[M4F] Empty Blue
A pretty receptionist, or retail clerk, or something like that, walking to her bus or her car after work or after school, her hair bouncing behind her with each step, just trying to make her way home. Coming towards her on the sidewalk, a man, casually dressed. He is rail-thin and about her age, seems on edge but not threatening, especially in public, with countless people around.
She raises her eyes to him, accidentally meets his gaze. Social norms dictate that the pair immediately break eye contact, but he doesn't. Neither does she. Something about his pale, ice-blue irises; some unusual, uncomfortable thing.
Well now, eye contact has been maintained. And those social norms now demand that the pair acknowledge each other. "Hello," she says with a practiced, closed-lip smile before passing him by.
"....hiiiii...." He says in return. His empty-blue eyes are as wide as his smile. And his smile is real.
She - you - didn't know it yet, but this little interaction had started something. Whether you meant for it to, or not.
Empty-blue was not born with a porn addiction. He wasn't born a misogynist, or at least, he wasn't born with a toxic view of women and, broadly, the world.
And in fairness, to an extent, much of it wasn't his fault. Few people, if any, consciously choose a life like this. Empty-blue didn't. But here he is, with more flags than a communist parade, his heart pounding in his chest that a *real* woman, *really* interacted with him.
He started his research as soon as he got home that day, going down rabbit holes and consuming dozens of pop-psychology articles like "ten UNDENIABLE sign a woman's attracted to you".
But Empty-blue was no dummy. He realized that you didn't show any of those other eight UNDENIABLE signs. And something within him (correctly) worried that your eye contact and your smile were just social niceties that meant nothing, literally nothing, beyond, "I acknowledge that you physically exist within in the space before me."
He did feel great discomfort about this possibility. But he needed it to be true. And if we need something to be true, we are all very good at making the pieces fit.
Within a few days, the memory had played out a bit differently. You said, "hey there..." In some way that might just have been sultry. You smiled a little more (and have very nice teeth by the way). You gave him more of a look - the look. Your pupils surely dilated when looking at him. And he's not certain but he's pretty sure that you even brushed a finger along his thigh and winked at him, right as you passed each other.
But even if you didn't wink, sooo many of the other signs are there, and they all point to one thing.
*She's attracted to me.*
Shit, if everyone else weren't around, you'd probably have sucked his dick right there. Maybe he should have stopped you and asked to go somewhere quiet.
Next time.
Over the coming weeks, you see a lot more of Empty-blue. Sometimes he just walks on by, sometimes he tries - and fails - to stop you on the sidewalk.
And after each event, he's back home, in front of his computer. On one monitor, he's reading blogs and posting on Reddit, seeking validation his hope that you are attracted to him. On the other, his new favorite porn star that looks kind of like you, being fucked by an "intruder".
And what girl doesn't have fantasies about intruders breaking in and forcing themselves upon her? That's like, the number one thing for girls. That's like, the female equivalent of a foot fetish.
You're just playing hard to get. Being subtle, playing games, like you "females" always are. And he knows exactly what to do.
You see a lot less of over the coming weeks. But he still sees a lot of you. And learns all about you.
Small things, like the sneakers you wear to and from your office, and how it seems that you alternate between two pairs every day, and how you seem to change you nail polish color every week (he likes that sky bkue and the black polish the most). And bigger things, like where your office is. And major things, like the lot you park in, the car you drive, and the license plate number which he quickly memorized. And the route you normally take home. And your address. And how long it takes to get there.
By chance one day, he sees you reach under that one rock and pull out a key to your apartment, that one rough day where you left the key on a counter in the morning, and it was all downhill from there.
The next time you see him, walking down the street after work, you don't even know his name. But he knows everything he needs to know about you. Almost.
And as you walk past him on that sidewalk, again saying hello, again giving him that practiced but meaningless smile, you give him the missing piece.
You did it again. You keep acknowledging his mere existence. Every time.
You must want to fuck him. There is literally no other option here.
The Internet told him so.
The Internet told him something else, too. To be careful. To be prepared. Don't blow it by assuming she keeps her windows unlocked and then a neighbor sees you and calls the cops.
Luckily, he didn't need to assume. He had a key. His very own key. One he got made while you were at work, from the spare key hidden in that "rock" by your door.
