by Thinking Horndog

Copyright© 2015 by Thinking Horndog

Romantic Sex Story: Was he a stalker and a rapist and who knows what -- or was he something else?

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Coercion   Heterosexual   Fiction   First   Caution   .

He watched her as she shuffled slowly to the front door of her apartment block. She was maybe five feet five, brunette, slightly built. The nose was a little long, maybe, and a bit bulbous at the tip -- but not much, and it didn't detract from the frail beauty of her face. Her bust -- well, that was what had drawn his attention initially. It wasn't huge or anything, but it seemed substantial on her slight frame. That had been several weeks before, when she'd been out in a midriff top with a scoop neckline that displayed some cleavage. The legs were never seen directly, but they were thin -- he could tell from the fit of her jeans and the lumps of her knobby knees.

Today, she was pushing a wheeled walker along in front of her, having been to the grocery store, apparently. Sometimes, she went about on crutches, and sometimes in a powered wheelchair, but mostly it was the walker. He admired her spunk -- clearly, life was hard, but she kept going -- alone.

He had no idea what was up with her -- MS, maybe? She seemed fine above the waist -- even below that. The problem seemed to occur somewhere between her hips and her knees; he had high hopes that it was on the lower end and not the upper.

'Today's the day, ' he decided. Every day for a week had been 'the day' when he left his small place a couple of blocks over, but he'd chickened out regularly. This time, though, he was as ready as he was going to get. He stepped away from the telephone pole he'd been leaning against and shambled forward.

He was tall -- over six feet -- and narrow, with whipcord muscles over heavy, lumpy bones. He had his gifts -- he could run fast, for instance, something he might need on this day -- but he was homely, with a lumpy face pitted by acne scars. He shuffled forward, sticklike calves extending below his baggy shorts leading to a pair of large feet, his upper body masked by an oversized hoodie that hung off his thin frame.

The girl -- Jeannie was her name, he knew -- was trying to get through the outer door of the apartment building without upsetting her walker. He shuffled up and grabbed the door, dragging it open, muttering, "Here, let me help you get that," in a muffled voice.

She turned her head and murmured a quick, "Thanks," but didn't see his face, as he deliberately turned it away. Then she pushed on through the door, and he followed her, gaining entrance to the lobby.

He'd done this kind of thing several times over the past few weeks while he scoped the place, looking for surveillance cameras. There were none. This was the first time he'd done it with her, however, and it meant that he was committed to his course, now, and could not back out. He turned to the mailboxes and pretended to hunt for his key while she shuffled up the hallway; it wouldn't do to be following her, as slowly as she moved. He waited until she was almost to her apartment door before he began to move; she gave him plenty of time while she fumbled with her key, pushed the door open and heaved the walker forward over the threshold. He pulled the green facemask he'd purchased at the Army-Navy store down from where it had been perched atop his head under the hood of his hoodie and whipped through the door as she turned to close it, slamming it behind him, then stood there while she gaped at him in surprise.

"Wh-what do you want?" she quavered. "I don't have any money."

"Not here for that," he grunted, his voice guttural. "What happened to your legs?" 'Might as well find out if I'm wasting my time, ' he thought. He could always withdraw if the trip was a waste -- it wasn't as if she could chase him down.

"You could have just asked..." she muttered.

"I just did."

"I was in an automobile accident, several years ago," she related, sighing. This wasn't usually the first question someone asked; courtesy seemed to dictate that it be the third or fourth. "They were crushed. There was a lot of nerve damage, so I don't control them very well. Look, I've got maybe twenty bucks..." She started digging in her purse.

"Does your pussy work?" he blurted.

Jeannie froze, her hand on the Taser she'd been about to pull from her purse and fire. "What?"

"Is your pussy busted?" he asked, pedantically, "You know, your cunt. What do you call it?"

She blinked a couple of times. "Pussy will do, I guess. No, it's not busted. It still has the 'factory sealed for your protection' strip across it, actually. You're here to rape me?"

"Yeah." He wasn't proud of himself, and it showed in his voice. "Look, if you behave yourself, I'll try to go easy..."

Jeannie cocked her head. "You're kidding, right? Why me? I'm a cripple..."

"Well..." he muttered, "You're real cute, and you can't get away."

"Oooookaaaayy..." she replied, withdrawing her hand from her purse. "Thanks, I think. Now what?" 'I hope I live to regret this, ' she thought, 'Actually, I hope I live to NOT regret this!'

He'd rehearsed this in his head about ten thousand times -- and it had never gone like this. Feeling his way forward, he said, "Don't yell or scream or do anything that would make me have to hurt you, okay? I really don't want to do that." He tugged on the walker and she let go of the handle; it rolled away, isolating her.

"My balance isn't good," she warned.

"Just hold still." He came forward. "Don't start hitting or anything." He slid a pair of huge hands under the hem of her blouse and onto her bare back.

The natural thing to do seemed to be to wrap her arms around him and put her head on his chest. "Maybe we should date."

