"I have a rape fantasy," Andrea had told him as they walked toward her apartment.
"If you want," he said, "I can slap you around."
She stopped walking and turned to face him. "I can handle that."
They began walking again. "I can spank you too."
"Um, how about biting?"
"Yes, I can bite you."
"Maybe I'll need a safe word," she said, pensively.
"A safe word?"
"You might go too far, so I can use a safe word, like Yellow. You hear it, you stop."
He nodded in understanding. He recalled his mother all too well. He had been about six when he watched fascinated as his father beat his mother with a belt. Lashed her behind until the red welts began to bleed, and only then did he stop. Harry had thought that his mother had been very bad to deserve such a spanking. What Harry had not understood was his mother's lack of tears. He knew that for certain he would have been crying. A few years later, after his father, a fireman, had died in a warehouse fire, his mother had brought home the first of a series of boy-friends. He had watched from the doorway as the boyfriend spanked his mother, blinked in astonishment on hearing her cry out, "More! Harder! Don't stop, oh please, don't stop."
"We're here," she said, stopping in front of an apartment with a bright green door, and fishing in her purse for the key.
Harry felt a different form of sexual lust surge into his loins. He knew with a certainty that he would enjoy playing Andrea's game with her.
On entering Andrea's apartment, Harry sat down on the sofa and waited patiently for her to make him a drink.
"You want, I'll pretend to rape you," he said, wondering about this woman's psyche, and what made her tick. 'Was she crazy?' he wondered, 'or maybe a little like his mother?'
He took a big gulp from the glass.
"No pretending, Harry. I really want you to rape me," there was only a slight sense of nervousness about her that he could detect, in that her fingers glided worriedly over the pearl necklace around her neck.
"Well, for Christ's sake, we've already fucked one another. Just what do you have in mind? I mean, I'll go along with most anything, but let's set some ground rules here."
She worried her lower lip, then gave him a pensive look. "I guess you're right. I mean, I know what I want, but obviously you don't. So, let's just say that after you finish your drink you go back outside the apartment. The door will be ajar, like I've forgotten to fully close it. You come in and catch me unaware, smack me around, and then rape me. That enough information for you?"
"More than I need," he replied. His voice grew colder with each syllable. Andrea discerned the coldness and smiled in anticipation.
"It was 'Yellow, ' wasn't it?" he asked.
"The safe word."
"Yeah, 'Yellow, ' whatever," she tossed off. He had no way of knowing she would never resort to using any safe word.
He finished his drink, and instead of placing it on the coaster provided for that purpose, dropped the almost empty glass on the floor and walked to the door. She noted the growing bulge in his jeans, and smirked happily.
"Get ready, sweetheart, the wolf is at the door."
"Oh, I'm shaking, Harry. You're such a mean, old man."
"We'll soon see how old I am," he said, and for the first time since she had met him, Andrea had a sense of foreboding about the future.
He left the apartment, making sure the door was slightly open, and counted to twenty. Why he picked twenty he could not say, but it seemed better than ten and thirty seemed too long. At the count of twenty, he kicked open the door, stepped inside the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him.
"What?" Andrea screeched in feigned surprise, as he quickly strode across the room and slapped her hard with an open hand.
Despite herself, she felt her eyes fill with tears.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he snarled and backhanded her across the face.
"I don't have any..."
He slapped her again, making certain the slap hurt, but not belting her hard enough to leave a tell-tale bruise the next day.
"I said shut the fuck up!"
Andrea sank to her knees in front of him, but kept quiet.
Harry grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the bedroom. He picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. The heels of her black boots dug into the mattress. Her swollen pussy lay open and exposed through the large tear in the crotch of her pantyhose.
As he looked at her, she knew to spread her legs, and slowly parted the sopping lips with her fingers, showing him the pink. He took in the sight, licked his lips, and then cast his eyes about the room until he saw a belt draped over the doorknob to the closet. He took it, and casually wrapped the belt around her wrists and secured them to the headboard.
"What..." she started to say, and then remembered the admonition to remain quiet, and stopped. He spit in her face, and then punched her once in the belly, driving the air from her lungs.
"I won't say it again," he snarled, and then realized how much into the fantasy he had allowed himself to go. 'I had better remain in control here, or things could get real messy, ' he told himself.
Harry pulled two dresser drawers out and spilled their contents on to the floor before finding some scarf's, which he used to tie her black-booted ankles to the bedposts, leaving Andrea spread-eagled and completely vulnerable to him. He went back to the kitchen and returned with a sharp knife and a shearing scissors.
Using the scissors, he cut her mini-skirt off and threw it on the floor. Her ruined pantyhose clung to her body, but her pussy was fully exposed to his view and he decided to leave them on her.
Andrea moaned softly, drawing a dark glance from Harry. Satisfied that she would remain quiet, he proceeded to cut the purple sweater she wore from her waist to neckline, and then peeled it from her body as one might peel a grape. Andrea's eyes took on a new sheen, almost glowing with happiness.
Harry descended onto the bed, and buried his head between her legs. After some minutes of licking her gently, insofar as a rapist goes, he had her mad with lust and impatience.
But the game being played called for her to offer at least some form of resistance, and so Andrea maintained a continued struggle in trying to loosen the wrists bound by the belt.
Harry could have cared less. The juices his tongue missed, spooled onto the sheets and when he eventually came up for air, his eyes focused on her cunt and the bee-stung appearance of her swollen labia. He reverted to teasing, sucking and finally pulling on her engorged clit, and sent spirals of psychedelic sunbursts ribboning through her body.
"Fingers," she breathed heavily, feeling safe enough in her current pleasure to risk his wrath.
"Fuck you," he snarled sharply, and Andrea felt the first legitimate tremor of fear course through her body on the heels of a minor orgasm.