Nightmare After the Opera

by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Coercion, Heterosexual, Slut Wife, DomSub, Humiliation, Interracial, .

Desc: Sex Story: Here is story for Bob -- Can a woman's savage rape awaken long dead passions. Perhaps even the extinguished fire of love can be rekindled in the white hot heat of fierce ravishment. What would you do to end Twenty-five years of abstinence? Say goodbye to the bright and happy world you know - you just crossed the border to Millie's Vast Expanse.

You are about to move beyond reality. With a single step, you move from the world of the mundane banality of your day to day existence – to the wild and carnal fantastical happenings in the empire of Dark Desires. A voyage into an incredible world of unrestrained iniquity. Where a woman's savage rape can awaken long dead passions. Perhaps even the extinguished fire of love can be rekindled in the white hot heat of fierce ravishment. What would you do to end Twenty-five years of abstinence? Say goodbye to the bright and happy world you know – you just crossed the border to Millie's Vast Expanse.

"You see, Mr. Gittes, most people never have to face the fact – that at – the right time, the right place, they're capable of – ANYTHING."

Noah Cross – Chinatown

My name is Marie and right up front let me be clear about this, I have had no interest in sex, not for a very long time. I have abstained from the disgusting act for over 25 years. I know this is something my husband has had to deal with, but I just don't like it. Really I never had that much interest in sex – it is messy – body's mashing together. All that nasty sweating not to mention the other fluids.

For years, Robert has expressed his frustration with my refusal of him. Perhaps it is selfish of me but I don't care. If he wants sex he can leave and find someone else. Good lord he is 64 years old it is time he grew up! For twenty-five years, he has whined and bellyached about us not having sex. I know he masturbates, can you believe it a grown man in his mid-sixties jerking off?

Disgusting! That is all I can say on that it is disgusting.

Just because I don't desire or like sex, doesn't mean I don't take care of myself. I do, I take care of myself very well. I exercise, lots of aerobics, I do endurance training jogging and running, flexibility and balance workouts including yoga, strength training including lifting weights. I can do 200 push-ups, not bad for a 61-year-old woman. My body is trim and fit, I don't have stretch marks my skin is still quite lovely, smooth. My breasts are a little saggy, but they are quite large. What I'm saying is I look pretty good for my age.

Robert had been quite for some time, weeks actually. Minimal conversation had passed between us for several years. He was sullen of late given to long bouts of solitude in his 'workshop.' Playing with himself to revolting porn I'm sure. When we talked, it was always his insipid boring whining about our lost love. He is sex obsessed, you know if he really loved me he wouldn't say all that drivel. Still we have a good life, at least I think we do.

Our life is typical of upper middle class, well-educated, active people. We especially enjoy the opera, or more accurately I love the opera and Robert tolerates it. I wouldn't say that Robert was a wimp, but I have a very dominant personality and tend to have my way. We went to the local Met and saw an incredible production of La Traviata by Verdi. I had been moved to tears as I often am at the opera. However, this time it was so moving to me that I couldn't compose myself. I cried at great length, "Gran Dio! ... morir sì giovane – "Great God! ... to die so young"," it just overcame me and I sobbed so saddened by the tragedy I sat in my seat in a state of stupor unable to move.

When at last I regained control of myself I was shocked to discover that Robert was no longer next to me. I looked around and there he was leaning against the door at the back of the auditorium arguing with an usher. When I stood and made my way to the isle, the brute yelled at me. Not my husband but the usher, "Damn lady we all want to go home." My husband chastised him for his rude manner. I am very fond of my husband, but I knew he was as upset with me as the little man that worked at the Met was. Probably more since he had to defend me. Still I always get a thrill when people in service are put out with me.

Even as we made our way over to the big parking structure I was still sad from the tragic end of the Opera. When the elevator doors shut Robert at last spoke to me. I must say I wasn't prepared for what he said.

"Marie, I'm so bone tired I just don't know what to do," he looked up at the changing numbers of the elevator. The creaking sounds were actually a little unnerving, the car jolted from one side to the other as it made its unsteady way to our landing.