"Like THAT's gonna happen!" he grunted, rubbing her soft skin and thinking, 'Fuck! She feels SOOO good!'

Stung, she rasped, "Look, I know I'm a cripple, but..."

"You're not an ugly bastard like I am!" he cut her off. "One look, and..."

She froze. "It's not me?"

"Naw. You're hot -- or I wouldn't be here getting ready to go to jail for a couple of hundred years just to get a feel..."

She frowned, her expression hidden from him by their position. "It can't be that bad."

"It is."

"Were you in an accident, too?"

"I AM an accident! Let's not talk about it."

"I'm gonna have to sit down in a minute, or I'll fall down," she warned.

"I could pick you up, but..." She would have both hands free while he was encumbered -- not a smart thing, despite the way things were going.

"Help me to the couch."

He released her -- reluctantly, but her legs were shaking. He braced her forearm while she turned slowly and made her way to the couch. Instead of sitting on the seat, she settled on an arm.

"This is a little higher. What now, masked man?" she asked.

"Unbutton your blouse." His mouth supplied an answer while he was still thinking about it. "Why are you doing this?"

"What?" Jeannie blinked at her 'assailant.' "Isn't that MY question?"

"It is -- and you haven't asked it," he replied. "I spent weeks working myself up so I could come in here and do whatever was necessary to subdue you and keep you quiet -- and I haven't had to do anything! I'm confused. When are you going to shoot me or whatever? You're not screaming or fighting and you don't seem to be scared of me at all -- what am I missing?"

"Well, you haven't hurt me..."

"No, and I don't want to."

"I believe you."

"Why should you?"

"Because I'm not on the floor on my back with you holding your hand over my face while you tear my clothes off!" Jeannie replied.

"You know, that's how I figured this was going to go," he muttered. "I didn't like the idea, but..."

"Okay, so, I don't want you to hurt me, so I'm cooperating -- all right?"

"Yeah, okay..."

Jeannie cocked her head. "You seem disappointed."

"No, just confused. It's STILL rape..."

"Okay. Is it important that it be rape? Are you mad at women? Are you here to take it out on me?"

"No! Jeez, you make my head hurt!" he complained, "It isn't women's fault that I'm ugly. I wouldn't be here if one had ever taken an interest in me, but I can't BLAME them. It's about sex, okay? I gotta have it."

Jeannie eyed him. "Do you do without a lot?"

"Forever." After a moment, he whined crankily, "Are you gonna take that top off?"

"Oh! Sure!" Jeannie resumed unbuttoning her blouse, shucked out of it, and said, matter-of-factly, "I imagine you'd like the bra gone, too."

"Well, yeah..."

"No problem." She reached back and popped the clasps and shrugged the bra off, draping it over her blouse on the couch back. "This is my better half, I guess." She arched her back and turned a bit in profile.

"Oh?" He struggled to remain calm. 'God! They're BEAUTIFUL!'

"Yeah, well, my legs got pretty bashed up..."

"Well, those jeans are gonna have to come off..."

"Yeah." For the first time, Jeannie looked seriously unhappy.

"Is that why you never wear shorts?" he asked.

"Yes." She cocked her head, eyeing him. "How long have you... ? Do I know you?"

"No, we've never met." 'Shit! Shit! Shit!'

"You've been around..."

"This isn't a good place to go!" he admonished.

"Oh! Yeah, I guess not." She eyed him sidelong. "Are you gonna touch them?"

"Oh, yeah!" He reached in and cradled the soft cone of her left breast.

"A REAL rapist would have been all over them by now!"

"Is it important to you that I be a REAL rapist?" he snapped.

"Actually, it's important to me that you should NOT be!" Jeannie admitted, "I want this to go well. It has thus far..."

"Let's not ask a lot of questions and make comparisons with REAL rapists, then, okay?" he replied, his tone a little waspish.

"Good idea."

He stepped up behind her as she was turned in profile, and she dragged her legs onto the couch while he enveloped her breasts in both hands. "I wish I could suck these," he sighed, gently milking her nipples.

"I'm not stopping you..." she murmured. She was getting wet -- his fingers felt WONDERFUL!

"The mask is," he replied. "If I took it off, I'd go to jail for sure, some time after you stopped retching."

"I really can't believe it's that bad..." she gasped.

It really wasn't -- it just wasn't good, and that was all it took to put him out of the running in a contest where appearances were virtually everything. He was as handicapped as she was, without any actual serious injury ever having occurred to him. "It doesn't matter," he replied, shrugging, "as long as you never see it."

"Then why don't you blindfold me?" she asked suddenly.

"I would have to tie your hands to keep you from removing the blindfold," he noted.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed. "Too bad I can't just promise."

"Yeah, too bad..." he agreed distantly. "Look, if you fuck this up, well, it isn't much of a leap from rapist to murderer, you know? If you're dead, I might get away."

"Yeah, I get it," she gusted, covering his hands with hers and urging him with them to gently squeeze her breasts. "I have to tell you that this is kind of, well, exciting, you know?"

"It is?" he asked, taken aback.

