Answered Prayer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you get to my age, it’s often a struggle to believe someone may still find you attractive, despite the efforts you make to try and find someone to be your special one.  Now, I know a lady should never discuss her age, but as I guess it’s important I’ll tell you – I’m sixty, but I look younger.  I was married for twenty five years, but my husband died of a heart attack, and – well, it took me a long time to get over it.

 

He left me reasonably well off, however, so I have a house I like and a good income, both from the estate and from my work.  The loneliness, however, just seemed to have got worse over the last year or so, so I started to go to some of those singles nights you see advertised on the television.

 

Which is where I had been on this particular night – I had gone to the hairdressers earlier that day, and had my hair cut, and then dyed a deep cooper red shade.  For the event, I had decided to dress up a little – I can carry off the look with my body – so I wore a black bustier dress, made of lycra and cotton so that it hugged my curves from my chest to my thighs, black stockings and a pair of over the knee black leather boots with a white stiletto heel.  Over the dress, I put on a sheer long sleeved blouse, black with white polka dots.  I also put on my rings, silver bracelets, and a crucifix that sat on my chest.

 

The event itself took place at a local nightclub, and I got there in good time, met a few people, had a few drinks – but I have to admit, there was nobody there that really interested me, that I wanted to get to know better.  So, while a pleasant way to pass a few hours, I made my way home alone, and wondering how I was going to meet Mister Right.

 

Opening my front door, I came in, closed the door behind myself, and put my keys into the bowl.  My intention was to have a drink, go to bed – but I had a very different night in front of me.

 

The first hint of that was when a leather gloved hand was clamped over my mouth, making me gasp as I said “Whhrtthhllll”  I heard a quiet male voice behind me say “do not say a word, dear lady, not a word, so long as you do what I say, I promise you that you will not be hurt.  Nod if you understand.”

 

Well, what choice did I have?  I nodded slowly as he said “very good.  When I take my hand away, you will open your mouth.”  I nodded again, and as he took his hand away I opened my mouth – and then felt the rolled up cloth as he pushed it in there, filling my mouth, pressing my tongue down and stopping me from talking.  It very nearly stopped me from breathing as well, as I managed to control myself.

 

“Very good,” the voice said, “now very slowly, put your hands behind your back.”  I nodded as I did what he had asked, then felt cold metal as a pair of handcuffs was snapped onto my wrists, holding them firmly together.  I was then held by the shoulders, and guided into the front room of my house.  The curtains were drawn over the windows, and as he turned round I saw him.  He was wearing an open collared shirt and grey pants, as well as latex gloves – and a stocking over his head, blurring his features.

 

“Do as I tell you, and you won’t get hurt,” he said quietly, “now, kneel down, and stay still.”  As I did so, I saw him take out of a large canvas bag another set of handcuffs, which he held as he walked behind me.  I felt the metal as my ankles were secured together, and then he sat down and looked at me.

 

“I want you to stay here,” he said quietly as I noticed my telephone sitting on the seat of one of my chairs, very forcibly disconnected, “while I see what you have to steal.  If you move, I will know, and you will regret it.  Do not spit that cloth out, or you will regret it.  Nod if you understand.”

 

Well, I was too scared to do anything other than nod, as he stood up and walked out of the room.  The metal was rubbing against my wrists, but I really was too scared to do more than stare at the walls, hoping he would finish soon. 

 

An hour passed, before he came back down, holding a bag which I could tell had all my valuables in there.  He placed that on a seat, and then looked at me, as he sat down.  “Thank you for not moving,” he said quietly, “I think you deserve a reward for what you did.”

 

“Pllssjjstsgg,” I said, but instead he knelt down in front of me. 

 

“Oh no,” he said quietly, “I think you deserve so much more than me just leaving you.  I think you deserve my very special attention.”

 

“Whtdummnnnn...”  I was genuinely taken by surprise, as he suddenly grabbed my chest with his gloved hands, and started to press hard on them, kneading with his fingers.  I had no way of escaping the groping, even as I felt my breasts start to firm up as I tried to back away.

 

“Do you not enjoy this?”  I shook my head, then watched as he went to the bag – and drew out a very large, and very real hunting knife.  “I think you will enjoy this,” he said quietly as he walked over to me, the knife gleaming in the light, and then pulled the wet cloth out of my mouth.

 

“What do you mean...”  I watched as he slowly unfastened his pants, and let them drop to the floor, as I stared at the engorged organ that was in front of my eyes.  “Oh on,” I said quietly, “you cannot...”

 

“I can,” he said quietly as he grabbed my hair with one hand, and held the knife to the side of my neck with the other, “and you will.  And you will make a good job of it, or I promise you, you will regret it.”

 

“No – please I...”

 

“Kiss it.”

