by Jack The Ripper
Burglary – An Intruder Fantasy Story
It’s a blazing afternoon in late August. I’m lounging on the sofa with a glass of wine, idly watching the TV. A gentle breeze flutters through the curtains at the open window. My husband is out at work, and I’m alone in the house, save for the cat, with little to do but contemplate the lot of idiot chat show guests.
I light a cigarette and flick through the channels. Hmmm. The ashtray is getting full. Picking it up, I go to the kitchen to empty it. Pouring the contents into the garbage, I hear a commotion in the lounge. Darned cat. “Sophie, behave yourself”, I chide her. Flicking the cigarette into the emptied ashtray, I turn back towards the lounge. Through the fogged glass of the kitchen door, I think I see something moving in the lounge. I stop. “Sophie?”. The cat makes no response. Shrugging, I pull open the kitchen door and step through.
I freeze in horror at what I find. Burglary. A large, powerful figure, clad completely in black, and carrying a canvas hold-all, is bent over a chest of drawers, rifling through my possessions. I’m being burgled! The intruder’s head turns quickly to meet my terrified gaze. Our eyes meet, mine wide and fearful, his green and sparkling inside a black balaclava. “What are you doing? How did you get in here?” My voice cracks with fear. He stares back at me. Then without warning he springs toward me. In a blind panic I turn and run back into the kitchen in an attempt to reach the back door.
I trip and fall to the floor, and he is upon me, pinning me down – I open my mouth to scream and a large, black-gloved hand clamps it shut immediately. I struggle desperately, but he’s too strong, and now he’s dragging me to my feet, kicking and writhing against him, back into the lounge. He pulls a rag from the hold-all and shoves it into my mouth, quickly forcing it shut again.
Now he reaches for a roll of tape. He tears off a strip and seals my mouth shut. He drags me across the room again, to the stairs, and spinning me around to face him, wrenches my arms above my head. He takes something from his pocket and wraps it around my wrists, pulling it tight. Looking up, I find my wrists are bound fast to the stair-rail with cable ties. I pull against them, but they only bite tighter. Again I try to scream, but all I manage is a strangulated growl, choked by the gag in my mouth. Burglary was really starting to annoy me.
I meet his gaze again, his face only inches from mine, staring back from intense, furious green pools. I can hear his breath, short and angry, his powerful chest heaving from the effort and exhilaration of the struggle. He reaches towards me. I turn my face away, screwing my eyes shut. A gloved finger run down my face, down my jaw. He pushes a curl of hair behind my ear. I feel sick with fear. I am completely helpless before him. I shudder as I try not to think of what he will do with me.
Then he steps back. Turning away from me, he picks up the hold-all again and resumes rummaging through my possessions, emptying drawers onto the floor, knocking over furniture, searching for anything of value that he can fit into his bag in this burglary. With growing fury and indignation, I watch him ransack and pillage my home, mine and my husband’s. Wedding photographs, gifts from our friends, ornaments, CD’s, all are either destroyed or stashed in the bag. He finds my purse, and empties the contents – cash, credit cards, my driver’s license, my passport. Livid with rage, I try to shout at him but the same pathetic gurgle issues. He turns to look at me for a second, then continues his looting, oblivious to my muffled cries. And when he has exhausted the lounge, he disappears upstairs for more pickings.
Frustrated and furious, I pull forlornly at my restraints and whimper with pain as they ratchet ever tighter. At least, I tell myself, he only wants to rob you. He’s not going to harm you, he’ll just take what he wants, and go. Please God, just let him take what he wants, and go.
Presently he returns, the canvas bag zipped and swollen. He drops the bag and walks past me without a glance, heading for the kitchen. He returns with a packet of cigarettes – my cigarettes. He reclines on the sofa, and flicks coolly, disinterested, at my cigarette lighter. It eventually bursts into flame, and pushing up the balaclava, he lights a cigarette, drawing a long, deep draft from it. He exhales slowly, a grey-blue cloud billowing up toward the ceiling. Finally he turns his piercing green eyes back towards me, and I feel the sickness and the fear return. He examines me closely, scanning me from head to foot. I suddenly feel very vulnerable, as if my flimsy summer dress were rendered transparent by his gaze. He is undressing me with his eyes, scrutinising every curve, each peak and valley of my body. I begin to tremble as he sits there, enjoying watching me squirm with fear, his green eyes burning through me. He seems recklessly unconcerned with getting away before he is caught. No desire to make good his escape. He must have other plans for me after all.
After an eternity he extinguishes the cigarette and stands up. I gasp inwardly, press myself into the wall. He stalks towards me. Despite his size, his build is lean, athletic, cat-like. Like a coiled spring, powerful and slender. He stands before me, and my heart pounds against the wall of my chest, my eyes stinging with tears. He pulls off the black leather gloves and places them carefully in his bag. Again, he reaches out to touch my face; again, I turn away, as he traces a line down my neck, along the collar of my dress, over my shivering chest, down the buttons along the front, over the curve of my belly.
