Nightmare After the Opera

by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

Copyright© 2014 by Millie 90 lbs of Dynamite

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.

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

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.

His dark fat lips moved toward me as his thick bright pink tongue shot in and out of his mouth. His abhorrent meaty lips pressed to mine as his massive long tongue darted inside my mouth. I felt the side of the gun against the back of my head as he pushed against me. I could feel his big cock through his pants, it ran down one leg. Twitching and jerking it wanted to be free. I have no idea how big it was. The monster shaft hung at least half way to his knee. My heart beat so hard I was afraid I would have a heart attack. My shoulders heaved and my body shook as he French kissed my mouth. My tears flooded across my face and I could feel the makeup running.

The hand holding my head, the one with the gun, moved. He put it behind his back but with his mighty right arm he still pinned me to him. His hand clutched my wrist my shoulder and arm felt like they were going tear apart. His lips moved from mine and spit leaked from his mouth into my cleavage. Then he spat on my face, "Just wear it, you bitch," he hissed at me. He ripped the diamond neckless from my neck the silver chain stung me as the clasp broke. Roughly he pushed me past the elevators. He forced me to go quickly, almost running as we moved around to the back side of the elevator corridor. We moved so fast I kept tripping nearly falling. He would yank me back up and then force my arm back up my back.

There was a room behind the elevators about 15 feet by 20 feet. This is just a guess but it wasn't bigger than that, perhaps even a bit more cramped. There was a nasty mattress on the floor near the door and boxes cluttered around the edges of the room. In the center of the room was an iron or metal beam painted bright red. My husband's back was to the beam and his arms folded around behind him. I assumed he was restrained there. In his mouth was an enormous ball held in place by a leather strap.

Thick nasty rivers of spit ran from his mouth while the gag forced his face into a bizarre contortion. He was awake now – eyes wide a look of fear about him. The white kid kept grabbing his thinning brown hair and yanked his hair hissing at him, "Watch you old fuck!"

The youth who had forced me into the room pressed my hand up higher on my back. My mind swam with a wild fear. I heard the white guy cackle into my husband's ear, "Okay man, now you're going to get to watch my buddy fuck up your old whore!"

"Slow down Joey. We got a lady here," he raised his hand and a blade shut out of the handle he held. It was some kind of knife. "Let's see what this bitch really looks like." Letting go of my arm he grabbed my dress just below where the slit began and pulled it outward. The cold blade laid against the hot skin of my thigh and he rolled it over so the blade point away from my flesh. Then he tugged upward the blade cut through the material as if it was butter. He held the knife right next to my eye. With a snap, it disappeared. He gripped each side of the split and yanked. The material ripped all the way up. When he let it go my beautiful $1400 dress hung on me like a rag hanging from my neck.

Clutching the material just beneath my breast, he yanked down hard. My head dipped down a little as the cloth resisted, then the fabric behind my neck gave way. I stood there in high heels, silk stockings, a garter belt, and French panties. I covered my bare breast clasping my hands together like I was praying, covering myself with my arms. I heard the spring again and felt the cold steel at my pubic mound. He seemed to just lightly pull and I listened to sheer lace of my panties splitting as the sharp blade tore through them. My nipples were stiff and poking into my biceps. I couldn't believe how wet I was getting. I was ashamed of my body chills ran over me like I was hopped up on some drug. I wanted it to be over, just finished and at the same time couldn't wait for what was to come.

It all proved too much for me to handle – the fear, the strange exhilaration, and a feeling I hadn't allowed myself to have for twenty-five years all hit me like icicles falling from a roof. I cried embarrassed as the tension took its toll and a thick stream of urine hit the rough concrete floor as I lost control of my bladder. Piss splashed from the floor and I felt it soaking into spots on my silk stockings and saw the little drops on my powder blue high heeled shoes.

My heart ached hard in my chest each beat threatened to make it explode. I started begging him, "Please, don't hurt me." He laughed a maniacal laugh. My body ached with fear, but something else was happening as well. Something I didn't want anyone to know. The two men laughed the one next to me grabbed my right breast and squeezed it mercilessly and made it flop around.

"You got big ole fat sagged down tits don't you, you snotty, stuck up, old hag!" Putting his arm around my shoulder as he mangle my breast he whispered to me. "You're one fine looking rich slut." Letting go of my breast his hand moved down the flat of my tummy and slid over the garter. Fingers gathered around the shredded panties without effort he tugged and the material tore away. "How old are you momma? Forty-five maybe fifty years-old?"

"I'm sixty-one," my voice just above a whisper. He put his hand to his ear.

"I didn't hear that right now did I, bitch sixty-one?" His big brown eyes had odd flakes of yellow in them the whites were pinkish and his breath stunk of beer.

"Yes, I'm sixty-one," hanging my head my long dark hair fell over my face covering my eye, I felt so exposed.

