Chapter 1: Apartment Rape

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Reluctant, Coercion, TransGender, CrossDressing, DomSub, FemaleDom, Humiliation, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: Apartment Rape - Paul becomes enthralled by his apartment neighbor down the hall and submits more-or-less willingly as she turns him into her personal maid. But then she gets a boyfriend, the boyfriend has needs, and things get weird...

"I read recently in a business journal," Kathryn said, apropos of nothing, "that everyone should spend a minimum of 20 percent of their work time improving how they work, rather than just doing the work."

"That makes sense," I said, selecting some wineglasses from the cabinet.

"Yes, it's an excellent rule of thumb; it's how I run my career. And just now, as I was doing the laundry, I realize how much my private life is going to pot."

"Oh, I seriously doubt that..."

"No, it's true. My place is a mess, I do laundry only every other month," Kathryn frowned for a second. "So just now I've decided to apply the 20-percent rule towards my life as a whole."

"Makes sense, I guess."

"And so, here I am."

"So, I'm..."

Kathryn smiled at me, pleased. "That's right. You're my 20 percent."

"Well ... uh..." I stammered, trying to figure out if what she said was a compliment or not. "Thanks."

"Why, you're welcome. So you work at home?"

"Yes. I'm a software consultant - really more of a freelance programmer."

"But it looks like you've got a steady paycheck ... of $8,250 a month?"

"What?" I looked up, shocked. Kathryn was holding my checkbook and was flipping through the register. "Hey!" I said. "That's private. I mean, really."

I walked over to her. Kathryn was just smiling at me.

I should explain about my apartment. It's just a studio, which means that everything is out in the open in one main living area. My sofa folds out into a bed, the end-tables are the same as my nightstands, and at one end of the living room I have my work area which includes a desk with my computer, a filing cabinet, and a bookshelf full of computer manuals. At the other end there's a small dining room table with a few chairs.

"I told you I was wild, but you didn't listen," she said, simply.

I tried to reach for the checkbook, but Kathryn held it out of reach. "When you said 'wild', I thought that meant things like drinking, partying, wearing miniskirts, you know, stuff like that."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Uh..." I hesitated, momentarily thrown off course. "No, that's not the point here."

"And what is the point?"

"The point is that you don't just waltz into someone's apartment and start rooting through their private financial information."

I tried again to reach for the checkbook, but Kathryn easily blocked me with her shoulder.

"It's your own fault. This is what you wanted," Kathryn said, sweetly.

"What do you mean, 'This is what I wanted'?"

"You were the one who wanted us to get to know each other better. You were practically drooling at the idea of having me in your apartment, weren't you?"

"But ... but..." I sputtered, "not like this!"

"Well then, perhaps you should have been more specific?" her smile was wide and confident. She was enjoying herself.

"No, now hold on, there are just certain standards, you know standards of society, which are assumed in social situations..."

Kathryn put a finger to my lips and my words just trailed away. I stood there, looking at her, transfixed. She then reached down, took hold of my wrist, turned it over, and gently placed the checkbook into the palm of my hand.

It was the most sensuous motion I had ever experienced.

"There now," she said, softly. "It's nothing to get all excited about."

"Besides," she continued, as we both sat down with a glass of wine. "I'm done with your checkbook, and I've already learned so much about you!"

I took a sip of wine to calm my nerves. "Like what?" I asked.

Kathryn chose the arm chair, leaving the sofa for me. She sat sideways on the chair, with her legs over one arm and her back supported by the other. This meant that her feet were pointed in my direction. I glanced at her painted toes and watched as she absentmindedly dangled a shoe before me.

"Well," she said, thinking for a second. "You're careful and detail oriented. You keep your checkbook balanced."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Not me. I haven't the time. As long as the balance from the ATM isn't off by more than a thousand dollars, I figure that's close enough."

I coughed. "A thousand dollars?"

"Sure. Anything less than that isn't worth my time. And I noticed you keep everything balanced to the penny, don't you?"

"Uh, yeah. After all, if you're going to do a job..."