"Yeah, it's kind of like being sucked into a bank robbery. It's a real rush..." She thought a moment. "Would a sash work? It would be wide. You could wrap it a couple of times..."

"Maybe, if it's thick enough..."

"Help me down. We'll go into my bedroom and get it. Besides, that's where the bed is." Willy-nilly, he found himself bracing her against his hip as they slowly crossed the room and entered the short hallway that led to the bathroom and her bedroom.

"We're both nuts," he decided.

"Probably. Help me get to the closet." He helped her hobble to the sliding doors and open one. Pointing, she said, "That dress, there. See the sash?"

"Yes." He released her, knowing she was going nowhere fast, and pulled the sash through the loops at the waist of the dress. It was black and plenty wide... "Yeah, okay, this looks good."

"Back to the bed, then. Once we're there, I won't need to go anywhere else, once I'm blind."

"Right." 'When did she start running things?' She was right, though ... She stood beside the bed while he passed the sash around her head twice and tied it off. "How's that?"

"It would take time to get off, I think," Jeannie replied, "You probably don't HAVE to tie my hands."

"Okay, then, for now. Time for the jeans," he announced.

"Good. I won't have to see the look on your face when you see my legs." She stood still while he unsnapped her jeans and peeled them down. Her thighs were a mess, all right -- scars going every which way, it seemed like.

"Did they put in rods or something?" he asked, tracing a couple of longitudinal scars.

"Yes. The bones were pretty much destroyed in places. Things are only going to get worse, too. I'll be in a wheelchair when the arthritis gets going."

"I'm sorry."

"Everybody is. It doesn't help. I can't even yell at the guy who caused it -- he's dead." She started pushing her panties down over her hips. "I don't want to talk about it. Let's get on to the other thing. It's at least fun, I'm told."

"Let me finish with the jeans." He sat her down and pulled the jeans off, and then worked her panties down her legs, exposing a pretty little furry pussy. "Boy, THAT looks nice!"

"My pussy?"



"Lay back," he directed.

"You promised to suck my nipples!"

"I'll get there." He helped her get her feet on the mattress, her legs spread, then gingerly removed his mask and leaned forward. "Smells wonderful!" he exclaimed, sniffing the odor of her arousal.

"EWWWW!" she swung at him blindly, forgetting herself -- and connected. "You don't want to stick your nose in THAT!"

He grabbed her wrists, mildly irritated. "You don't want to go hitting me!"

"Oops! Sorry!"

"You don't know WHAT I want to do!" he insisted. Continuing to hold her wrists, he lowered his face to her crotch and sucked on her clitoral hood.

"EEEEEEEEEE!!! OMIGOD!" Jeannie did her best to thrash on the bed! "OMIGOD!" His tongue snaked out and rang her little bell, working it like a speed bag! "AH! AH! HUH! NO! NO! OGOD! YES! YES! AAAAAUUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH!!!!" She exploded in orgasm, fluids gushing from her suddenly swollen pussy in under fifteen seconds! Suddenly superhuman, she wrenched her hands free, only to grab his head and flip back his hood so she could finger his hair and ears as he sucked and nibbled. Her second orgasm came hard on the heels of the first; at the end, she gently pushed him back and said, "Get undressed. I want it! I want to suck it and I want it in me!"

"Who's in charge here?" he erupted.

"Oh, you are!" Jeannie declared, "but this isn't rape! I want it as bad as you do! Hurry! Get naked and climb up here and suck my titties and FUCK me, for God's sake!"

"Okay!" Carried away, he struggled out of his clothing, getting in his own way in his haste. Naked, he crawled atop her; her hands reveled at the feel of his lean musculature.

"You feel so good!" she gasped. "Come on! Let's do it! I'll never be more ready!"

He settled himself between her scarred thighs and his cock was nosing at her opening, when sanity returned. "Shit! Wait a second -- I have to put on a rubber!"

"Nooooo!" She hauled at him, trying to get him to penetrate her, but he broke free.

"Just a second, for Christ's sake!" he barked.

"I don't WANT a rubber!" Jeannie howled. "Not the first time! Please!"

"Ever hear of DNA? I don't want to go to jail!" he ranted.

"For what?" Jean howled.

"Rape, remember?"

"You silly bastard! I'm not calling the cops! We're two of a kind! I'm a virgin! Do you know why? Because NOBODY FUCKS A CRIPPLE!" Jeannie started bawling hysterically.

"Hey, hey! Settle down!" He leaned in and pulled her against him and she clung to him, crying bitterly. It took him nearly ten minutes to damp down her hysteria, murmuring to her and kissing her neck and ears while he cuddled her to him. Finally, it appeared that she'd cried herself out. "Better?" he asked.

"I'm probably a mess," she croaked, "and you're wet from my tears and probably covered in snot. Sorry!"

"I'll live," he chuckled.

She collected his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. By mutual agreement, their lips opened and their tongues came out to play and they embarked upon a new phase in their strange relationship. They were lovers -- or they stood on the brink, at least.

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