The staircase of the apartment building is always dark, always with burnt bulbs. I can’t wait to finish college and be out of there. It’s already past midnight, and only the light of the moon and the street is lighting my way up the stairs, passing through the small windows between every floor.
My knees hurt as I’ve spent the whole day on my short black heels, but thankfully my jacket is enough to shield me from the chill in the old building, as I’m wearing just a black dress underneath it. Classic saleswoman outfit. I can’t wait to be at my bed.
As I pass the 5th floor, I hear the door to the 6th one open. Who could be awake at this hour and walking around? As soon as I reach the middle landing, I find it out quickly.
A strong, tall figure, dressed in black, grabs my throat and mouth. My eyes open wide and I try to cry out, but it is in vain. I let go of my purse, and I want to run, but instead I’m frozen in terror.
The man shoves me backwards hard, slamming me against the wall, next to that small window. My trembling hands try pushing back, but to no effect. He leans close to my ear and whispers, “Don’t shout, don’t run, don’t do anything, or you’re dead. You understand?”
I’m panicking. I start hitting him with palms frantically, try to knee or kick him, as my eyes struggle to make out any details in the scarce light. But one sound makes me stop: a pocket knife opening and held against my right cheek. “Remember what I told you”, the man says. My arms drop to my sides and hug the wall, and I feel tears forming in my eyes. This isn’t happening.
He takes his hand away from my mouth, and I think I’m muttering “Please…”, but I’m not sure. I can make out his eyes, looking at what I guess is my smudged lipstick. He leans in slowly, puts his lips on mine and kisses me intensely, with me unable to move or react. *This isn’t happening.*
I feel his lust for my body, his passion and fury, as he continues running his mouth on my face and neck. “Please let me go”, I beg, tears running down my cheeks now. But it had the opposite effect. He grabs my hair and turns me around roughly, shoving my face on the concrete wall. As he pushes his body against me and gropes my breasts and thighs, I feel his hard penis against my ass, bulging and raging.
I start sobbing, and he slaps my ass so hard that it stings. “I told you to shut the fuck up”, he growls. Still holding my head against the wall, he takes my jacket off and throws it on the ground. I thrust myself away from the concrete, but he still has a handful of my hair on his hand, and as I try to make a run for it, I stumble on my left heel and fall down, hitting the floor hard.
My knee hurts like hell, and I start crying loudly. The rapist grunts, kneels down to me and lifts my head by my hair. “I told you to be good, and you didn’t listen”. Then, he straddles me and starts fiddling with my dress’ zipper, while still keeping my mouth shut with his hand. I try to take it away, as my sobs cut my breath, but he’s too strong. After some seconds, he gets too angry with the zipper. One yank, two, three, and the dress is torn at its seams. All the hair in my body stands up as the cold wraps my exposed skin.
Another yank, and my panties are off. I feel so terrified and disgusted, so exposed, that I can’t react any more. I don’t even react when he takes the thong he just removed and forcefully shoves it deep inside my mouth, keeping me from shouting. I can taste the metallic taste of my pussy as I hear his trouser zipper opening. *Is he spitting? What the hell?!*
Before I can think about the warm spit dripping down my ass crack, I feel his cock, hard as a rock, at the opening of my ass. When I understand, it’s too late; I start kicking on the floor and on his back, try to move, but he’s too heavy and strong. With a horrific sound, his cock tears its way into my tight, burning hole, making me hurt more than I thought possible.
For the first couple of minutes, I can’t really shout, or cry, or move, as pain has paralysed me. Then he pulls out and forces himself inside me again, provoking a blood-curling scream from me, muffled by my moist panties closing my throat and choking me. I cry like crazy, with open eyes, focusing from the flickering EXIT light on the door of the floor below to my red nails glistering on the moonlight.
He’s whispering in my ear, about what a fuckmeat I am, a body just used for enjoyment. I felt him taking off my bra, grabbing my breasts and pinching my nipple, while the other one was burning, rubbing against the coarse carpet by his thrusts. I think I went in and out for consciousness for a couple of minutes, as it was feeling like hours.
I’ve stopped screaming, my lungs can’t handle it any more. I feel him going at it harder, faster, tearing my guts and asshole as he goes. Then his breathing grows heavier. He takes his hand away from my mouth and shoves my whole face on the carpet instead, scraping my left cheek on it, and with the other hand holds my body down. His thrusts grow more frequent, and then, suddenly, he enters me as deep as possible.
I can only barely feel his cock twitch in my hole, but I can tell from his grunts that he’s cumming. He stands up and pulls out quickly, and I feel one streak of cum soiling my back, and then two more full loads on my face and hair, ruining what’s left from my already messed makeup.
My eyelids are heavy; I’m exhausted and hurting like never before, as I’m left limp on the floor. I can tell he’s pulling my dress from underneath me and then he stands above me, but I can’t tell what he’s doing.
“Goodbye, cunt”, he says, growling once more.
A kick by his booted foot lands on my torso hard, launching me down the flight of stairs. It all seems like a blur, until I hit the landing. My lights go out.
When I wake up again, the only pain more intense than my head is my ass. My face is still on the stair landing, and my body is on the steps themselves. I cough, then reach out and remove the panties from my mouth. I can tell my face is still smudged with cum, although I believe I’ve been out for a couple hours. I try standing up; my nipples hurt, my ass feels torn and open, and my mouth is dry. The stairwell is still dark. I pick up my purse, and find my phone still inside. Some messages; they can wait. I switch the light on to search for my clothes.
*Oh my god.* There are stains of blood on the carpet where my ass was resting as I was unconscious, and as I walk up the stairs, there’s a huge stain where he… Where I… I look down my legs, and I see a bit of blood still dripping. On the big stains and down my leg I can also see a darker substance. I don’t even want to think what that is. Something else draws my attention.
I just realised that I’m wearing no heels. I also can’t see them anywhere and neither can I see my dress. What the fuck.
I try composing myself, realising I have to walk to my apartment like this. At least it’s still night, and my jacket is here. I gather my things and walk the final two flights up to my floor. Maybe after a shower and sleep, it will be alright. It will be alright.
Why I do not call the police, or an ambulance, I have no idea. Is it the victimisation at play? Am I ashamed deep down, not wanting to expose myself any more than what I already am, as every step on the dirty carpet reminds me my feet are bare? Who knows; who cares. Unlocking the door, nothing seems to matter too much, the only thing on my mind is the zipper of an inside breast pocket of my jacket, that’s now rubbing against my sensitive nipple.
Inside my apartment, the moon is illuminating the narrow corridor through the living room drapes. I don’t feel like taking my jacket off until I’m ready to step in the shower; maybe even in the shower itself.
Blood in the shower is actually much lighter than what Psycho would have you guess. Also sitting on the floor and bawling for an hour under hot water can take your mind off anything. Believe me, I know it first hand.
But other than that, there are more things I have found out first hand. Like that showers are loud, really loud. That the wet towel you wear around you makes a hollow sound when dropped to the floor. That walking into your bedroom and seeing the shoes and dress you wore last night can be terrifying if you didn’t expect them there.
And most of all, that hearing “Welcome home” whispered from behind you isn’t always that welcoming.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/al2acb/coming_home_fmnonconviolenceoutfitfirstperson
Jesus this is really good!!!