 

I felt the knife as it was pressed gently to my neck, and nodded slowly, leaning forward and kissing his cock with my lips.  It tasted slightly salty and musty, but I knew he wanted me to keep going, so I moved my lips up and down his cock, hearing him groan slightly as I do so.

 

“Good, good – now keep going.”  I nodded as I moved my head up and down, and then felt it get firmer and raise slightly.  As it did that, my lips touched the tip of his cock, and he said “you know what to do now – take it.”

 

“Please...”

 

“Do it,” he whispered as I felt the knife again, and I opened my mouth slightly, kissing the top and then pulling it back.  I looked into his covered eyes and saw nothing but anger, so I opened my lips more and placed it over his cock, before pulling back again, my lips popping as I did so.

 

“Keep going.”

 

Nodding, I took him in more fully, and started to use my tongue on him, too afraid of what he might do to me not to do this.  I also started to use my tongue on his cock, sucking gently as I tried to remember how I used to do this for my husband.  The memory came back, however, as I felt his cock growing in response, pressing my tongue down even as I moved it over, and I could feel the throbbing as it started.

 

“that’s right,” I heard him say as he held my head in both hands, not allowing me to move back as I was forced to continue to suck him, the cock getting larger as it filled my mouth, the throbbing intensifying as it did so.  I heard him groaning as he pushed forward, the tip now touching the back of my throat as he grew larger and larger, the throbbing getting so intense it was a constant pulse, almost as if something was building...

 

And it was, as without warning he came in my mouth, the hot fluid flowing down the back of my throat, my lips forming a seal around the base of his cock as I was forced to swallow every salty, hot drop of his cum.  I tried to ignore the taste – and the strange warmth on myself as I did so.  Eventually, he let go of my head, and I coughed and spluttered as a small trial escaped from the side of my mouth.

 

“There – wasn’t that a nice reward,” he said as he wiped my chin with the cloth, and then pushed the cloth back in, before he took from the bag a wide roll of white tape.  I watched as he tore a long strip off, and then pressed it firmly over my mouth, keeping the cloth inside as I looked at him.

 

“Plssslfmlnnnn...”

 

“Hush,” he said as he walked behind me, “hush – the night is young, and we have so much more to do.”  I wondered what he meant by that, and then grunted as his hands reached round, and started to massage my chest as firmly as he had done before.  This time, however, it felt different, as I struggled to cope with the cloth and the after taste in my mouth.  It felt as if my body was responding in a very different way than before, a way I had not felt for years.  I groaned as my breasts grew firmer, and his fingers and hands continued to knead them.

 

“Whruddnnnn...”

 

“Shhh,” he said as he stopped, and then pulled my jacket down my arms, the cool air on my upper chest making me shiver.  That was not the only thing that made me shiver, however, as he stood up and walked to the bag, taking out several coils of rope.  He knelt behind me again, and then I felt the rope as it passed round my arms, pulling them together at my elbows so that they touched.  That pulled my shoulders back, and then forced my chest out, as I looked down.  I felt him wind the rope around and between my arms, locking my elbows together, and then his hand as they caressed my chest, squeezing firmly once more. 

 

This time, I felt something else, little electric shocks running up and down my body as he groped me, and I could not stop myself from shaking under his grip.  “Plssdntdhthssss” I moaned as my eyes closed, and then I felt the cuffs as they were removed from my wrists, and then rope as they were pulled tightly together again – once he had pulled my jacket off and dropped it on the floor.

 

As the rope went round and between my arms, I wondered what else he was going to do – and then I got my answer, as I saw the rope going around my body, forcing my arms against my back as it was wound above and below my breasts.  Not only could I really not move my arms now, but my breasts were forced even more up and out, as the rope pressed firmly on them.  Worse, he pulled the bands together behind my back, and then passed the rope over one arm, under the lower band, and then over the other shoulder, the bands constricting even more.

 

This time, when he started groping, it felt even stranger – and there was a fire growing in my breasts as the bands of rope rubbed on them.  There was something else happening -  something I had long forgotten...

 

And then I heard the zip as it was pulled down, the front of my dress falling down as he pulled the fabric down, and I realised I had gone commando.  The night air hit what I now realised were my very firm nipples, especially as he pinched them hard and made my jump in shock.  He then played with them, as I heard myself start to moan in fear and in pleasure.

 

“Whtssgnnnn...” I said as I closed my eyes, and I felt the pressure on my chest once again – before I was forced to lie down on my back, stretching my legs out in front of me as he pulled my dress off.  There I was, my upper body trussed tightly, and only wearing my stockings and boots, my mouth stuffed and taped over as I watched him.

