Elena was twenty-eight, and she was home alone.

Her husband Damion — thirty-two, working late, wouldn’t be home until morning — had kissed her goodbye at six and told her to lock the doors. She had. She had locked both doors and the windows, and she had made pasta, and she had curled up on the couch in her pajama shorts and tank top with her phone, scrolling, half-watching a show, the house quiet around her.

She didn’t hear the back door open. She didn’t hear anything until the hand clamped over her mouth.

She tried to scream and the sound died against a gloved palm. An arm like an iron bar locked around her waist and hauled her up off the couch, and she thrashed wildly — kicking, twisting, clawing at the hand over her mouth — but the man behind her was enormous, immovable, and he dragged her backward into the middle of the living room as easily as if she weighed nothing.

— Don’t scream, — he growled in her ear, his voice low and flat and mean. — Scream and I’ll cut you.

Something cold and sharp pressed against her throat. A knife. Her blood turned to ice and she went still, trembling, her breath coming in short panicked gasps against his glove.

— Good girl, — he said, and the praise in that ugly voice made her stomach turn. — Now you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. If you run, I’ll catch you, and it’ll be worse. Understand?

She nodded frantically.

He threw her onto the couch. She bounced on the cushions and tried to scramble up, and he was on her in an instant, his weight crushing her down, his hand tangling in her hair, yanking her head back.

— I said don’t run, — he snarled.

A lamp snapped on — he must have rigged it, a single bulb, low — and she saw him in the dim light: black ski mask over his face, black gloves, black clothes, the knife glinting in his hand. A stranger. A monster in her living room.

Tears started in her eyes.

— Please, — she whispered. — Please don’t hurt me —

— Oh, I’m going to hurt you, — he said, and the flat certainty in his voice made her whimper. — Take your clothes off. Slow. Every stitch.

Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely work the hem of her tank top. She pulled it over her head, her breasts bouncing free — she hadn’t worn a bra — and she crossed her arms over her bare tits, trembling. His eyes were hot and fixed on her through the mask’s holes.

— The rest, — he said, tapping the knife against his thigh.

She stood on shaking legs and pushed her pajama shorts and panties down together, and stepped out of them, and stood naked in the lamplight, her arms crossed over her breasts, her thighs pressed together, trembling. He circled her slowly, the knife tapping, and she could feel her wetness — shameful, traitorous wetness — starting between her legs, and she hated her body for it.

He stopped behind her. His gloved hand closed on the back of her neck and bent her forward over the arm of the couch.

— You know what I want, — he said. — Beg for me to take it easy on you.

— Please, — she whispered, her cheek against the cushion. — Please don’t hurt me. Please —

— Pathetic, — he said, and his free hand came down hard on her bare ass.

She yelped, the sting blooming across her cheek. He spanked her again, harder, and again, her ass burning red under his palm, her pussy flooding with every slap, and she was moaning — she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop it — each blow sending a jolt straight to her clit.

— You like that? — he said. — The little housewife likes getting her ass beat by a stranger?

— No — I don’t — she cried, but her body was already betraying her, her hips pushing back toward his hand.

He pulled her upright by her hair and shoved her to her knees on the rug in front of him. She landed hard, and he unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. Even in the dim light she could see it — thick and huge and rock hard, the head dark purple and wet with pre-cum, throbbing.

— Open your mouth, — he said.

She shook her head, tears streaming, and he grabbed her jaw, forcing it open, and pushed in deep. She took him, her lips stretching wide around his girth, her tongue pressing along the underside of his shaft. He gripped the back of her head and fucked her mouth, driving his thick cock into her throat, and she gagged, her eyes watering, spit running down her chin.

— That’s it, — he growled. — Take it all. Swallow around it.

He didn’t slow. His other hand was on her breast now, kneading hard through the glove, pinching her nipple cruelly, and she moaned around his cock, the vibration making him groan. Her pussy was clenching on nothing, dripping onto the rug, and she squeezed her thighs together, desperate for friction, hating herself.

— Look at you, — he said, his voice rough. — On your knees for a stranger. Dripping on the rug. You’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you?

She whimpered around his cock, tears falling, and he thrust deeper, his cock throbbing against her throat walls, the head swelling.

He pulled out suddenly and hauled her up by the hair, and bent her over the couch arm again, and she felt the blunt head of his cock at her entrance — and he slammed into her, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke.