"Yes, of course," she cut me off.

I paused for a second, looking at her toes as they gently swung back and forth.

"So," I tore my eyes away from her feet and looked up, "what ... ah ... do you do for a living?"

"I'm a surgeon," she said simply.

"Wow!" I said, impressed. "That's really something. What kind of surgeon?"


"Oh my god," my eyes went as wide as saucers. "That means you..."

"Pry open people's chests and touch their beating hearts, yes."

"Holy cow."

And then suddenly I had the weirdest feeling. It was as if Kathryn physically grew by a foot before my eyes. One second she was just my neighbor, and in the next she became ... I don't know. A power figure ... something closer to a goddess, I suppose. It took a few moments before I realized she was still talking.

" ... and so I'm not the head surgeon or anything, but you know, I feel that if I can just apply Beating Heart Surgery to other types of heart disease..."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "Did you just say, 'Beating Heart' surgery?"

Kathryn smiled, "Yes. It's where you operate on the heart without a heart-lung machine, while the heart is still beating. It's much better for the patient, faster recovery times, less memory loss, and so on."

Kathryn stood up and walked over to inspect some of the pictures on my walls. She touched one, tracing her finger lightly over the brush strokes.

"Anyway," she continued, "I'm in the process of setting up some clinical trials to try and advance the state of the art, and I'm hoping that will put me in line for head surgeon, but of course, that's years away."

"Wow," I said in awe, "that's amazing..." stammering, unable to think of a single thing that I could say which would even come within the same universe of what she had just said.

"Mind if I take a look?" Kathryn asked.

I looked up. She had placed her wine on the top of my filing cabinet, and had a hand on one of the drawers, about to open it.

"Why would you want to look through my files?" I asked, getting up from the sofa.

"Please stay seated," Kathryn said.


"I said, 'please stay seated.'"

"Uh, okaaay..." slowly, I eased back into the sofa, looking at her. This was weird.

"I just want to get to know you better. Isn't that what you said you wanted? 'Come over and have a glass of wine, so we can get to know each other better.' Right? So may I look through your files?"

"Uh ... sure." At least she asked this time, I rationalized.

Kathryn opened up the top filing cabinet, and started taking files out. "Boring ... boring..." she rifled through the files, clearly an expert. But then, rather than putting the folders back in the cabinet, she just dropped them on the floor.

"Hey!" I said, shocked.

"Yes?" Kathryn looked at me with an arched eyebrow.

"Put those back!"

Kathryn looked me directly in the eye, took out a folder bulging with credit card receipts, and then slowly let it's contents spill out onto the floor.

"Stop that!" I fairly shouted, jumping up.

Kathryn simply stepped between me and the filing cabinet and put a hand on my chest.

"Paul," she said.

"Yes?" I looked into her eyes. Kathryn placed a hand on my chest.

"Please stay seated," she said

"But..." I stammered.

"You can clean that up later. Right now, I want to go through your files." Kathryn gently pushed and I meekly submitted, sinking back down into the sofa.

Kathryn walked back to the filing cabinet. A credit card statement had gotten stuck on her heal. She reached down, pulled it off, and inspected it.

"Well, nothing interesting here," she said. "Although, several entries have suspiciously vague names. Do you download a lot of internet porn?"

"I'll never tell."

"Well, let's take a look, shall we?" Kathryn walked over to my desk and tapped the 'ENTER' key on my computer keyboard. The screen lit up.

"Awww..." she said, "your screen saver is password protected. Who protects their home computer? You are such a nerd."

"The truth is out."

"So, what's the password?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"That's a very good question. I suppose I could offer you something in return," Kathryn thought for a second and then snapped her fingers. "I know! I'll let you kiss my toes."


"You heard me."

"Well, the answer is no!"

"Are you sure?"




"Well, okay. But you want to know what I think?"


"I think you really want to kiss my toes. I saw how you were looking at them. And just think, if you give me your computer password, I'll let you. Wouldn't that be nice?"


