He must have returned early to pick up something he probably forgot while leaving the house in a hurry earlier. We were too busy with each other to notice how much time had passed till he was late for work again.

Don't look at me that way. I mean, I love my husband, and since I realized how much we both love sex, it was only natural that we do it as often as we could before the babies started arriving. Plus, we both have been celibate all our lives, so it was just like the floodgates of pheromones were opened as soon as we were pronounced man and wife. I feel the swell of his member as he gently rubs against my core. He really must have left the house still horny I chuckle to myself as I had fallen asleep on the couch after he left. Well, it wasn't surprising considering the intense nature of things that morning. No wonder it must have skipped my mind to properly lock the front door.

His hands move to my breasts and start caressing them tenderly; I reach out from my sleep-muffled mind to touch his ear, and that's when I notice it. His ears were pierced, and this man had a shorter beard than my husband's. I jerk quickly, realizing I was making out with a total stranger, pinching myself to ensure it wasn't a dream. He quickly stands away from me, giving me time to observe him fully. Yes, this is not my husband, I confirm in shock. He was dressed in black ripped jeans with a leather jacket that must have seen better days. He didn't put on a mask, as I already deduced he must have been a robber. I was scantily dressed in only my nightwear without any underwear beneath it. 

In my confused state, I start screaming and try to claw out his eyes; he forcefully jerks me and screams at me to stop. He pulls out a knife from the inner pocket of his jacket and starts advancing on me with the knife held out in a threatening manner. He grabs me forcefully, lays my back on the floor, and ties my hands with a rope I didn't even notice was there. He moves his jacket to show me the gun hidden around his belt, motioning me to stay quiet. He barely said a word, still holding the knife in his right hand; he opened his fly bends towards me, using his legs to hold my legs apart. I screamed and tried to get out of his grip, but he was too powerful for me. No matter how I screamed, even if my cries weren't muddled by his hands over my mouth, I was certain I wouldn't be heard by anyone as he had his way with me.

We lived in a secluded neighborhood, and at this time of the day, most people were probably at work. When he was done, he rolled off me, spitting and calling me names. Still leaving my hands tied, he ransacked the whole house in search of valuables and made away with them. I was emotionally drained, and after several unsuccessful attempts to free my hands, I finally fell into a deep, exhausting sleep. I wake up to my husband carrying me into our bathroom, where he washes me thoroughly. I noticed little bruises on various parts of my body, for he had been very rough, and there was a cut beneath my earlobe where he tried to make me believe he would kill me if I didn't cooperate…

It's been two days now, and I haven't told a soul what happened, except for my gynecologist, who attended to me after we visited the hospital that ill-fated day. I suspect my husband must be running crazy trying to figure out what happened to me. I can't bring myself to tell him; I don't want to break his heart with the news that his wife was raped in such a callous manner. Fear of how things will change between us kept my mouth shut. But on the second day, I knew my game of "traumatic silence" was up. 

So many items were missing from the house we would eventually have to report to the police so they can take our statements. But that is what I dreaded most, admitting to people I enjoyed the rascal's ministrations to my body, even for a few seconds hurt. I felt betrayed by my body, and I didn't know how to hide the pain and anger away. As I began to narrate what happened to my husband, I noticed he went completely still when I got to "…he forcefully tied my hands above my head, tore my clothes …" He didn't wait to hear the rest; he ran into the bathroom.

I sit on the bed, staring at my hands, Wondering if anything between us will ever be the same. He had been avoiding my eyes since the cursed day it happened; I had a feeling he already knew I was raped since he was the one who found me. My dress was torn, with bruises over my body, and most of our valuables were missing. He returned quietly to the bedroom and wouldn't look at me. Heartbroken, I begin to cry, calling softly to him, "Obi'm, it wasn't my fault. I am so sorry ..." But he just ignores me, puts on a shirt, and leaves the bedroom not long after I hear the noise of the front door closing, followed by the slam of the car door.

And I begin to sob again.


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