She screamed. He was so thick, and she was so wet, and the stretch was burning and perfect, her pussy walls gripping him, pulsing around his shaft. He set a savage pace, his hips pounding into her ass, his heavy cock driving into her pussy again and again, deep and hard, and she took it, her breasts bouncing, her fingers clawing at the couch cushions.

— You feel that? — he growled. — That’s a stranger’s cock in your pussy. Your husband’s at work. He’ll never know. It’s just you and me.

The words hit her like a slap and her pussy clenched hard, and she came — sudden and violent, against her will — her walls spasming around his cock, her come gushing out around his shaft.

— Oh fuck, — he said, and he didn’t stop, he fucked her straight through it, his cock throbbing inside her clenching pussy, and he reached around and found her clit and rubbed it hard, and she came again, screaming into the cushion, her whole body shaking.

He pulled out, breathing hard, and flipped her onto her back on the couch, and spread her legs wide, and stood over her, stroking his cock. Her pussy was red and swollen and dripping, her thighs wet, her chest heaving.

— Please, — she whispered. — Please, no more, I can’t —

— You’ll take what I give you, — he said, and he pushed her knees up to her chest and drove into her again, deep, so deep, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on, moaning, as he fucked her hard, his cock pounding into her, the thick head battering deep inside her, her pussy stretching and burning.

He bent down and bit her neck, hard, through the mask’s mouth hole, and sucked, and she came again, her pussy convulsing around him, and he groaned, and his rhythm broke, and he came inside her — thick hot spurts filling her pussy, pulsing, and she felt every throb, felt her walls milking him, and she came with him, shaking, crying out.

He stayed inside her, breathing hard, the mask still on. Then he pulled out slowly, his cock sliding free with a wet sound, and he grabbed her wrist and hauled her off the couch. She stumbled, her legs shaking, his cum leaking down her thighs, and he dragged her down the hall to the bedroom.

The bedroom was dark except for the bathroom light spilling through the cracked door. He threw her onto the bed and she bounced, and before she could move he was on her, his gloved hands pinning her wrists above her head.

— Stay, — he said, and he got up, and he went to the closet, and he came back with rope.

Her stomach dropped and her pussy clenched at the same time. She pulled against the bonds as he tied her wrists to the headboard with rough, efficient knots, testing them — they held. He tied her ankles to the footboard, spreading her wide, and she lay there naked and spread and helpless, her breasts heaving, her pussy glistening in the dim light, his cum still seeping out of her.

— Please, — she whispered. — Please, let me go —

— No, — he said, and he stood at the foot of the bed and looked at her, and unzipped his pants all the way and pushed them down, and stood naked except for the mask and the gloves, his cock thick and hard and wet with her.

He climbed onto the bed and knelt between her spread legs, and he spread her thighs wider, and he lowered his mouth to her pussy.

She screamed. It was too much, too sudden — his tongue spearing into her, his lips wrapping around her clit and sucking hard — and she bucked against the ropes, helpless, and the helplessness made it a hundred times hotter. He was drinking her like he was starving, his tongue plunging into her dripping hole, lapping up his own cum mixed with her wetness, his teeth grazing her clit just hard enough to make her yelp.

— Fuck — please — oh god —

— You taste like fear, — he growled against her folds. — And like my cum. I like both.

He ate her ruthlessly. No tenderness, no mercy — just raw devouring hunger, his tongue and fingers working her relentlessly. The bed was getting soaked beneath her. Her moans were high and desperate and continuous.

— I’m going to come — please — I’m going to —

He pulled his mouth away. She sobbed.

— Did I say you could come? — His voice was ice. — You come when I say. Not before.

— Please — please let me —

— Beg for it.

— Please let me come, please, I need it, please —

— Good girl, — he said, and went back to her clit, sucking hard, his fingers pumping into her pussy, and she came violently, her pussy throbbing against his mouth, her come flooding out, and he drank it all, his tongue working her through the aftershocks while she sobbed.

He moved up her body, his cock dragging through her wetness, leaving a slick trail up her belly, and he pushed it into her mouth. She was tied, couldn’t use her hands, could only take him with her lips and tongue, and he fucked her mouth slow and deep, his cock sliding in and out, throbbing, the head swelling. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue lashing his shaft, and she tasted herself and him on him, and it made her moan, and he groaned.

— Good little victim, — he said. — Taking the stranger’s cock like you were made for it.

He pulled out and positioned himself between her legs, and he pushed into her pussy — slow this time, inch by inch, stretching her open — and she felt every inch of him, the thick head, the heavy veined shaft, her walls gripping and pulsing around him. When he was fully inside her he stopped, buried to the hilt, his cock throbbing inside her, and he looked down at her.

