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CougarGirl
Star
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2013
Ruth woke, struggling to breathe. As her senses focused, she found the cause: a hand clamped over her face. She flicked her eyes to her left. The clock said it was 3.09 am. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw a man bending over her, dressed in black, his features flattened by a stocking pulled over his head.
‘Numb… - bit... – num…’
His voice, disguised and muffled by his mask, was so indistinct that Ruth could not hear what he was saying.
She struggled to speak, but couldn’t. The man released his grip slightly. She opened her mouth to scream and he slapped her, hard, with the palm of his gloved hand, sharp across her face.
While she lay stunned, he rolled tape around her wrists and fastened them to the headboard.
His hand clamped over her mouth again, as he pressed his mouth to her ear. His voice was still disguised, but clearer now.
‘Number – of – the safe.’
She shook her head, but he tightened his grip, making it difficult for her to breathe.
He released his grip slightly, just enough to let her get some air while he repeated his demand for the number of their safe.
‘47-28-32’ she gasped.
The man tore a strip off the tape and gagged her. He bent close to her ear again.
‘Better be truth – bitch.’
As he spoke his hands, free now from restraining and silencing her, pulled at her breasts, roughly.
A few minutes later he was back. Another blow across her face. Backhanded this time, and harder, much harder.
His gloved hand moved down to her crotch, pushing between her thighs, scratching at her delicate flesh. The other hand fumbled with his own clothing. His knees forced her legs apart. She shook her head vigorously from side to side to indicate that she did not consent, but he ignored her. She rocked and rolled to stop him entering her, but he forced his way in.
He rammed himself home, his voice in her ear emphasising each thrust.
‘Tell – me – the – number - you - fucking - bitch - the - right - number - this - time.’
She continued shaking her head. Was she denying knowing the number or refusing to accept what he was doing to her?
His hands tore at her breasts, but still she shook her head.
Then he rose up on his knees, his cock still pegging her, and raised a clenched fist. Her eyes widened and she tried to speak. He relented and eased the tape off her mouth, just enough for her to mumble the combination.
‘96-60-15’
He rose and left her. A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam.
She twisted and turned, wrenching her hands free from the tape that held them. Freed of her bonds, she ripped the final piece of tape off her mouth. She gave her thighs a quick wipe with a tissue and rushed down the stairs calling to her husband.
‘David, where are you? That was wonderful, the best one yet, better even than the time I pretended to be-‘
Her words choked in her throat as she pushed open the living room door. Her husband lay trussed on the floor, bleeding from a wound on his temple. Behind him, the door of the safe swung open, the couple’s papers strewn over the floor, their valuables gone.
‘Numb… - bit... – num…’
His voice, disguised and muffled by his mask, was so indistinct that Ruth could not hear what he was saying.
She struggled to speak, but couldn’t. The man released his grip slightly. She opened her mouth to scream and he slapped her, hard, with the palm of his gloved hand, sharp across her face.
While she lay stunned, he rolled tape around her wrists and fastened them to the headboard.
His hand clamped over her mouth again, as he pressed his mouth to her ear. His voice was still disguised, but clearer now.
‘Number – of – the safe.’
She shook her head, but he tightened his grip, making it difficult for her to breathe.
He released his grip slightly, just enough to let her get some air while he repeated his demand for the number of their safe.
‘47-28-32’ she gasped.
The man tore a strip off the tape and gagged her. He bent close to her ear again.
‘Better be truth – bitch.’
As he spoke his hands, free now from restraining and silencing her, pulled at her breasts, roughly.
A few minutes later he was back. Another blow across her face. Backhanded this time, and harder, much harder.
His gloved hand moved down to her crotch, pushing between her thighs, scratching at her delicate flesh. The other hand fumbled with his own clothing. His knees forced her legs apart. She shook her head vigorously from side to side to indicate that she did not consent, but he ignored her. She rocked and rolled to stop him entering her, but he forced his way in.
He rammed himself home, his voice in her ear emphasising each thrust.
‘Tell – me – the – number - you - fucking - bitch - the - right - number - this - time.’
She continued shaking her head. Was she denying knowing the number or refusing to accept what he was doing to her?
His hands tore at her breasts, but still she shook her head.
Then he rose up on his knees, his cock still pegging her, and raised a clenched fist. Her eyes widened and she tried to speak. He relented and eased the tape off her mouth, just enough for her to mumble the combination.
‘96-60-15’
He rose and left her. A few minutes later, she heard the front door slam.
She twisted and turned, wrenching her hands free from the tape that held them. Freed of her bonds, she ripped the final piece of tape off her mouth. She gave her thighs a quick wipe with a tissue and rushed down the stairs calling to her husband.
‘David, where are you? That was wonderful, the best one yet, better even than the time I pretended to be-‘
Her words choked in her throat as she pushed open the living room door. Her husband lay trussed on the floor, bleeding from a wound on his temple. Behind him, the door of the safe swung open, the couple’s papers strewn over the floor, their valuables gone.