Down further, tracing the outline of my underwear, down over my hip, my thigh. Under the hem of my dress across my trembling leg, back up my thigh as I moan in protest through my gag, back to the buttons at my chest, and! with one smooth, powerful movement, he tears open my dress! I gasp with shock; my body jolts as though struck by lightning. I burn with embarrassment, hot blood filling my face, neck, and chest; my breasts feel engorged, conspicuous.
I cannot bear to look at him, but I can still feel his eyes upon me, poring over my exposed flesh, gloating at my shame. I feel his hands roaming over me, squeezing my buttocks, caressing my thighs, my hips, my waist, my breasts, kneading and rolling the soft, pliant flesh. And now – oh God! – now he is pulling down my underwear, down over my hips, down over my thighs, my knees, to my feet. Slowly and deliberately, he exposes my most intimate quarters to his lascivious gaze; I am naked, naked and helpless, before a malevolent stranger.
Now, he kisses and gropes my body, his touch rough and passionate, beginning at my neck, moving slowly down. With each advance, each fresh sullying of my dignity, my agitation grows, my throat becoming tighter, my breath deeper and faster. He cups my breasts in his hands and suckles at them, biting at the swollen nipples, flicking them with his tongue, until they stand proud and raw. My legs feel like water, they are trembling so violently I can barely support myself. His mouth moves down my body, leaving a trail of small purple bruises in its wake. My belly flinches as he plants his kisses.
His head is level with my hips now. His hands slide up the back of my legs, and he sinks his nails into my buttocks. He sucks and tears at the flesh of my thighs, and pulls my shaking legs apart, exposing my sex. He pulls my hips towards him as his kisses move slowly up the inside of my thighs, inexorably approaching my defenceless flower – which I realise with a sudden horror, is burning with desire! I cannot believe what is happening, is it the wine? Am I drunk? Surely I cannot actually be enjoying being humiliated and violated by this beast who has invaded my home and helped himself to my possessions, my clothes, and my dignity! No, not enjoying – revelling! My trembling body, my pounding chest, they are no longer symptoms of fear, but of passion! The hot scent of lust rises from my loins, heady, intoxicating. His lips close around my petals, and his tongue pushes between them, engulfing my yearning sex.
A great crescendo wave of orgasm slowly builds deep in my belly, rolling and growing, until it finally crashes throughout my body, every limb, every pore of skin, racked and ablaze with sensation. The world outside my body disappears, stars explode inside my head, and, giddy from the heat and stress and sheer pleasure, I pass out…
When I come to, I am laying flat on the floor. What had remained of my clothes has gone, as has my gag, and the restraints on my wrists – instead my arms are pinned against the floor by my assailant. His balaclava still hides his face, save for his mouth and strong, square jaw. His shirt has gone, revealing a lightly tanned, lean, rippling torso, a tight broad chest tapering to a flat cage of muscle at his stomach – which stretches and contracts as he pounds his hips against mine.
With long, hard strokes, he thrusts deep inside me. Beads of sweat stand on his skin, and a gorgeous animal musk fills my nostrils. Belatedly, I give myself willingly to him, wrapping my legs around him to pull him still deeper inside me. He reaches his face towards mine, and I meet him midway as we kiss, our lips locked together, tongues grappling and sliding against each other. Wave after wave of pleasure courses through my body, as I orgasm over and over again, the peaks between each climax coming closer together until they are barely distinguishable. I am transported to a different world, unaware of anything but the sheer presence of this beautiful creature pressing down upon me.
After what seems an eternity, when I feel I can take no more, the creature snarls – his body arches, teeth bared, pumping furiously into me. He exhales noisily as his tension is released deep inside me, and he falls exhausted onto me. Finally his grip on my wrists relaxes. I wrap my arms around him, our bodies as one, satiated and spent.
Presently, he pulls himself away from me. He zips himself and pulls his shirt on. He looks down at me, sprawled naked and dishevelled at his feet. My body is covered in scratches and love-bites. In a futile attempt to preserve some dignity, I push myself up to sit against the wall, folding my arms to cover myself. Only now do I notice my wrists are bleeding where the cable ties cut into me.
He smiles, and, before I know what is happening, he has stuffed the gag back into my mouth, taping it shut. I try to fight him off, but he grabs my wrists and fastens them behind my back again. Why would he do this to me now, after what just happened? He pulls me by my ankle to the stairs, binding me to the stair-rail with another cable tie. I am helpless again, spread-eagled on the floor as the creature who had made love to me so beautifully smiles mockingly at me.
He pulls his balaclava down over his face, and picks up the hold-all full of my life. “I’m sorry, did you think it was love?” he laughs, as he lets himself out the front door.