"Well, just think about it. What time is it?"

I looked over at the clock on the microwave. "Uh, 4:35."

"Okay. Offer expires at five o'clock."

Kathryn went back to riffling through my files. Finally, she found some dirt.

"Well, what have we here? Divorce papers? You're divorced?"

I hid my head in my hands. For some reason, I felt weak and out of breath.

"Yes, three years now."

"Goodness. And ... wow! Look at that settlement. Why Paul, you're a wealthy man."

"Not really."

"1.2 million dollars. Not shabby. Now I know where those pay checks are coming from. Investments, right?"

"Right. I had just enough to move to the city, buy this studio apartment and set up a small revenue stream."

"Not that small. So, was she rich?"

"No ... ah, I started a company and then sold it."

"Interesting. But you still work?"

"Just for a little extra spending money."

"Well, good for you." Kathryn dropped the divorce papers on the floor with all the rest of my files.

"Well, I guess I'm done with your filing cabinet. My goodness, this is a lot of paper," she said, pushing the papers across the floor with her feet.

I just groaned.

"They're just stupid file folders. It's not like I'm really hurting anything."

Kathryn walked over to my end table/nightstand. "Now, let's see what you have in here," she said as she opened the drawer.

"NO!" I slid quickly across the sofa and slammed it shut.

"Please let go, Paul," she said, simply.

"No!" I said. "Just leave! You are no longer invited here!"

Kathryn rolled her eyes.

"You know what I'm doing, don't you?" she asked.

I looked up at her. "No, what?"

"You are being raped."

My heart jumped up into my throat. "Raped?" I whispered.

"That's right. I'm raping your mind. I'm prying into your personal affairs, opening up your private spaces, and poking into every nook and cranny of your life. And you're going to let me. You're going to sit on that sofa and watch me gather all of the information that I need to gain complete control over you."

Stunned into silence, I just looked at her, my hand still on the nightstand drawer.

Kathryn gave up and walked over to my closet. At first she just pulled out a few pieces of clothing, looking them over, checking the labels, and so on. But then, she grabbed an armful of clothes, and dumped them on the floor.

"Stop! Please! Get out!" I was blubbering, beside myself. "Please stop!! Why are you doing this?" I felt violated and abused. I jumped up.

"YOU SIT BACK DOWN RIGHT NOW!!" she said firmly.

Shocked at the intensity of her voice, I shrank back down to the sofa.

"That's better. Now stay. Good boy."

Kathryn reached up and pulled down a box from the closet shelf. The contents (old printouts, high-school memorabilia, family photos, correspondence, old love letters, etc.) spilled onto the floor.

"PLEASE!!! Why are you doing this???"

Kathryn looked at me and smiled. "I told you. I'm raping your mind. You are totally mind-fucked now, my friend!"

"But why???"

"You're my 20 percent," she said simply.

"But what's that mean???"

"I think the real question is this: why aren't you stopping me? Why aren't you wrestling me to the ground and forcing me out, or calling the police? Or getting one of our neighbors to help? Or calling the Super? Why are you just sitting there?"

"I don't know ... maybe ... because you told me to?" I asked, feebly.


Kathryn walked over to the nightstand again, purposefully kicking the files around the apartment as she walked. The room had become a war zone. Quickly I intercepted her, holding the nightstand drawer shut.

"But Paul," she said sweetly, "you and I both know that the nightstand is the very best part, don't we?"

Kathryn reached down to the nightstand and grasped the handle of the drawer.

"All of a person's most deep, most dark desires are in his nightstand, isn't that right? All of the things you least wish for me to find out."

Kathryn pulled on the nightstand drawer, but I held it shut. She looked deep into my eyes, our faces just inches apart. I could smell her lipstick, her shampoo, and the wine on her breath.

Kathryn placed a gentle kiss on my cheek. "You know what?" she whispered, into my ear, "I think you actually enjoy having your little mind fucked by me. In fact, I'm absolutely certain of it. I bet your little penis is rock hard, right now, isn't it?"