"I suppose I can drive home," offering – hoping he would turn me down.

"You're miss understanding my meaning my dear. I'm bone tired of you, I've had enough of your melodramatic reactions to crap sung in a language you don't even speak. I'm sick to death of your obsession with staying fit and young looking when your body is just a God Damn shrine to your egotistical self-centeredness. You're so proud of yourself I'm not good enough to even touch your body." At last the creaky old lift stopped and the doors slid open. Our Cadillac CTS-V was only twenty feet away. "I'm driving home packing a bag and leaving you."

I didn't know what to say the shock shot through my brain but not my emotions. I heard me say the words but had no idea where they came from. In a calm, cold voice, I answered him with the only words I could think to say.

"If you think that is best dear," I was hurt by his comments but wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it. As I walked out the elevator and moved toward the car, I abruptly stopped, I wasn't going to take that comment and not respond. I turned and place hands on hips glaring at him. He collapsed on the floor and reached up to the back of his head with his left arm as he pushed up with his right. Harsh laughter filled the air. Standing behind was a big young black man with a gun in his hand. The barrel had a bright red smear over it. The big black kid bent down and whacked Robert again and Robert sprawled out face down.

The laughter came from beside the elevators. Leaning against the brick wall was an even bigger white youth. He looked like the Hulk cartoon. He stop his irritating cackle, "Let me hit the fucker, Darnel. Come let me beat in his fucking head."

"NO, Joey. Drag him into the maintenance room and zip tie his hands. Wake the fucker up so he can watch!" The black boy smiled at me. "What you call that outfit – what is the name of a dress like that? Damn it is sexy – a long fucking dress, that fucking slit up the side. By god those fat ass tits stretch that halter top so nicely. Them fucking tits is saggers, but they are saggy for a good reason ain't they – bitch!" I must admit I was afraid for my safety and concerned about Robert. The white guy picked up my 200 pound 6 feet 1 inch husband like he lifted a ten pound bag of dog food and walked away with him slung over his shoulder.

"It is called an Evening Gown..." he broke in on me before I could say more.

"And them long fucking gloves?"

"Opera gloves, there called opera gloves. We have been..."

"Shut the fuck up, you dumb bitch," he pointed his gun first at one of his ears then pointed it at the other.

"Take them fucking earrings off and trot them over here to me, nice and polite like I was the president of the United States." I removed the earrings and started to walk toward him. The gown fit me tightly, so tight that the long dress only allowed me to walk because of the slits up the side. My hips swayed from side to side as I walked, the black boy smiled, then nodded his head as he watched me with hungry eyes. "You know, for an old rich cunt you are fucking hot!" Timidly I extended my hand palm up with the diamond earrings in the middle of my hand. I tried to stay at arms length from him. He snatched the diamonds from my hand and shoved them in a pocket. I have no idea how he moved so fast, but before my arm could drop to my side, he grabbed me by my slender wrist and yanked me to his body.

Pushing my arm around to my back, he lifted my hand up between my shoulder blades. I winced at the pain. His big knuckles ran up and down my cheek, "Nice – you're white as a motherfucking angel in a graveyard." he sucked in my sent while he stunk of booze and sweat, "Smell nice to." The gun barrel with my husband's blood on it bobbed beside by face as he rubbed my cheek with the back of his rough hands. I'm sure my eyes were wide with fear, my heart had been pounding so very hard since I first saw him standing over Robert. It was like he was some African tribesman standing over a lion he had captured, but not killed. He moved his knuckles down over my chin then up the other side of my face.

My eyes locked on to the bright blood on the gun. My stomach seemed to have leaped up into my throat. The knots in it rolled threatening to expel half digested lobster over him. I'm sure that would have been a mistake if I let it happen. "Open your mouth and lick your man's blood off my gun." Sticking my tongue out a cleaned the blood off the nasty oily gun barrel, the taste was nauseating. I know my face showed how disgusting it was to me. The big bastard just smiled and shoved my hand up higher between my shoulders. Pain shot through my arm and I felt my mouth grimace from it as he pulled me tightly to his body.

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