Chapter Text
Melinda had just got out of the bathroom when a leather-gloved hand cupped her mouth. The surprise was such that it took her a second to realize that there was the blade of a knife pressing against her throat. She froze, completely, and the scream that was climbing out of her lungs died out unuttered. The impossibility of the situation made her feel as if she was not there. She was watching a film, a strange one where – though she was the protagonist – she altogether ignored the script.
When the stranger saw that she was not going to cry out, he slowly loosened his grip on her mouth and let one single finger press against her lips.
Silence, he meant.
Melinda gave an imperceptible nod, but it was enough. His left hand slid down from her face to rest on her neck while the right lowered towards her chest to allow the tip of his knife to drag lazily along the upper hem of the towel that was covering her.
She was naked under it. The skin of her shoulders was glistening with the water drops that had dripped down from her still damp hair. A surge of panic invaded her stomach, but she could not lose her head if she wanted to survive. Perhaps there was an easy way out.
“I’ve got money. A lot. Cash. In the desk drawer in the other room,” she said gingerly.
The intruder moved: he walked around her, keeping the tip of his knife pressed against her collarbone, and stood opposite her. Melinda could finally look at the man that had broken into her house, but there was not much to see: he was wearing a black three hole nylon balaclava, a dark grey long sleeved turtleneck sweater, dark blue jeans and black Harley boots. He could be a rider for all she knew. He was tall and athletic though not brawny. He reminded her of a panther ready to spring.
The only parts of him that she could see were his lips and his eyes, neither of them reassuring in the smallest measure. His mouth was relaxed, like that of a man in the middle of a routine action, but his eyes (light blue with chestnut eyelashes – she memorized the information for the police report in case she survived) were watching her with curiosity, as if what she’d just offered did not make any sense to him.
The panic, which had been washing over her stomach, started bubbling up along her throat.
“And jewels,” she added more desperately, “diamonds and gold. They’re there, in the small box on the vanity table.”
He slowly shook his head twice and the hint of a smile appeared more in his eyes than on his mouth. Hope died. She felt as if a large stone had suddenly replaced her stomach and was threatening to crush her lungs as well.
I’m going to be raped, she thought with finality.
Her heart was pumping frantically in her throat, and her mouth was so cottony that she felt she might choke any second. She wet her lips and tried to swallow. The stranger was still studying her with intensity and a predatory look in his eyes, and he didn’t miss her imperceptible movements and their meaning: they meant defeat, resignation. It was going to be easy. He smiled and sheathed his blade.
He took her left arm with his gloved hand and pulled her towards the bed. He was not squeezing her, but she could feel that his grip was firm, steely. She couldn’t have escaped even if she had tried. Truth was, she didn’t try. Her mind was blank, numb, estranged. She followed him meekly. Then, while he was still clutching her left arm, with his other hand he pulled out a pair of metal handcuffs.
The click of the lock seemed to wake her up from her torpor.
"No!” she cried and tried to wriggle free, but he was expecting her reaction. He pulled her towards him by the manacled wrist and grabbed her other arm. One second later she was handcuffed to the right-foot column of her four-poster bed.
The second click made her feel as if she’d been plunged into ice water. Goosebumps blossomed all over her skin, she drew a violent intake of air and her muscles contracted in the (pointless) effort of unshackling herself. She kept struggling, pulling and jerking for what felt like an eternity while she kept repeating “No” in rising crescendo. The stranger had sat on the bed and, lounging against the other post, watched her mildly entertained. When her screams, however, rose in intensity, he pulled out the knife and started playing with it meaningfully. Melinda froze again.
The intruder stood up, walked towards her and, standing behind her, made her rest her hands on the post, pushing her a little towards it. Her arms bent slightly and at that moment she realized that her wrists were beginning to ache against the handcuffs. This new position allowed her to release the tension.
The bastard knows his stuff.
She didn’t know if she should feel reassured or terrified at the idea.
His gloved hands glided along the side of her arms then slid down towards her chest to take hold of the top edge of her towel. His right hand removed the hair clip which kept the corner of the towel tucked in and which was the only reason why, notwithstanding all the pulling and jerking she had done, she wasn’t naked yet.
Yet.
He slowly untucked the end of her towel and unwrapped her. Then he stepped away to place both hair pin and towel on the vanity table. Neat and at ease. Without a care in the world. While she was there, naked and handcuffed to her own bed, in her own house, at the mercy of a stranger. It was impossible, unreal. She was not there. It was a nightmare.
It must be a nightmare.
He walked back to stand behind her and, placing his hands on her hips, he pushed against her body, his cock hard in his jeans as he pressed it against her naked ass. The movement was deliberate, he wanted to make her feel his arousal and leave her no doubt about what was coming. It was not a nightmare, it was real. He was there to fuck her.
Melinda gasped and felt her vagina tighten.
Shit.
She so hoped that it was just a natural reaction to the spike of fear provoked by his physical proximity, to feeling with such lucidity the unescapable presence of his body, his height, his strength, his scent, his hard-on. It if it was fear, though, it was very much akin to arousal.
His hands slid up and cupped her breasts. He moved gently, merely feeling their weight in his palms for a while, gliding from the side to the centre and back. His breath was relaxed, regular. If it hadn’t been for his erection, she could have sworn he was only assessing her for some sort of pervert beauty contest. His hands were large but her mounds rested sleekly full in them. They seemed to fit neatly into his palms and her mind drifted away to the distant memory of when – she might have been 10 or 11 – she had found out with surprise that Barbie’s boobs perfectly matched the shape and breadth of Ken’s hands.
Then he grabbed her breasts more firmly, kneading them leisurely while pressing his cock against her back with more force. Melinda started trembling and forgot how to breathe. Air was drawn back into her lungs as she gasped when he squeezed her tits and tweaked her nipples between the base of his thumbs and forefingers. They were hard by now and – as if to bring the fact to her attention – he rubbed his palms against them with circular movements. Melinda bent her head and looked transfixed at the scene of her nipples twirling against the leather of the stranger’s gloves. Their mauve nuance contrasted sharply with the white of her breasts and the black of his gloves. She felt as if her mind was looking at the scene from above, and from that height, she tried to block out the smoothness of the leather against her skin, the warmth of his touch, the tingly feeling spreading from her breasts down to her core. Instead, she focused with all her might on trying to identify his perfume. She knew she had smelled it before, several times, it was one of her favourite male fragrances, she really had it on the tip of her tongue, if she could only remember that fucking brand she’d have something more to tell the police…but she just could not recall it. And then her mind went blank again.
His hands left her chest and, sliding down along her sides, they glided over her ass. They rested there for an instant; then his right hand drifted towards the middle, and further down, he started teasing her entrance.
That’s it. Now he’s going to rape me and then it will be over.
She found the thought terrifying and consoling at the same time. It couldn’t be long. She just had to endure a few minutes of pain and then he’ll leave. Or he’ll kill her. Either way, the end was near.
She couldn’t be more wrong.