My eyes glanced down, ever so briefly.

"Ha!" she said, "I knew it. Now, I just need to complete my rape, by inspecting your nightstand. And you are going to let me do it. Because deep, deep, deep down inside, you want me to, don't you?"

My breath was coming out in shallow gasps. I began to shiver, as if the room were suddenly freezing.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Kathryn pulled on the drawer of the nightstand...

... and my hands just fell away.

"Very good," she said. "I think we understand each other now, don't we?"

"Yes," I said in a hoarse whisper.

"That's right. I am going to rape your mind and destroy your apartment, and you are going to sit quietly and let me. Isn't that right?"

I couldn't answer. All I could do is hide my face. I felt a tear leak out of one eye and roll down my cheek.

"Good boy. Now, would you like to kiss my toes? I only ask, because there's just two minutes before your time's up."

Leaving the nightstand drawer gaping open, Kathryn placed a foot on my crotch. I felt her sandal on my penis. With a deep blush, I realized that my cock really was hard, just like she said. She worked the sandal back and forth, causing my shaft to roll back and forth in my pants. I groaned.

"So, ready to tell me that password and collect your reward?" She asked.

I looked up at her. I had never met a truly dominant woman before, but here she was, looking me in the face, and demanding my computer passwords. Her face didn't look harsh, or cruel, or evil. She was smiling and looked merely amused at my predicament. How had she known? How was she able to read me so well? How did she know she would be able to manipulate me into this position, her foot on my hard cock, demanding that I give in and open my soul to her inspection?

I looked down at her toes. She wiggled them for me.

"Beautiful toes..." I said.

"Yes they are. And wouldn't you just love to give each one of them a little kiss? I just know you would."

"ah..." I hesitated.

By now, her dominance over me was firmly established. Eventually, I realized that I had no choice.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay, what?"

"I'll tell you my password."

"Excellent." Kathryn closed her eyes for a second, enjoying the moment.

I looked at her in shock, realizing for the first time how much she was enjoying this. Kathryn went over to the computer and pressed 'ENTER'. The screen lit up.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Ah ... It's l-i-c-k-n-8-P-s-y," for the second time, I felt my face grow hot and red.

Kathryn laughed out loud. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed, "you can't be serious! Lick and eat pussy?? This is just too precious for words!" She reached for the keyboard. "Wait, what was it again?"

I blushed deeper, having to say it again. "l-i-c-k-n-8 ... the number eight... -P ... upper case P... -s-y" I said.

Kathryn typed the password and the computer screensaver unlocked.

"We're in!" she said, delighted, sitting down in my desk chair. I watched as Kathryn squirmed a bit on the chair. Was this making her sexually excited??

"Paul?" she asked.


"What time is it?"

I looked over at the microwave clock. "It's, uh, 5:02."

"Oh, too bad. I guess you were too slow."

"What????" I was incensed. "What do you mean too slow?"

"The offer has expired. So sorry."

"You can't do that to me!"

Kathryn just looked over at me with a hard stare. "Really?" she asked.

"Well, I mean ... it's just not fair."

"Well, it looks like next time you'll have to be faster, now won't you? I think this is an important lesson for you to learn. When I make an offer, you accept it right away. Before you miss out. Or before I make it worse for you..." she said, cryptically.

I slumped back on the sofa and pounded the seat cushion in frustration. Damn it!

"Now let's see what we've got here," she started clicking through my computer files, "boring, boring, boring ... ooh, look! Porno!"

"Oh god..." I flopped down on the sofa, hiding my face in the throw pillows.

"Let's see ... vanilla, vanilla, vanilla ... geez you got a lot of blondes on here. Oh look! Spanking pictures! Well, well, well." Kathryn clicked her tongue as she scanned through the pictures. "So, you like spanking?"

"I'm not talking."

"Do you like spanking women, or being spanked?"

"I'm not talking."

Kathryn rolled her eyes. "Okay. Let's take a look at your bookmarks," she launched the web browser and opened up the bookmarks page.

