The Long Trip (Mf nc?) by Foxbat


Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sex should not be
read if such stories are illegal in your state, or if you are a minor.

Please feel free to distribute this, on the condition that the
disclaimer and author's name remain intact and unaltered.

For previous parts, or other stories of mine, please check out
my website (thanks to ASSTR) at http://www.asstr.org/~foxbat/ where 
you can find all of my work as well as some recommendations.  All
the content is also available via ftp at ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/foxbat/


Feedback, comments, suggestions, etc are always welcomed and
appreciated at foxbat00@gmail.com





The Long Trip (Mf nc?) by Foxbat




   Janet dropped her keys on the small shelf by the door and kicked off her heels.  Her feet were sore and she was exhausted from her weekly travel as a consultant.  It felt good to be home now - she was looking forward to a quiet weekend in sweatpants before the next hectic week.

   Leaving her suitcase by the door, she turned the corner towards the kitchen/living room of her small apartment.  She had to blink her eyes for a moment before she could be sure of what she saw:  her kitchen table, draped with a white table cloth and gently lit by two stately candles, white china set out, steam rising from under the bottom edge of several sterling plate-covers.  A bottle of wine was opened (squinting, she noticed it was not one of hers), and a glass had been poured for her.

   "What the fuck..." she wondered out loud.  No one had a key to her apartment, and she certainly wasn't dating anyone.  Her family lived in another state, and if they had done this it wouldn't be so romantic looking.  In her tired state, her brain couldn't get over the fact that this was real.  She walked to the table, touching the wineglass as if to reassure herself.  

   At the precise moment that she realized that whoever had prepared this meal was probably still lurking in her apartment, a firm yet quiet, deep voice instructed her to sit.  She did.

   A man stepped out from the kitchen.  He was dressed in black, tastefully, with sharp watchful eyes and a smile so thin as to seem almost an effect of the lighting.  He quickly closed the distance between them, and held her chair as she slid in.  

   "Eat."

   "Who are you?"

   "Eat first, and then we will talk."  Janet was under assault from the smells emanating from table in front of her:  the rich and savory smell of meat, reminiscent of Thanksgiving in its golden perfection, delicious and delicately flavored soup, and the floury smell of freshly baked bread.  Without second thought, Janet ate.

   ***

   Never had she eaten so well.  Each time she finished something, he would come in an reveal the next dish.  The portions were small enough, and, with each successive dish, the flavors seemed more vivid, animated, more explosive.  She tasted the texture of the food, and felt the interaction of tastes in a synesthesiastic way she never had before.  Her wine glass was never empty, and by the time the chocolate desert torte was placed before her, her mind had entirely given itself over to the tastes and sensory overload. 

   ***

   She stumbled up the stairs on his arm, the potent mixture of drugs that he had laced into the dinner were in full effect.  She was talking; he said nothing, but escorted her upwards to the second floor of the duplex.  She lurched towards the bedroom, but he deftly guided her into the bathroom and towards the toilet.  He had drawn a full bath earlier, and its gentle scent tickled her nose.  

   "I want to take a bath," she said suddenly, looking at him.  He just smiled.

   "First you need to use the bathroom, and then I need to make you beautiful."

   "I want to be beautiful," she said.

   ***

   When she was done using the toilet, he came in again, and helped her stand.  Her balance was affected, as was her sensory perception, but her memory would not be.  

   "Let's get you out of those dirty work clothes," he said.  She raised her arms over her arms over her head, and let him take her dress off.

   "I have some music for you... just relax and close your eyes and listen."

   He placed earbuds in her ears, and hit play on the iPod sitting on the counter.  A loose velvet blindfold across her eyes marked the beginning of the second phase of his plan.

   Using a cotton swab, he applied a very light topical anesthetic to her nipples.  Setting a pair of gold rings on a sterile napkin on the counter, he held the needle against the base of her nipple and watched the rhythm of her breathing.

   ***

   She had never listened to classical music like this before.  The mournful strains of an adagio performed by the French National Symphonic Orchestra floated around her.  The feelings of the music became her feelings, and she could almost feel each instrument - the horsehair violin bow dragging across the strings, the air resonating inside the perfect cylinder of the flute.  As the music became sadder, she felt a slight pain as the feeling of the music actually pierce her heart.

