The Intruder

by

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Heterosexual, MaleDom, Light Bond, Humiliation, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Sex Story: He entered the back door, put a knife to the wife's throat, and ordered her husband to put on the handcuffs. Male dominance story. (Note: All sexual contact is purely heterosexual. Both are humiliated.) A Short Story

This night I will feed my lust. My targets are in the house, across the street. The street is quiet. I breathe in the tang of my eagerness, adrenaline, and lust. I feel alive.

I trot across the street and walk quickly but carefully around the house to the back door. I pause. The next moves have to be quick, sure and choreographed. My first appearance in the house will set the tone for the rest of the evening, and I want my first appearance to be memorable; so memorable that they will never get rid of the picture of my face. I hope that they will remember my face, causing them to tremble in fear, on their death bed. That is power.

I see their silhouettes through the curtains. I gently test the doorknob, and confirm that it is unlocked. She always cleans up the dishes as he finishes his meal. The sink is near the back door, where I crouch under the window. Yes, here she comes. It’s ShowTime!

In a seamless movement, I open the door, wrap my left arm around the bitch’s chest, and place the edge of my hunting knife against her throat. She freezes as the prey she is, and her mate-protector hesitates. Hesitation is all I need.

“If you want her to live, sit down.”

I throw a set of handcuffs on the table.

“Put those on behind your back, stand up slowly, and face away from me. Obey me and you both will be uninjured in the morning.”

Fear is my strength and his weakness. I have nothing to lose, while he has everything to lose. I pull deeper on the knife to cause the she-victim to whimper. My cock jumps at her sound. He looks at her in concern, as he obeys my demands. His back is to me now, and I carefully push his wife closer to him and check the tightness of the handcuffs. I quickly sheathe my knife, twist her arm behind her, and secure her arms with another set of handcuffs. I push her into the middle of the adjoining living room, gather the back of her shirt collar with my right fist, and abruptly push her face-down on the carpet.

“Walk over here and sit in the rocking chair.”

His eyes fight over choosing to resist or obey. But he has bound his own hands and he can’t make a quick escape, without turning around to feel for a doorknob. He carefully lowers himself in the chair. I walk behind him, and remove the back pack. A set of ankle cuffs go around his feet, and I attach a chain to the handcuffs and ankle cuffs to prevent him from getting up.

I turn to my main target. I grab her elbows and lift her to stand. I pick up the small whip attached to my belt.

“Strip down to your underwear.”

She freezes until my arm threatens to whip her. With a shriek and the first sign of her lovely tears, she quickly removes her house-dress, takes off her running shoes and socks. I grab her shoulder, turn her facing away from me toward her man, and grab the slave collar from my left pocket. I secure the collar to her lovely neck, attach the six foot leash, and secure it to the clip on my utility belt. She is going nowhere now.

My opening act was performed flawlessly. By submitting to me, they set their roles for the rest of the night as my unwilling slaves, worthy only to be used by me, for my amusement. I savor the feeling and let the furor build throughout my body, granting me superhuman strength.

I dig out a belly strap and my third set of handcuffs from my bag. The handcuffs are removed from one wrist and attached to the belly strap, followed by the handcuffs securing her other wrist. The restraints are to place her mind at my mercy, more than to protect me from her assaulting me. Her resistance dissipated when she first felt the knife at her throat.

I grab the shears from my bag, and cut the clothing from my seated victim, while his wife witnesses how impotent he has become to save her or himself. As I pull his last dignity from around his crouch, I look in his eyes.

“Don’t feel too bad. You will see me naked soon enough.”

I decide to not use the ball gag in his mouth. He could make a lot of noise, but he won’t, not with his treasure attached to my leash, and not while he is within reach of my whip. I stare at him until he averts his eyes; I bitch-slap him across the face, with the back of my hand. He gasps in a breath and holds it as he reacts to unexpected pain.

I turn to my preferred pet of the evening. Her eyes are wide-open, leaking tears, and taut with tension. It is time to calm the excitable filly. They are always best when their spirit is unbroken. I pull the leash, pulling her to stand in front of me.