"Stupid computer sites, stupid computer sites, stupid computer sites," she clicked through the bookmark folders rapidly.

"Now here we are. Let's see. Penthouse, playboy - yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever ... spanking - we already know about that. Oh look, panties!"

Kathryn swiveled my desk chair to face me. "Do you like women's panties?" she asked, coyly.

"Well sure, who doesn't?" I replied.

"Do you like seeing them, kissing them, smelling them, or wearing them?"

I just crossed my arms and glared at her.

"Would you like to look at my panties?" she said.

Suddenly my eyes went wide. "What do you mean?"

"Simple question. Would you like to look at my panties?"

"Sure..." I said.

"Okay! Just wanted to know." Kathryn swiveled back to the computer and continued clicking through it's contents.

"What? You're not going to show them to me?" I whined.

"Nope!" she said.

"But ... Shit. You're such a tease."


"That's not nice."

"Sometimes, not being nice is being nice. Isn't that right?"


Kathryn finished with my computer without finding anything else interesting.

"Okay, let's check out this nightstand, and then I guess I'm done with you."

Kathryn pulled the drawer of the nightstand completely out, turned it over, and dumped the contents on the floor.

"Porno ... more porno ... condoms ... Hoping to get lucky? Wait, what's this?" She held up a plastic zip-lock bag holding a pair of panties. "Did you buy these off the internet?"


"Then, where did they come from."


"You might as well tell me. I already know everything else there is to know about you."

"Umm ... They are my ex-wife's panties."

"You masturbate while smelling your wife's panties?"


"Right. And so they're sealed in a plastic bag for exactly what reason?"

"I ... It's because..."

"I thought so. So, I guess it was she who divorced you, wasn't it?"

I sighed heavily. Her last words to me still stung. "Yes..." I admitted.

"And here you are, letting another nasty woman root through all your stuff and wreck your apartment? Didn't you learn your lesson the first time? Are you some kind of idiot?"

I winced at her biting assessment. "My shrink said I needed to learn how to trust again..."

"And how do you think it's going?"

I laughed bitterly. "Not so well."

"Oh, I think you may be surprised," she said, as she dropped the panties on the floor and went to the other nightstand. "I bet that tonight, after you've spent all night getting your place back in order, you'll look back on this little episode and find you have the irresistible urge to masturbate. I just bet."

Kathryn pulled out my other nightstand drawer and tipped it's contents on the floor.

"Ooh!" she said. "Lubricant, anal probe. You like anal play?"

"No ... uh ... it's for prostate health."

"Hah! That's a good one. Look at the size of that tube of KY. No one needs that much prostate health. And what's this?" Kathryn reached down, pushed aside a magazine, and picked up a bit of pink underwear. "More panties? Nylon ones, this time? With lace? Whose are these, Paul?"

Kathryn looked at me, curiously.

"I refuse to answer."

"They're not your ex-wife's panties, are they? No woman would wear something this trashy."

I looked at her, not saying a word.

"I knew it. I just bet these are yours, aren't they? Did you actually go to the store and purchase a pair of panties just for yourself?"

"I'm not saying a word."

But Kathryn saw the look in my eyes. "And what do you do with these panties?" she asked. "Do you masturbate in them?"

"Unh uh..."

"Do you wear them?"

"No!" I said, a little too loudly.

"Oooh, a little testy, are we?" Kathryn dropped the panties on the floor, "looks like I've hit a nerve, haven't I?"

"No ... please ... no..." but my protestations were pretty unconvincing.

"It's okay, Paul, it really is. In fact, it's more than okay. Isn't it? Because now that you've been mind-raped, I know soooo much about you, don't I? I know all your innermost secrets and desires."

"Kathryn..." I pleaded.

"I think the question is, what am I going to do with this knowledge? Yes, that's the question, isn't it?" Kathryn fetched her glass from the top of the cabinet and downed the rest of her wine.

"Well, time for me to go. It's been fun."

And then she just walked out the door, leaving me sitting on the sofa, with my life turned inside out.

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