 

He picked up my bag, and then made me get up and walk in front of him.  I knew what might be coming now, and I was petrified, but he was in charge.  So I walked slowly up the stairs, the ropes rubbing on my bare breasts as I did so, the feelings this was creating running through me as we went into the bedroom.

 

“Lie down,” he said quietly as he indicated my bed, and I walked over, watching as he took out of his bag – a candle and a candle holder?  I watched, dumbfounded as he set the holder on my dressing table, put the candle in and lit it, the flame flickering as he said “for later.”  Looking at me, he then pushed me over so that I was lying on my back, and then bent my left leg, forcing my ankle against my thigh as he wrapped the rope around and between the two parts of my limbs.  He then moved round and frog tied my other leg, before he pushed my legs apart and moved between them, his latex gloved hands now massaging my bare breasts between the bands of rope.

 

I was powerless, unable to stop him as he made them even firmer, and I felt a burning between my legs.  So it was no surprise to me what came next, as once again he dropped his pants, and then he started to use his finger on my sex.  I had not realised how damp I was, but I certainly did then – and even more so as he entered me.

 

Muscles that I had not used for an eternity responded as he did so, gripping him in spite of what I really wanted to do – which was push him off and get him to leave.  That was not going to happen however, as he pushed himself in and out, rubbing on the inside of my passage as I gripped him, and started to move in time and in unison with him.

 

My moist basal, carnal  instincts were taking over, as I closed my eyes and let out a long, low guttural moan, as I felt the fire growing, engulfing me, driving all reason and all rhyme out as I ground against him, forcing my hips up to meet him as he pushed downwards, feeling him as he filled me, and then filled me even more.

 

When it came, it almost drowned me in the ferocity and intensity of the feelings.  Yes, in my mind I knew he was doing this to me against my will, but in the real, animal centre of myself he was doing something I had desired without knowing it for so, so long.  As his seed again flowed into me, I gripped him with my bound legs, wanting every last drop out of him...

 

Eventually he withdrew, as I looked up at him as he pulled his pants back up, and walked over to the candle, which by now was well alight, the wax dripping down the sides.  Picking it up, he walked over and looked at me – and then dropped the hot wax onto my damp and throbbing clit.

 

I closed my eyes and screamed as he did this – the sensation, and the pain there was so intense, but there was something else, an acknowledgement that I – wanted this?  No that could not be right – but as the wax cooled and he dripped more on, I did, I did want more.

 

So when he moved the candle slowly up, the hot wax running over my belly, and then around my breasts, over my nipples, each drop somehow increasing the pleasure...

 

I opened my eyes and looked at him as he untied my left leg, then removed the boot and the stocking, before he tied one end of the stocking round my bare ankle.  Moving round, he released my right leg, removed the boot and stocking, and then secured my other ankle.  He then produced even more rope from his bag, and wrapped it tightly round my breasts, compressing the base of them as he wound it in a figure of eight pattern, and then tied it off.  I had no idea why he was doing this, as the wax cooled on my skin – but then I saw the riding crop, as he stroked it over my swollen breasts, the nipples especially, and down the inside of my leg before he rolled me over, and pulled my legs back, tying them to top of the bed as my bottom was raised up, my breasts forced down onto the bed.

 

And then he started to hit my bottom and legs with the crop, each time making me grunt and yelp in pain and humiliation and terror – and then something more,  It was as if a dragon was being woken in me,  as I felt the dampness under my crotch, and I began to welcome each stroke, the pain and the feelings at the same time.

 

He kept going, stroke after stroke, hit after hit, as I raised my head and groaned in pleasure.  He laughed – he actually laughed, and then hit me harder, harder, harder...

 

My eyelids fluttered as I felt myself sinking into a warm dark place, and lost myself totally in the sensations and the pleasure...

 

 

 

 

When I came to, I was lying on my side, looking to the side of the bed.  I could feel the ropes rubbing on my chest – and somewhere else as well, somewhere very, very personal.

 

I could tell as I tried to move my legs, which were pulled behind my back – and that just made the rope rub even more, as I groaned again.  But that wasn’t the only problem – there was also the little device he had inserted in me under the rope, which was buzzing away inside me.

 

Not that I was complaining, as I had an orgasm again, but I still felt the burns from the now cooled wax – and there was something else, a throbbing behind me.  As if...

 

My eyes opened wide as I realised that was not the only device in me – and something else had been there as well.  I started crying then, as the door was thrown open and two police officers appeared.

 

“Shit – he struck again,” was all one of them said as I looked up and said “hlpmm...”

 

 

 

Looking back now, some days later, I have physically recovered, and I now know he was a serial attacker – but one thing still bothers me.  Why did I end up actually enjoying it?  Was I really into that sort of thing? 

 

And was it an answer to an unasked prayer...

 

 

 

 

 

 

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