John and my two daughters were gone to my in-laws. John's mother wasn't doing well and she always perked up with the two girls were around. I opened the lock on my front door. It was still, dark and silent. I was arriving home late. I'd gone to the ballet with a friend, Jeanne, and afterward we'd gone for a drink to watch the wild life, two married women out on the town. We left when the two young guys came over and asked me if I knew what MILF meant. It made my heart pound and my eyes ache, thinking that the daring drape in the front of my dress had attracted them, or Jeanne's legs sticking out from under her short skirt.
I closed the door, wondering why the garage door hadn't opened. It had moved like it was twitching but lost the will to open for me. I was alone in my house for the first time in months and I felt a curious elation, the thrill of being home alone for a whole weekend with nothing to do and no one to do it for, not really accurate since I expected Tina, my sister-in-law tomorrow to come for a clandestine visit. I turned to lock the door, knowing where I'd find things so I didn't turn on the light. That was when I heard it, a sound that didn't belong, like a long, low sigh in my house and then I felt it.
First a strong arm looped around my waist and the left slipped under my left arm and locked it against my head. I struggled against them both. The arm around my neck locked tight and I felt my head get light. I felt the nausea swell up in me and in moments, I was out, blacked out standing at my own front door. The last thing I remember was my wrist turning and locking the door, the last conscious act I made.
It all happened too fast for me to be frightened, I mean truly frightened. When I came too, the terror flooded through me. I was pressed against the front door. I could feel him against my body, holding me up. My left arm was still cinched against my ear and his arm still held me tight but not as tight. Then I felt it, the hand around my middle was under my coat, up on my left breast, massaging it gently, tentatively as though trying to arouse me.
I jerked.
"Oh, back with us." The voice breathed into my ear.
I groaned, no words yet, no thoughts, just feelings, violent feelings and the helplessness roared in me. I wriggled against him. My right hand came alive and I pushed against the door, but carefully, finding the frame so it didn't go through the leaded glass and open my vein. I was careful and the thought bloomed in my mind, clear as crystal and heavy as fog. "I don't want to die." The terror arrived then, the awful soft fluttering of my heart, the quivering of my muscles, the shortness of breath.
The hand on my breast squeezed it through my blouse and the pretty bra I'd worn, the one that made me feel so sexy, soft and lacy against my clear skin.
Us? Did he say us? The royal 'we', perhaps?
The thought dinged against my eyelids and I opened them, only realizing my eyes were tightly closed.
"You haven't screamed."
The voice in my ear whispered.
"Why not?"
Good question. I spoke the first thing that came to my mind, babbling like this was a conversation and I was nervous.
"A professor I had in college said if you were going to be raped, you should just lay back and enjoy it."
The words didn't sound like me, not my voice, not even my thought. Oh, the professor had said it but I'd been suitably affronted and she'd been reprimanded by the oversight committee. The man chuckled. Curiously, that calmed me some. If he wasn't frightened, if he wasn't in a fit of panic or feeling trapped by this new circumstance, perhaps I was safer. I could hope. I found my voice.
"If you don't hurt me, I promise I'll do anything you want. No marks. If, if you hurt me, I'll have to report it. I have a husband and, and he'd notice."
The man lifted me off my feet. I went limp, making him groan with my weight, or hoping to upset him somehow. I didn't. He lifted me like I was a newspaper, back when there were such things. He swung me around so we were both facing the interior of the house. The staircase leading upstairs was to my left and the hall past the kitchen into the den and living room lay before us. Light from the street light behind our house outlined the scene in gray, white and black.
He took a step then turned us against the wall by the entrance to the kitchen. He pressed me hard, squeezing the breath out of my chest. His hand left my breast though and found the wrap-around tab on my black slacks. He unbuttoned it.
"You're home before you were supposed to be." He whispered.
"What?" I grunted, confused. The hand at my waist found the slanted zipper that crossed my abdomen and opened it. His hand smoothed over the satin of my underwear before dipping down between my legs. He began to gently stroke me. He seemed cautious, almost attentive. I resented that thought.
"I said, you weren't supposed to be home until after two, Mrs. Havingnun."
I couldn't help it. I snorted.
"You have the wrong house. Sharon is my neighbor."
The hand between my legs stopped. The man clutching at me went still.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Mrs. Parsival."
"Oh. Oh shit." The man grunted.
I had a distant thought, that maybe this was an elaborate joke being played on Sharon and he'd release me, apologize and slip out into the night and we could both act as if nothing had happened. That was not to be.
The hand between my legs turned into a finger under my panties. I felt it, broad and thick, rub up the cleft of my pussy. Despite my situation, I shivered.
"My, my, my." The voice said, still hot in my ear. "You're damp, wet even."
"You, you have the wrong house."
The finger pushed inside me. Despite myself, I moaned, feeling this strange man's finger in me set off feelings I did not wish to experience. The first grinding pulse of arousal wavered around between my legs.
"Yes, I'm wet." I whispered. "I always get wet, fast, when a man touches me there."
The finger pushed deeper, probing around, flipping from place to place inside me as though looking for something. I couldn't help it, I groaned again, but this time, louder and deeper and with some real conviction. The erotic feeling coursed through me.
"If you are being raped, just lay back and enjoy it." The voice in my head said again, Miss Jenkins, the cunt. She claimed she was being funny but no one believed her. Funny though, now, that was the only thing I remembered of her, her only line from that entire history class. Lay back and enjoy it. Fine, except I wasn't lying down and I could feel the indecision in the man, the man in the wrong house.
My arm was still locked against my left ear. That hand was hooked on the right side of my neck. Suddenly, I had to pee.
"I have to pee." I said with feeling. I often think if I'd have just kept quiet at that moment, he might have gone out the way he came. Instead, I had to mouth off. I felt terrible fear then, fear I'd make him angry. His reaction was calm, careful and reasonable.
"If you piss yourself, you'll have to shower before I fuck you." He said. "I've decided to fuck you. Mrs. Havingnun will have to wait, for another time, I guess. This is your lucky night."
"Right." Again I could have kept quiet and made things better for me. Truthfully, once the first crushing fear eased so I could breathe more or less normally, I was just feeling the sensations of the moment. I didn't get anger from him or that he was holding me because of some deep seated psychosis. I actually felt he wanted me, to have sex with me, perhaps because I was aware of his erection pressed against my back.
