Your house is in total darkness. I stand and watch it for a minute, then realize that I might be attracting attention. I don’t want that. Not tonight. So I cross the street and walk up the stairs and onto the porch, trying to look nonchalant.

I test the handle on the front door. It isn’t locked, and it swings open. I step inside, closing the door behind me. To my right, a staircase leads up to the upper unit. To my left, there is another door. I put my hand on the knob and turn it carefully, willing the deadbolt to be unlocked. It is, and I take off my shoes, pick them up, put them in the bag I am carrying. I enter your apartment, and close the door behind me as silently as I can manage. I lock it, then take a step inside.

The apartment is dark, with the exception of a small amount of ambient city light coming in through the thin curtains that hang on the livingroom window. I can make out a few outlines of furniture in the livingroom, but that is all. Your bedroom is at the back of the house. The bedroom door is open, but it’s too dark inside it for me to see if you’re where I expect you to be.

I hear something, and freeze, my ears straining to listen. The sound comes again, a soft snore from the bedroom. I stay motionless for a minute. There are no other noises.

I decide to take a chance. Reaching inside my coat pocket, I find my phone, and turn on its flashlight. I shine it into the kitchen, and then slowly around the livingroom. Then I direct it through the open door of your bedroom, aiming for the floor first. Just inside the bedroom door, at the end of your bed, there is a pair of shoes, lying where you have kicked them off as you went to bed.

I shine the light slowly up towards the bed, half expecting to see you looking at back at me. But my fears are unnecessary. Your eyes are tightly closed in drunken slumber. You’re on your back, dressed up for a night out. You’re wearing a green dress, with a tight bodice and a flared satin skirt. The dress clings to your curves: lifting your ample breasts and squeezing them together, and emphasizing the muffin top above your waist. The skirt would have come almost to your knees, but it’s riding up a bit. You’re wearing thigh high black stockings, and above them, I can see just a bit of your black panties.

I set my phone down on the floor. It doesn’t give me much light to work with that way, but it’s better than nothing, and I will need both my hands. From my bag, I remove two short lengths of rope and a roll of duct tape. I set the rope on the bed, near your head, then, praying that the tape will not make noise, I slowly pull off a small strip off of the roll, using my teeth to rip it.

Holding the piece of tape in both my hands, I make my move. As quickly and smoothly as I can, I move onto your bed and straddle your stomach, my knees on either side of your sleeping form. Your eyes fly open, startled, when you feel the bed move. But before you can scream, I slap the duct tape over your mouth. I grab your wrists, looping a piece of rope around them several times before tying a knot. And as you really begin to struggle, I turn around, sitting on your thighs, and use a second piece of rope to tie your ankles together.

I stand up and turn on the lamp at the side of your bed. You blink in the light. I pick up my phone, turn off the torch, and take some pictures of you. You look so sexy lying there like that. Your eyes look like they are filled with fear and anger. I lean in close to your ear so I can whisper to you.

“So, my little slut, how are you feeling? I bet you’re wishing you’d locked your door when you came home. And had a bit less to drink tonight. I’ve been watching you all night. You had so much fun out drinking with your posse, didn’t you? All you girls all dressed up? Then you hit the dancefloor together, your little skirts flying around. You flashed your panties to the whole place, teasing all the guys. Then you all headed home, leaving everyone frustrated. Especially me. But I followed you. And now you’re mine. I can do anything I want to do to you. All night long. And you can’t do anything to stop me. Can you?”

I pull back so I can watch your face, then slide a hand down and caress your breast through the dress. Your eyes get wide. If you had any doubts about what I was going to do to you, they’re gone now. I squeeze your tit, hard, then squeeze the other one. Then I slide my hands over the curve of your stomach and down your legs to the hem of your dress, which I raise, slowly, until your crotch is completely exposed to both my gaze and my fingers. I run my hand over your mound, then get out my phone again.

“Smile!” I say, snapping a picture. “Oh, my bad. I forgot you can’t smile, because of the tape on your mouth. Oh well. Now, slut, I think you’re a little overdressed for what I have in mind. Let’s see what we can do to change that.”

I reach into my bag, then straddle you again, my ass resting on your pelvis. I’ve got you pinned to the bed, which is a good thing, because you start to struggle when you see the utility knife in my hand. I slide the blade out of the handle, and grab the fabric of your dress between your breasts, pinching it up so I can slit it with the knife blade pointed away from you. I’m cruel, yes, but I don’t want to cut you. I cut a half inch or so of the fabric, then put the knife down and tear the bodice of your dress open down to the seam at your waist. You’re braless under the dress, so your breasts sag to the sides once they’re free. I cut the straps at your shoulders, then play with your tits, squeezing them, pinching the nipples, enjoying making you squirm under me. You try to use your tied hands to block me, so I pull your arms up over your head, and tie the rope that binds them to the metalwork of the headboard.

Then I stand up, and lean over you, taking the hem of your dress in one hand and the knife in the other. I make a slit in the bottom, then grab the fabric and pull, ripping the dress open up to your waist. The material makes a wonderfully satisfying sound as it tears.