   ***

   He nodded approvingly to himself;  she was already shaved.

   The same anesthetic was applied to her labia, leaving her with two golden rings and a third smaller one piercing her clit hood.  He cleaned each of the piercings with antiseptic before gently removing the blindfold and earplugs.  

   "Bathtime," he said. 

   ***

   Emerging from the bath, she looked down.  Her body was glistening with bath oils and water, and sparkling with gold.  Her nipples were hard against the cooler air of the room, and when he wrapped her in a towel, she felt every pile on it gently drying her skin.  He pressed her hair in a towel also, and she felt like a character out of the Iliad, a princess  in her physical perfection.  Her breasts felt fuller and her hair more luxurious than ever before.

   His strong hands guided her, naked, to the bedroom.  It too was lit only by candles, and her normal bedclothes had been replaced by dark satin and velvet, against which the four bright red silk cords emanating from the corners stood out in stark contrast.

   She crawled onto the bed, wrapping her arms in the cords willingly, her eyes closed, writhing against the softness of the sheets.  He stripped and crawled on top of her.

   ***

   She felt his weight and warmth press on her, and her arms wrapped themselves around him of their own accord.  He kissed her gently, and it seemed to go on forever before he pulled away.  She could feel him pressing and rubbing against her, every vein.

   "Put it in," his quiet yet firm voice commanded, right to her ear.  She reached down, wrapped one hand around his [hot, thick, twitching], using her other to make sure she was [slick, wet, warm, smooth, rings?].  

   A sharp sting, echoing and reverberating like a gunshot in a canyon, [red-hot] on her cheek.  "Open your eyes and look at me."  She opened her eyes.  [veryclose, dark eyes, manly stubble].  She remembered she was supposed to put it in.

   It was as if her entire consciousness relocated to her vagina - she felt the friction of his penis against her labia on the first stroke; that friction lessened on the next one from her wetness.  She felt her lips being gently sucked in and gently pulled out by the slow thrusting.  His perfect hardness moved in perfect rhythm.

   He slapped her across the face again.  He could see that the drugs were drawing her inwards, into the sensation, but he wanted to keep a part of her outside.  Her eyes locked with his, as he felt one of her hands beginning to work her clit.  He increased his speed, fucking her hard, as she flushed.

   It was pure fucking pleasure - like a talented violinist drawing the bow back and forth to create a seemingly continuous sound, his penis seemed to produce pleasure at once dissociated with the underlying fucking and at the same time completely comprised of the myriad of sensations that she was feeling.  Suddenly, everything seemed profound, as if she had rushed out of the forest to find her self standing at the edge of a cliff for a moment, and then flying.

   "Remember that I'm raping you."

   Her eyes fluttered, rapidly gaining and losing focus of his sneering face.  He hadn't stopped fucking, and her mind was utterly incapable of handling the intellectual ramifications of RAPE.  Only the primordial power of the word, punctuated by his thrusts, penetrated into her awareness.  She shuddered in orgasm, unable to reconcile the intense pleasure, how special he had made her feel against the shame of rape, and the innocently illicit yet titillating feeling of having a cock inside her that wasn't supposed to be there.  

   "NNNNGGGGGHHHHHH!"  She spasmed underneath him, as he ground against her pelvis, pinning her wrists, and forcing her over-stimulation.  

   "You slut... you open your legs for any man that makes you dinner.  You fucking cum on your rapist's cock.  Fuckmeat is all you are..."

   ***


   She woke up, feeling groggy, unsure of where she was.  Rolling over, she felt the familiar scratch of her cotton sheets, not the silk and satin of seemingly yestersecond;  no candles lit the room, only the harsh light of morning. Moments ago, she'd been having the best orgasm of her life curtesy of her dark stranger.  Her face reddened at the recollection of the dirty words which still echoed in her head.  Her mind transitioned seamlessly to casuistry - it was only a dream after all.  But a really hot dream, she thought, as her hand drifted downwards, and perhaps good for one morning masturbation session.  

   Curling on her side, she slipped one finger between her lips to tease her clit.  Adding a second finger, she pushed further down towards the source of her wetness, freezing when her fingers encountered the two warm metal rings.




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As always, I love to hear your reaction.  Ideas, suggestions (for this or other stories), comments, and criticisms are welcome.

Yours,
Foxbat