— Scream for me, — he said.

She screamed as he pulled out and slammed into her, hard, and set a brutal rhythm, his cock pounding into her tied, helpless body, and she took it, her breasts bouncing, her moans turning to screams. He leaned down and bit her nipple, hard, and she came, her pussy clenching around him, and he kept going, fucking her through it, his cock throbbing inside her spasming walls.

He untied one of her wrists — just one — and pulled her up, and turned her over, and she was on her knees, her cheek pressed to the mattress, her ass in the air, her one free hand gripping the headboard. He drove into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise, his cock slamming into her pussy, deep and rough, the wet slap of his body against her ass filling the room.

— This is what happens to girls who stay home alone, — he growled, and he spanked her, hard, and she screamed, and her pussy flooded, and she came again, her walls convulsing around his cock.

He pulled out and turned her, and his cock was at her mouth again, and she opened, and he pushed in, and she sucked him, deep and desperate, her throat working, and he groaned, and his cock jerked, and he came in her mouth — hot thick spurts — and she swallowed, and swallowed, her throat squeezing him, milking him dry, and some of it ran down her chin and he smeared it across her lips with his gloved thumb.

— Swallow it all, — he said. — Every drop. That’s mine, and you don’t waste what’s mine.

She swallowed, tears falling, his taste thick in her throat.

He untied her wrists and her ankles. She lay there shaking, wrecked, his cum leaking out of her onto the sheets. He stood over her, still masked, his cock softening but still huge, glistening.

— If you call the cops, — he said, his voice low and ugly, — I’ll know. And I’ll come back. And next time, I won’t leave you walking.

He walked out of the bedroom. She heard the back door open and close. Silence.

She lay in the wrecked bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, her body humming, her wrists marked with rope, her thighs sticky, her pussy throbbing and full of him. She was shaking. She was terrified. And underneath the terror, coiled hot and shameful in her belly, was something she didn’t have a name for — something that pulsed every time she remembered the weight of him, the brutality of him, the way her body had come apart under his hands again and again.

She showered. She scrubbed until her skin was raw. She changed the sheets. She told no one — not her friends, not the police, no one. The threat sat in her chest like a stone: he’ll know. He’ll come back.

Three nights later, she woke in the dark to a hand over her mouth.

Her eyes flew open. Her heart exploded in her chest. The bedroom was black, and there was a man’s weight on top of her, pinning her to the mattress, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth.

— Miss me? — breathed the ugly, familiar voice in her ear. — I told you I’d come back.

She fought — God, she fought — bucking, twisting, trying to scream through his hand, her nails raking at his wrist. He laughed, low and dark, and yanked the sheet off her. She slept naked. She was naked and helpless under him, and his hands were already on her, one holding her jaw, the other sliding between her legs.

— Still wet, — he said, his fingers finding her drenched folds. — Still fucking wet for me. You were thinking about me, weren’t you? In the shower. In bed. Thinking about my cock.

— No — she whimpered against his hand. — No —

— Liar, — he said, and shoved two fingers deep into her pussy.

She cried out into his palm, arching off the bed. He worked his fingers in her roughly, curling them, stroking that spot inside her that made her body jerk and her moans turn desperate. His thumb found her clit and pressed down hard, grinding.

— Come for me, — he ordered. — Right now. On my fingers. Like the dirty little slut you are.

She came, her pussy convulsing around his fingers, her muffled scream tearing out of her, and he kept going, driving her through it into a second one, her body shaking violently under him.

He pulled his fingers out and flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her up onto her knees, and she felt his cock — huge, hard, leaking — press against her entrance from behind.

— Please — she gasped into the pillow. — Please, not again —

He slammed into her. She screamed into the mattress. He was so thick, stretching her wide, and he set a punishing pace immediately, his hips slamming against her ass, his cock driving deep into her pussy with brutal force.

— You left your window unlocked, — he growled, pounding into her. — Stupid girl. Didn’t you learn anything? This is what happens to stupid girls.

— I’m sorry — I’m sorry — she sobbed, her fingers clawing at the sheets.

— Sorry doesn’t stop my cock, — he said, and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back, arching her spine. — Nothing stops me. Remember that.

His hand snaked around to her clit, rubbing it hard and fast, and her body betrayed her yet again — the orgasm ripping through her, her pussy clenching around his pounding cock, her scream muffled by the pillow.

— That’s it, — he groaned. — Milk my cock. Fuck, you’re so tight. So fucking tight.

