She paced around her place, naked. Her fingers strayed often to her breasts, her nipples. They were hard, had been hard.
Almost as hard as his cock.
NO! The thoughts kept intruding, poking holes in the cloak of calm she was trying to draw around herself. She hadn’t called the cops. Hadn’t leapt from the bed in fear or dismay. She hadn’t seen his face, his hands, his anything.
She only felt them.
She kept ‘feeling’ them, the large firmness of his penis buried deep in her darkest place. shit, holy shit, his cock had been buried in her anus. Her asshole. Stretched-her-filled-her hurt -her; made her cum.
She came from having a man rape her ass.
Her nipples grew hard again, jutting into the cool air of the room. Day had fled; night slipped over the city. Tall towers speared light up into the sky. Again she circled around her penthouse suite, her ass still throbbing all these hours later. Trying to work, every thought had fled, or been turned back to The Incident. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t think of laying back on her bed. It had his scent, hers. The musk of cum filled her nose, the throb of lust stabbed her. Trying to deny her mind, her body would not be silenced, Her fingers caressed the swollen buds of her breasts as she stalked around the rooms, ignoring that she was backlit by the lights.
Ignorant that she was on display, he wondered, looking across the way at her. Was she so stupid that she had no idea he–anyone– could look in and see her fondling herself, see the arousal flushed on her swollen tits?
He scanned the binoculars over her body, planning.