Thursday, around 10:30 AM. There's an old guy down the street that says hi to you sometimes. He doesn't think twice about the skinny guy going in to your place. He sees that guy going in there almost every morning now. Must be a new boyfriend. Must work strange hours. Maybe he'll ask you about him next time he sees you.
And as the old nice guy takes his mail inside and begins going through it, your "boyfriend" is looking through your bathroom and your bedroom drawers, making sure you've not yet replaced the birth control pills he stole last Friday. He's rifling through your hamper, pulling out a sock and a pair of panties, debating on which one he's going to smell and which one he's going to beat off with, wishing he could ejaculate into something you weren't going to wash; something that you'd wear without noticing. At least, not until it was too late to do anything about.
That he could make you wear him.
And then, just before he ejaculated into your sock while staring at the heels arranged in your closet, thinking about how he wants to fuck you from behind while you wear nothing but those black six inch straps heels, Empty-blue's gaze drifted across a pair of your sneakers. That old, bear up pair of Converse. The pair you'd probably be wearing tomorrow for your walk to and from the office.
And Empty-blue had an idea.
After he came, but before he left, he realized it was Thursday. Nail polish day. And tomorrow is the big day. He rearranged your clean underwear and your nail polish and your makeup, put his favorite bra and panties on the top in the drawer, and chose that sky-blue nail polish he liked, hoping you'd mindlessly grab whatever was most convenient and wear them.
For him, of course.
Friday. Afternoon rush hour.
Weird guy with the uncomfortable blue eyes is there, of course, his eyes wide as he stares at you with a smile that's too wide for a stranger. You barely notice him, just enough to see him clenching a bright pink piece of fabric in his fist, almost as if to show it to you. If you paid close attention, you might have recognized the fabric as the panties you changed out of this morning.
But you aren't paying much attention. There's something in your right shoe that's bothering you somehow. Not a rock; that'd be obvious. It doesn't hurt, but there's just something... Different? It's... sticking to the sole of your foot. Or something. Can't quite place it. Maybe you need a new pair? These ones are getting a little old, maybe it's just their time.
At your car, sitting sideways in the driver's seat with your legs out of the open door, you bring your right foot up, rest it in your left knee, pull the sneaker off to investigate. Thin, white pieces of crust hug your sock and fall from your shoe, but verything looks fine, aside from the faded insole. It's subtly discolored with faint, somewhat sticky white streaks, like something was spilled in it.
When did you spill milk? When did you even drink milk?? Maybe it was glue??? What the hell????
Whatever. It's Friday. Worry about it later. You close the door, ignite the engine, and begin the frustrating drive home.
By the time you get there, Empty-blue will be ready and waiting, inside. Hidden. With his knife and black skimask.
You know, to really sell the intruder fantasy thing you're in to. To make it real.
And as he locks your door behind him and finds a place to hide, he wonders if it's true that women cum harder when they're afraid.
Because everyone knows, the harder a woman cums, the more likely she is to get pregnant.
An hour later, you're in the living room. On your back with, your spine slightly arched, with your legs raised and bent, knees bent over Empty Blue's shoulders, heels of your feet bouncing listlessly on his back. Your pelvis is elevated, fully exposing your hips and core to your... Crush.
The tears have stopped coming, if only because you realized, on some unconscious level, that they made no difference whatsoever. Or maybe you just successfully disassociated.
Empty Blue holds the knife to your throat with his right hand, and holds your left ankle in the other. He presses the sole of your foot to his face, to his mouth, the ski mask having been rolled up to his nose.
Your bare, sweaty breasts trace awkward circles over your chest as he rhythmically thrusts inside of you, but once your foot is at mouth, he doesn't last long.
The tears have stopped coming, but he's only begun to.
Rope, after rope, after terrible, bitter rope. And then with a kiss, he's gone, leaving you in silence, with a pool of him collecting between your thighs.
By the time you're able to collect yourself and come back to Earth, his sperm will have found your ovum. And by the time you're together enough to pick yourself up from the floor, one of them will have fertilized you.
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Looking to play this little non-con scene, and happy to start at the...start, or you can jump right in to a stalker being balls deep in your unprotected pussy. Either way though, hope you have an impreg kink...
Posted Aug 3, 2026, 1:55 PM UTC