soft brown curls, bright hazel eyes, and handsome face adorned with light stubble made him very popular with the ladies. He typically had a new beautiful woman in his bed every weekend, but he never let them stay. They were always boring. Otherwise, he had everything to live for-- a pensioned career, good health, and bright prospects.

*So why the fuck was he following a pretty girl into her neighborhood?*

--

Rose stopped to check her mail outside her home. It had been such a long day. She'd had two complex open heart surgeries, and they'd been back to back. An 11 hour day, and then of course she'd gotten stuck at the entrance of her neighborhood because some idiot had gotten pulled over. It had looked like her neighbor Mikey, a neurologist with the patience of a toddler and the personality of a wet noodle.

As a cardiothoracic surgeon and one of the nation's top specialists in congenital heart defect corrective surgery, Rose's services were in top demand. The teaching hospital in Pembroke had offered her $725k to be a consulting physician with associate professorship, and it had been difficult to turn down when she had just finished her second fellowship last year. At 33, her colleagues often jokingly called her a baby genius. Graduated from college at 19 after doing early college in high school, a year of research at Imperial College London, then med school, residency, two fellowships, and finally her dream job.

One could call her lucky, but she was simply an excellent surgeon and a doctor of the highest caliber. Controlled, poised, and incredibly detail oriented, almost to a fault. Yet patients always praised her bedside manner: Her soft, reassuring voice promised good care, and her unique ability to relate empathically to patients while breaking down their medical presentation into small, digestible pieces was not one often found in surgeons. She was gifted.

She sifted through her mail as she walked back to her car, peripherally noticing the police car she'd gotten stuck behind on the way in and assuming he was doing a quick sweep of the neighborhood. There's been reports of a string of break-in rapes in town, and police had yet to catch the culprit. How scary.

Her Edwardian home loomed into view through the trees. She actually had one of the smallest houses in the neighborhood - 2,700sqft, and she'd bought it last month for $1.2 million. It had 14ft ceilings, huge stained glass windows, and original old-growth wooden floors, gnarled yet smooth, planks almost 2ft wide. It was her dream home, and she loved the peace of living in her dream home *alone*. Rose had always valued control - likely it was due to a tumultuous childhood with abusive parents who'd beaten greatness into her, but as soon as she'd moved out she'd ensured to control every aspect of her life. Perhaps it was why she was such a good surgeon - what more control could you ask for than to, quite literally, have someone's life in your capable hands?

She dropped her keys in the ornate carved key bowl at her entrance, slid off her boots and placed them neatly in her shoe closet, and padded to her kitchen for a snack. Washing her hands for at least thirty seconds, she toweled them off with a hand towel before tossing it into a small laundry basket at the side of her large 6ftx8ft kitchen island. She'd actually designed the island herself, using a beautiful antique 64-shelf apothecary cabinet she'd found while working in London. It had cost her $8k, and another $10k to ship it here, but she'd had it outfitted with a thick slab of dark rainforest green marble imported from India. It was the centerpiece of her kitchen, and all that was on it was a sink and a bowl of apples and bananas.

Rose trudged upstairs and took a long hot shower, washing the sickness and disease and hospital off, before changing into a deep green, floor-length silk chemise with intricate lacing at the bodice that hid nothing. Just because she had no one else to appreciate her body did not mean she could not appreciate herself. Her small pink nipples peeked through the lacing, and she had small nipple piercings that she'd gotten at 18 as a form of rebellion. Small diamond and pearl flowers sparkled at the end of each of the gold barbells.

With a deep sigh, she grabbed out a carton of blueberries, some cheddar, and whole wheat crackers. She didn't have it in her to cook a meal. It was a beautiful spring night so she cracked a few windows, grabbed a knit blanket, switched on her TV, and snuggled onto her large fluffy down sectional. Time to veg out a little before bed.

--

Bas's cruiser idled quietly outside the girl's home. He'd passed her as she was grabbing her mail, and watched her from his rear view as her car disappeared down her driveway. She hadn't come back out and it had been about an hour and a half. Close to 9pm, and seeing as she drove an electric Audi and had no ring, it was safe to assume she was probably quite wealthy and was possibly single. Of course, that's why he was sitting and watching outside her home from underneath the shadows of the trees - he needed to ensure she did actually live alone.

*What the fuck are you doing, Bas? This isn't you anymore!*

The inner voice tugged at Bas' stomach, making him feel a bit sick. It was right. He'd been clean for years. This wasn't him anymore. And yet, something deep and dark and malicious shoved that voice deep down into somewhere unreachable. He felt a thrumming of energy in his bones, an anticipatory tension that he hadn't felt for a long time. Like a starving lion, crouching in the grasses, watching the oblivious gazelle graze.

