Story Excerpt

I push the door open wider, leaving it cracked maybe six inches. The party noise filters up muffled, bass thumping like a heartbeat. I step inside, kick off my heels by the door so my feet sink into the carpet. My heart is pounding hard now. I cross to the bed and flop down on my side, facing the door. Dress hikes up my thighs, but I don’t fix it. I let it cling high, exposing the edge of my thong and the smooth skin of my ass cheek.

I close my eyes, breathe deep, and slow my movements. Pretend drunk: limp, passed out, like I wandered in here to crash and couldn’t make it back down. My chest rises and falls evenly, lips parted slightly, one arm draped over my hip. But I’m wide awake, every sense on high alert.

The cool air on my legs, the distant chatter, the creak of floorboards downstairs. Minutes tick by. Then I hear footsteps on the stairs, heavy, male. Someone’s coming up, probably looking for a bathroom or quiet. My skin prickles; I stay still.

The door pushes open wider with a soft scrape. I don’t peek, but I feel the change in the air, the silhouette blocking the hall light. He pauses. It’s the dark-haired guy, I bet, from the way his shoes scuff hesitantly. He steps in, door clicking half-shut behind him but not latched, still ajar.

Breathing changes, quickens. He’s seeing me: sprawled out, vulnerable. I imagine his eyes raking over. Admiring the curve of my hip, the way my tits push into the fabric, nipples perking from the chill.
He whispers, “Hello?”

He edges closer, floor creaking under his weight. The bed sinks slightly as he stands beside it, looming. I can smell his cologne now, mixed with beer. His hand hovers, I sense it, the warmth before contact. Then, tentatively, fingers brush my thigh, just above the knee. Light, testing the waters. Skin tingles where he touches, but I keep still.

He’s hooked, pushing further, hand sliding up an inch, thumb grazing the hem of my dress. Waiting. Watching. And me? I’m burning inside, pretending every second, ready for whatever comes next.

His fingers rest on my thigh, moving in one slow, measured line, waiting for any sign that I’ll snap awake. Nothing. I keep my body slack like I’m lost in some drunken coma. But all I want is for him to take advantage of me finally. He slides his hand higher, palm flat against my inner thigh, thumb brushing the edge of my thong.

The fabric’s soaked already, clinging to my pussy lips from all the buildup, but he doesn’t know that yet. He pauses, breath hitching, then pulls back and fumbles with his belt. I hear the clink of metal, the zipper rasping down, and then the rustle of pants dropping.

He moves closer, the bed creaking as he kneels beside me. His free hand returns to my leg, pushing it aside a bit more, spreading me open under the dress. Then his cockhead nudges my thigh, rubbing slowly along the skin. Up and down, the shaft dragging hot against me, pre-cum smearing slick trails.

He’s testing, grinding lightly, like he’s marking territory. My skin prickles with every pass, the veiny length pulsing as he strokes himself with one hand, using the other to hold my leg steady. Fuck, it’s thick. I can feel the girth pressing in, the way it twitches when he exhales sharply. He repositions, climbing onto the bed fully; his weight causes the mattress to sag slightly. Knees straddle my hips, careful not to jostle too much, and he lowers himself, cock trapped between us, rubbing firm against my mound through the thin thong.

He starts humping then, slow rolls of his hips, cock sliding over my pussy lips outlined in the fabric. The pressure’s perfect, grinding my clit with each thrust forward, the dress bunching up around my waist. I fight the urge to arch into it, staying limp as he picks up speed, breath ragged in my ear.

His chest presses down on my back. He nudges me gently, then rolls me flat onto my stomach without a word, like handling a doll. A rapedoll. My cheek squishes into the pillow, arms flopped out, ass up just a little from the way the dress slips upward. Now he’s on top of me, his knees bracketing my thighs, cock wedged between my ass cheeks over the thong. He humps harder, grunting low, the head catching on the strip of fabric, poking at my hole through it. I’m aching so badly, my pussy clenching, juices leaking out to soak the bed.

I want to moan and beg him to rape me. But nothing beats pretending to be unconscious as someone rapes my vulnerable, female body.

Minutes pass like this, his pace is maniacal, his hips slamming fast as he dry-fucks my ass crack. “Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he mutters finally, desperation and lust in his voice, the first words breaking the silence.