Call the cops

"Hey, listen." You take two steps backwards from her. "I don't know what kind of trouble you're in, but I will call someone who can help you."

"No," she sobbed, "please. Let me ... she's ... let me please you."

You reach for your phone to call the police, but before you can get to it, a thunderous crack surprises you both, before the sounds of tens of shards of plastic and glass shrapnel hit the walls and floor. You take your eyes off of her and see the remnants of your phone on the side, with some kind of soot on the wall behind it.

"Um.." You're lost for words as you look between it and her, trying to make sense of this.

She lurches forwards at you as if something had pushed her in the square of her back, kneels back up and uses all of her strength to pull the belt out from the hooks of your pants, which now sat looser on you.

You try to crouch down to address her, but as you make it near eye level you see nothing but determination in her eyes. She exploits your awkward position and pushes you down onto your back. While you're struggling to get back up, you feel her tug your pants down to your knees. You let her remove them just to get out of the tangled situation and stand, pantless in front of her, ashamed of the hard bump in your shorts, considering the circumstances.

She stands in her now dishevelled black dress and presses her body against you, with one hand on your increasingly hard cock, squeezing it as she pushes you back against your own living room wall.

"Just close your eyes." She nuzzles her face in your neck as she speaks in a tone of pure seduction, without a hint of the terror that was there moments before.

You feel her hand slip into your underwear, moving up and down on your cock. Between this, the seductive tone, and the time since a beautiful woman had her hand in your underwear, your resolve was now weakened to the point of submission. You watch her lower herself down to align her face with your crotch, and pull your underwear down and close your eyes as you feel her breath on your tip.

She starts by tentatively kissing the tip, invoking an involuntary twitch in it, before she wrapped her lips around it, and worked back and forth over the first few inches. The soft warmth feels like bliss on you. You don't know what to do with your hands, so you use your left to steady yourself against the sideboard that once held the phone, knocking some shards of plastic aside, and rest the other on her head.

After a minute of this, it's apparent that she has never done this before, so you try to encourage her by guiding her with your hand to speed up slightly. To your shock, since you expected a mild increase in pace, she not only speeds up drastically, but takes far more of your dick into her mouth. You, unable to keep your hand on her head from the drastic movements she was making, moved it against the wall. Once you managed to adapt to the new level of stimulation, you open your eyes and look down at her. Wide eyes, dripping in smudged eye makeup and tears looked up at you. She was ploughing down on you as if someone had a hand on the back of her head.

Realising the situation was out of control, you want to stop her, but there's nowhere for you to go backwards. You try to push her away but she was firmly in place, and worst of all, the building had begun. Your body only knew stimulation, and only had one response for it. You feel your blood concentrate, and your hips convulse. There's no strength in you to stop her, and only seconds left. Your guilt does nothing to stop it.

You hear her gag as you empty your load into her mouth while some invisible **** pushes her head deep down onto you.

Finally, once you're done, she pulls her mouth off of you and crawls backwards away from you, with her hand over her half-open, full mouth. She looks like she's about to spit it out when suddenly her jaw closes, her eyes widen, and her arms flail, trying to grasp at something on her face. Finally, you see her swallow and quickly relaxed, falling backwards.

"That was --," you start, still out of breath, as you slide down the wall to a seated position.

She sits two meters away, mirroring your position, but shivering and staring back with disgust. She waits for something, seemingly using her time to evaluate you, perhaps to ascertain if you're a victim with her or the perpetrator, before she jumps to her feet and backs away from you to the door. As she starts turn to run down your hallway, it looks like something catches her by her hair, yanking her backwards. She shrieks, turns back to you and asks through the doorway: "She ... she wants to know ... if you ... enjoyed."

She turns and bolts to your front door, down your steps and out to the street.

You pull your underwear up and rush to your window, hoping for some kind of clue as to who she was, and where she's going. You start to think about how this looks: a young woman with makeup down her face, sprinting out of your house. The sweat on your forehead turns to cold sweat as panic sets in. When she gets to the sidewalk, however, her demeanor changes instantly. Fear or anything to suggest what she'd just been through simply faded from her face as the dishevelled woman casually turned and walked down the street, as if nothing had happened. You're not certain, but her not screaming for the police is a good sign.

You turn, lean on the window ledge and slide down onto your living room floor in relief and confusion. The last thing you see as you slump down into a heavy sleep is the countless shards of phone strewn across your room.