He watched as she walked past her sheer-curtained window, her silhouette soft and...fragile. He hadn't seen anyone else walk by, heard no voices other than the TV, and he hadn't even heard any other cars drive by. She was utterly alone.

He turned his car off and tucked the keys into the center console. Quietly, he made his way to one of the windows she'd stupidly opened. Hadn't she heard there'd been rapes in town? Inch by inch, he slid it open. She was watching some trash dating show, raptured by the screen, and she didn't even notice as he climbed silently into her home. She was so small - 5'3" at the most. Over a foot shorter than him. Heat raged through his body at the thought of what he was going to do to her, how he was going to break her in his hands, and he slowly stepped up behind her.

And then he saw it - the imperceptible tensing of her shoulders. The sudden stiffness of her neck. The prey sensed she was in danger, and her body was flooding with adrenaline. He watched her fingers grip the TV remote, and he grinned in anticipation. Let the chase begin.

--

Rose could hardly breathe. She didn't know when the intruder had come into her home, but she could feel him behind her like a ghost. His shadow from the kitchen light behind them had just barely drifted across her peripheral vision but as soon as she'd seen it, she'd felt the energy in the room change. The air vibrated with tension. Where could she go? Her neighbors' homes were separated by thick trees. Could she beat him down the driveway? She'd run sprint and track, she was a powerful runner...but not for long.

In a fight for her life, she sprang explosively from the couch. Like the gazelle bounding across the plains, desperately chasing freedom, she raced to the front door and flung it open. Was he behind her? She couldn't tell, she couldn't hear, couldn't feel. Her senses were hypervigilant and yet couldn't process any information. Her heart threatened to leap out of her throat as she sprinted down the driveway. She could see the entrance, maybe she could make it to Mikey's house -

In a burst of pain, her hair was yanked behind her and her body was flung into the trees. She'd barely hit the ground when she sprang back up and tried to run again, but it was over.

His feral grin filled her vision as he dragged her by the hair to a tree and flung her up against the bark. He fisted her hair tighter and pinned it against the trunk, and she cried out as the bark bit into her back. She opened her mouth to scream and suddenly, cold metal scraped along her teeth. Rose felt her heart nearly stop. She stilled, and he pressed the gun deeper into her mouth.

"You scream, and no one will ever find your body with how far I'll bury it in the ground".

Rose didn't even drag in a breath. The barrel of his police-issued pistol sat heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth with the taste of metal. Or was that blood?

"You're going to stay silent and you're going to listen very carefully. Blink once if you understand." *blink* "Good girl. Raise your arms above your head."

Rose did so, and he gave her a pat on the cheek. Before she's even processed her shame, he'd holstered his gun and cuffed one of her arms. Panic surged again as he pulled her arms back behind the tree trunk, looped the handcuff chain over a branch, and cuffed her other arm. Her arms were trapped over and behind her head, extended painfully around the tree trunk and she could not lower herself, could not adjust, and her toes hardly touched the ground.

Rose gasped in pain as her assailant loomed over her. Her legs were scratched up, and her shoulders were straining. Her eyes widened as she finally got a look at him, and she recognized the police officer that had pulled Mikey over. *What the fuck? Had he followed her?* As she processed her shock, he pulled out his police baton. Thick black plastic with a handle that jutted out about 5 inches. The base of the baton had a rubber grip, textured and ribbed. He was still smiling at her, almost benevolently, and the reality of her situation slammed into her. Powerless, weak, and small. Trapped against a tree in her very sound-insulating neighborhood - one of the reasons she'd moved here, to not hear her neighbors - and her attacker was a police officer with guns, tasers, and sheer size. And he was eyeing her like his next meal.

--

Bas could hardly think through the red that filled his vision. She was beautiful. Firm, perky breasts that begged to be marked, and soft hips that would fit perfectly in his hands. Her hair was filled with leaves and branches, and still fell gracefully - if a bit tangled and damp from her shower - around her shoulders, and her terrified eyes sent blood racing to his cock. Watching her face freeze as he'd pushed his gun into her mouth had nearly made him cum right there. But he had no interest in blowing her brains out.

"What's your name?"

She blinked. No response.

He grabbed her by the jaw, painfully, and squeezed until her mouth fell open and she cried out in pain. "***What's your name?***"

"ROSE!" Her voice came out garbled, and her cheeks turned red in anger and fear. He let go, and she repeated herself. "My name is Rose."

"Well, Rose. My name is Sebastian. This is going to go much easier for yourself if you simply listen to me. I don't want to shoot you, but I'll fuck a corpse if it's as pretty as yours."

She drew in a sharp breath, and he hoped fear was coursing through her body. His fingers trailed down her body, and her cute little nipples became hard in the cool fall air under his touch. "These are cute. When did you do these?"

"When I was 18," she murmured, staring straight at him.