I gently wipe her tears and stroke her face. I put a mask of compassion over my visage that I do not feel. I begin stroking her lovely strawberry blonde hair, telling her how beautiful she is. She relaxes. I stroke her body lovingly, beginning with her arms, then her back, sides and stomach, always telling her how well she pleases me.

Now begins the seduction. She is relaxed but not aroused. This will not do at all. I walk behind her and nibble her neck while I continue to stroke her with my hands. “You are beautiful; so pleasing to me.” I kiss the sides of her face, her neck, her shoulders, and smile when she leans back against me. I release her bra. I continue to caress her with my lips as my hands lift her breasts and then my fingers circle her nipples without touching them.

“What cup size are these breasts?”

She whispers, barely audible, “I wear a D-cup.”

“Master.”

She does not respond to my prompt and I roughly grip her right nipple. She jumps and my lips feel her tears renew down her face.

“I ... I wear a D-cup, Master.”

I release my grip and wipe away the pain from her breast. I turn to the male slave.

“She is pretty, attached to my collar, with her tits in my hand. Don’t you agree, Cockslave?”

He glares at me. It is a man’s instinct to be possessive of his woman, to forbid any other man to taste her body. I pull the whip with my right hand and draw back.

“Yes, master, she is pretty in your collar.”

He is subdued, but not broken. He fears his restraints and my threats, but he has not fully submitted yet. He pleases me too. While her spirit must not be broken, the stallion’s must. I don’t wish to ride him; I get no pleasure in that; I wish to break his will to accept me as master of his most cherished possession.

I sit on the couch and pull her to me. As I stare in her eyes, I pull down her practical, white, cotton panties. I lean toward her and smell the beginning of her sexual excitement. All of my victims begin to feel the lust, of being chained to my power, by the time I remove their panties. I nuzzle her trimmed pubic hair and breathe in deeply her unique odor. I must implant this memory of her smells. I will recall it for days and weeks to come with great fondness. I stand.

“Place the couch cushions on the floor and lay on them, face-down.”

She quickly complies with my orders, as best she can with bound arms, falling the last two feet of distance, with no hands to control her fall. I kneel with my knees on either side of her thighs and lean down to smell the back of her hair. I gently massage her back, reveling in the bones and muscles of her back. She is a wondrous creation, and I behold her in awe. To possess this figure is much richer than possessing great amounts of money or possessions. She is breathing deeply with greater excitement and I calm her by stroking her back and sides.

I lift myself and rotate with her buttocks below me, keeping most of my weight on my knees. I massage her thighs, enjoying their strength and tone she has developed through her gym workouts. I am very pleased; she is a wondrous target. I proceed to her knees, calves, and feet. My hands memorize each delicious part.

I reposition myself at her feet and lean toward her ass. I knead it with my hands and kiss it with my lips. I pull her cheeks apart and lick her forbidden area. She lifts her ass to me, seeking more. I stand, roll her over, and reposition her in the center of the cushions.

I start at her feet, kissing and licking. I explore the front and outer sides of her thighs, relishing in her soft skin. I spread her legs and start up the right leg, blowing on her skin. She writhes as her pungent odor fills the room. I stop before I touch her labia, and begin exploring her other thigh with my tongue. Her body is beginning to enslave her mind, yearning for my touch. But, I have not come to quickly slake her lusts. I have come to take my time, to make her mine, and to make her beg to be mine. I pick her up, replace the cushions, and sit her down.

“You are doing well. Do not move; I will be in the kitchen.”

I open the refrigerator door and spot the dozen bottles of cooled water. I open one and empty it, and then grab two more, and return to the room.

“Do you wish to drink?”

“Um, I guess ... Master?”

I slap her left breast.

“You will always accept my gifts. The correct answer is ‘Thank you, Master, ‘ and then you will drink all of it to express your thankfulness.”

“Thank you, Master.”

I twist off the cap and raise the bottle to her full lips. I fantasize at the thought of her lips wrapped around my cock, as I watch her drink all of the water. I enjoy watching her throat swallow, anticipating watching her swallow all of me.”

After she has completed showing her thanks, I walk to him.

I thump his nose in contempt. He refuses to look at my face.

“Do you wish to drink, Cock-slave?”

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