He pulled out and dragged her to the edge of the bed, and pushed her to her knees on the floor, and shoved his cock into her mouth. She gagged, choking, and he held her head and fucked her throat, his cock sliding in and out, her saliva dripping down her chin onto the carpet.

— Suck it, — he growled. — Make me come. Use that filthy mouth.

She sucked desperately, her tongue working his shaft, her throat massaging his head, tears streaming down her face. She could feel him swelling, throbbing, and then he was coming — hot thick ropes shooting down her throat — and she swallowed, and swallowed, her throat squeezing him dry.

He pulled out and hauled her back onto the bed, and spread her legs, and drove into her pussy one more time, deep and hard, fucking her with savage, desperate thrusts. She was sobbing, wrecked, her body spent — and still her pussy clenched around him, still her moans broke through, still the shameful heat coiled in her belly.

— I’m going to fill you up, — he snarled. — I’m going to breed this pussy so full you’ll taste me for a week.

— No — please — no —

— Yes, — he said, and came deep inside her, his cock pulsing, flooding her pussy with thick hot cum, and she came with him, her walls convulsing around his spurting cock, her cry raw.

He collapsed over her, breathing hard, his weight crushing her into the mattress. For a long moment neither of them moved. Then he pushed himself up, and pulled out slowly, and stood over her.

— Lock your windows next time, — he said, and walked out.

She heard the front door this time. Then silence.

Elena lay in the dark, shaking, his cum leaking out of her, her body aching everywhere he had touched her. She was crying. She was terrified. And her hand slid between her legs, almost without her permission, and her fingers found her swollen, throbbing clit — and she touched herself, thinking of him, thinking of the brutal weight of him, the mask, the voice — and she came, hard, her back arching off the bed, his name nowhere on her lips because she didn’t know his name, only the stranger, only the monster who kept coming back.

She locked every window the next day. She checked them twice every night.

He came back anyway.

The fourth time, she was waiting — not for him, she told herself, never for him — but she was awake when the hand covered her mouth, and her body was already wet, already humming, already his before he even touched her.

— You knew I’d come, — he breathed in her ear, his weight settling over her. — Your body knew. It’s been waiting for me.

— No — she whispered, but her legs were already spreading, her hips already lifting toward him.

— Liar, — he said, and tore her nightshirt open, and took her — hard, brutal, perfect — his cock driving into her dripping pussy, his mouth on her tits, his hands everywhere, and she fought him and screamed into his hand and came three times, and when he finally filled her, deep and hot, she clung to him, shaking, and didn’t want him to leave.

He left anyway. He always left.

The fifth time, the mask came off.

He had her on her back, his cock buried deep in her pussy, his hand on her throat, and she was moaning, lost, when he reached up and pulled the ski mask off with his free hand.

She stared up into the face of her husband.

— Damion, — she breathed.

Thirty-two years old. The man who had kissed her goodbye at six. The man who was supposed to be at work until morning. Looking down at her with dark, hungry, completely unrecognizable eyes, his cock throbbing inside her.

— Surprised? — he said, and drove into her harder, making her cry out.

— You — it was you — all this time —

— All this time, — he said. — The break-in. The knife. The rope. All me. You never knew. You never suspected your own husband.

— Damion, please —

— No, — he said, and fucked her harder, his cock pounding her pussy. — You don’t get to say my name like that. In the dark, I’m the stranger. I’m the man who takes what he wants. And I want you. I’ve always wanted you like this — afraid, helpless, mine.

She came with his name on her lips, her pussy clenching around his cock, and he came right after, flooding her, his groan raw.

He pulled out slowly, and she stared at him, shaking, tears on her cheeks.

— Why? — she whispered. — Why didn’t you tell me?

— Because you needed to be afraid, — he said simply. — And I needed to own you like this. Completely. No pretending. Just taken. Mine.

He pulled the mask back on.

— I’ll be back, — said the stranger, and walked out into the dark.

Elena lay in the wrecked bed, her body humming, her mind reeling. Her husband. It had been her husband all along — breaking into their own house, tying her up, taking her like an animal — and she had never known.

She should have been angry. She should have been furious.

Instead, her pussy throbbed with heat, and her fingers slid between her legs, and she touched herself, thinking of the mask, the knife, the rope — thinking of Damion, her husband, her monster — and she came, shaking, whispering his name into the dark.

She locked the windows that night. She checked them twice.

She left one unlocked — just one, the bathroom one, the one he’d used last time.

Just in case.