Defiant. He liked that. He rapped the underside of her chin with his baton, enough to make her wince. "Very cute," he responded. "Was this little lacy number expensive?"

"It was $450. Your call on whether or not that's expensive."

He smirked. Oh yes. It was going to be fun bringing this bitch to heel. And he tucked a finger between her breasts and ripped downwards. Her little gasp sent shivers down his spine, and he traced the line down her torso with his baton. Her grimace of disgust made him smirk, and he tapped right between her legs. He glanced at her little lacy thong. Dressed so sexy to sit alone on her couch watching trash TV?

She must have interpreted his raised eyebrow, because she turned red again and looked away. He hooked his finger in a side strap and yanked. With a crack, it ripped easily. Her entire body stiffened, and he gazed hungrily at her pussy - clean with a tiny triangle of hair. Just enough to tug on. He pinched her pubes and yanked her towards him, and she cried out again. "I'm going to fuck you, Rose. First I'll fuck you with my stick. Then I might fuck you with my mouth. Maybe I'll fuck you with my gun, next. And if you're lucky, you just might get my cock. But we'll see. We've got all the time in the world."

He slid his fingers into her folds, and he watched as her gorgeous brown eyes welled up with tears. He found her clit and began circling it, before sliding his baton along her slit. Her breathing became shallow and panicky, and he wanted to fuck her *now.* "You know what I'm thinking, Rose? I'm thinking, why fuck your pretty little pussy right now? I might save it for the grand finale. I think instead, I might..." He pressed himself flush against her, and slung her leg over his arm, exposing her. His finger toyed with her ass, and he felt her clench tightly. "...just play here. But I'll be nice. I'm not just gonna fuck you dry. So I'm gonna let you lick my baton here, give it a good coating, before I fuck your ass with it. Or I can just shove it up there anyway. Your call." He mocked her with a glint in his eye.

Her bottom lip trembled, and he watched her throat as she swallowed before opening her mouth. He grinned and dropped her leg. How predictable.

"Stick your tongue out." She pushed her tongue out an inch, and he slapped her across the face. "All the way, you fucking whore."

A choked cry fell out of her mouth and she stuck her tongue out as far as she could, and without warning he pushed his baton down her throat. With a horrendous gagging sound, she tried to turn her head away but with his other hand, he fisted her hair again and pinned her against the tree. He pumped her throat with his baton, and she gagged and gurgled. *Gawk gawk gawk* echoed through the silence of the trees, occasionally punctuated by her desperate attempts at dragging in a breath. Such ugly gagging noises from such a beautiful little white.

He twisted her head a bit and yanked her hair down and back, pulling her head back so he had a better angle down her throat, and pushed past her gag reflex. Her panicked scream attempted to claw its way past his baton but died in a moan, unable to escape. Her body writhed but he pressed himself against her, his cock threatening to spring free of his pants as her small body fought against his weight. He relentlessly fucked her throat, the wet sounds of his baton sinking itself down her neck nearly making him cum in his pants. *gurk gurk gurk.* After a couple of minutes he noticed her eyes fluttering so he pulled out his stick, and she gasped raggedly.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" And with that, he hoisted her leg up again and pressed his baton to her asshole.

--

Rose couldn't help it. She had told herself she would not let herself cry to this piece of shit but she couldn't stop sobbing as he finished nearly ripped her throat apart. She was sure there were tears in her esophagus with how he'd abused her, and now he was going to fuck her ass with his baton, which would almost certainly result in rupturing her bowels and killing her. And she was powerless to stop him.

She locked eyes with him, beautiful hazel eyes set in that beautiful sculpted face, so at odds with the psychopath he actually was. Slowly, almost kindly, he pushed the baton into her asshole, and a keening moan filled her ears before she realized it was coming from her. His hand was still gripping her hair, and he pulled her head forward, forcing her to watch him fuck her ass.

His hand was wrapped around the stick about 6 inches from the top. The thought of *Ok, so at least he won't make me internally bleed out* bounced briefly in her mind as she watched him sink the baton into her ass, before pulling nearly all the way out. The pain pierced through her and she felt like she was being split in half. Even with her saliva coating the stick, it had been a long time since anyone had been there. He bent down and murmured in her ear, "I bet I can even make this feel good for you. You look like such a pretty little slut, I know you're going to like this." And he let go of her hair and pushed his thumb into her mouth.

She was so tempted to bite him, just bite his thumb clean off, but her jaw was exhausted and she could see his gun glinting in the moonlight. So instead, she fought for her life - locking eyes again, she swirled her tongue around his thumb and sucked it. He didn't seem like he'd hesitate to kill her, and the gun mocked her with every move he made. Even without the gun, she wasn't scheduled for another week and a half. He could strangle her against this tree and leave the country before anyone even noticed she was dead.