"Sixty-one years old fuck you're one beautifully preserved mummy," He grabbed me at my pubic bone and wrapped his hand over snatch and clamped down hard. Squeezing so roughly, I thought he was going to rip it off. "This old whore is stylish, she is shaved Joey smooth like a fucking teeny girl. You think you're a teeny girl skag?" I shook my head.

"Please you're hurting me," a tear ran down my face again. He laughed squeezed even harder for a moment then let go and shoved his finger up inside of me. Then brought his hand to my face.

"Lots of cunt juice, lick that shit off me now!" I licked it obediently following his instruction. He turned and looked at me as he shoved his big hand into my mouth, "Cunt's wet as a river – so you two fuck like rabbits right." My husband shook his head there were tears running from his eyes. Pulling his hand out of my mouth he wiped it dry on my belly.

"I haven't had an interest in a long time."

"What you are really saying is you have no interest in your old man – you haven't had an interest in his prick for a long time. You fuck the gardener, the backer and the candlestick maker though," I shook my head.

"I don't like sex it is nasty and disgusting," I hadn't realized how snobby that sounded till I heard me saying to man that had just made me clean my own pussy juice from his fingers.

"Fucking lying tease!" He jabbed three fingers up me and pumped furiously tried to put hands down there to stop him. He clamped down on my breast just under the nipple and thought my tit was going to tear. A hard wave of pleasure rushed through my loins – I shuddered as my head lay back and gasped hard for air moaning. Even the pain drove the desire I had suppressed for over two decades. Globs of fluid rushed over his hand!

Throwing my head back I gasped aloud in throws of a massive climax. The pent up tension of what was happening, and probably the pent up tension of twenty-five years – exploded in a mind shattering orgasm. His massive hand mangling my tits, his big fat fingers shoving in and out while his big thumb worked my clit, all worked together with my emotions to drive me over the precipice. Cold shivers ran over me and heat boiled my blood at the same precise moment. I was a living contradiction. My mind tried to put logic in play while my feelings told me – fuck your logic!

As quickly as it started it was over. He released my breast and moved his hand away. Collapsing the hard concrete bruised my knees. Reaching down he caressed my breast. While the big black man did so roughly it wasn't – entirely – unpleasant. My own cum leaked from me running down the inside of my thighs over my stockings. Falling against his leg, hot currents of electricity rippled through my body, my mouth hung open, as I moaned and groaned softly. I wrapped my arms around his big legs my face right next to his massive cock. Holding on shame filled me as the wave of pleasure lessened and I struggled trying to get control of myself. I shut my eyes tight – then I opened them and looked shamefully at Robert. How could I have allowed that to happen in front of him?

"Now watch this real close, fucker. Your wife is going to become a little cum bucket, I think she is going to like this!" I saw Robert watching me a hard look in his eyes. I knew he could see the wanton look of lust in my eye. He was fighting the restraints trying to free himself – my husband couldn't do anything, but watch. I heard a belt buckle as it dangled tinkling while the noise of his zipper signaled it was being pulled down. I trembled with both fear and anticipation – I tried to push myself away, but I felt a pressure on my hair holding me in position.

"What the fuck is his name bitch," he yanked my head upward to look at him.

"His name is Robert," my eyes were begging him not to do this in front of him. "Can you please do this where he can't see it?"

"I could – but I won't – you hear me Bob..."

"Don't call him Bob, please it means Rabbit Turd in Czech's – that's my native language ... I beg you don't call him that." He violently shook my head by the hair and jeered at me.

"You ain't in Chechnya you cunt and you ain't fucking in charge – bitch – I am. Hey, turd watch this you fucking old piece of rabbit shit!" Reaching for his open pants he slowly worked out his prick. It was thicker than my wrist or even my forearm. It had to be more than eleven inches long – it dipped down and bobbed up beside me, it looked angry. The head was bigger than a ripe crabapple. It was not exactly hard it was stiff but still not as hard as one would expect.

He turned toward me while taking hold of his cock around its base. He could barely get his massive hands around it. He flung it left and right striking my face on each side roughly with the the glans – I mean cock head. Each time he slapped my face the stalk grew a little harder, longer, biger around.

"Okay, you skanky whore, I want you to hold my dick in your hands. I want you to lick it all over so your old man can see you. I want him to watch you suck on my balls!" Looking at Robert he grinned wickedly "You watch this rabbit turd, you hear me?" As I kneeled there his meaty shaft looking like a tree limb staring me in the the face, I felt a rush of anticipation running from tits down to pussy with a sensation of electricity shimmering through my legs. A lustful fire I hadn't felt, or wanted to feel, for so many years burned inside me and wetness flowed seeping out of my pussy. At first I just looked at it shooting glances over to Robert I hoped I was hiding the fact I was turned on. The look on his face told me I wasn't.

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