The house was silent, the only sound the gentle hum of the refrigerator. Everyone else was asleep, but I was wide awake, restless. I was wearing just a silky camisole and shorts, the material barely concealing the curve of my breasts and the swell of my hips. I was feeling myself, my fingers tracing the outline of my areola, feeling my nipples harden with just the slightest touch.

Then, the crash. The front door splintered inwards, the wood groaning under the force. Two men, their faces obscured by the shadows, charged into my living room. Before I could even scream, one of them grabbed me, his hand clamping over my mouth, the other used a length of rope to bind my wrists behind my back. Panic set in, hot and sharp. I tried to struggle, but their grip was too strong. I was easily dragged to the couch and laid down.

The first man straddled me, his weight pressing my breasts flat against my chest. His hands found their way beneath my camisole, his fingers pinching and rolling my nipples roughly. I gasped muffled against his hand, a shiver of fear mixed with a strange, unwelcome thrill. The other man kneeled at my legs, his hands sliding beneath my shorts, his fingers playing at the entrance to my pussy. I was already so wet, and his first touch pushed me over the edge, sending a wave of intense sensation through me.

The first man moved, forcing my legs apart, his fingers testing my wetness. I was completely at their mercy, my body reacting with an intensity that made me blush, even in the near dark. I couldn’t stop the moan that escaped when he slid a finger inside me, then another. The second ripped my shorts off and began stretching my insides with his fingers. It was too much, overwhelming, yet I couldn’t deny the strange pleasure that mingled with the fear. I was at their mercy, defenseless, and all I could do was let them take me apart.