Like all good fantasies, it starts with a girl. I see her out and about every now and then, but I don’t know her name. That’s the story of the suburbs, even the busy ones. No one knows anyone. And that’s just perfect, because it also means no one notices.
She hits all of my buttons– smooth pale skin that has seen more hours of moisturizer than work in her life. Long brown hair, straight, shiny, flowing, well kept. Petite– barely a sneeze over five feet, and sleek. A dancer’s build. Fit but not starved. Breasts that are firm, round, but not stupidly uselessly big. A perfect handful. And oh how I can imagine how they feel. The low cuts she wears– just enough to accentuate the curves of her cleavage, but not enough to look like a desperate slut.
That’s all her clothing. Perfectly matched. Perfectly colored. Beautifully chosen. And yet just short enough, just tight enough, just low cut enough— all to look devastatingly beautiful because she doesn’t intend it. She rides that smooth borderline of looking like either a street walker or a fashion model. An innocent, or an undiscovered? I must know what those clothes hide. I must know how she feels, before anyone else has her.
She was put on this planet to be the perfect outlet for my desire.
Do you know how easy it is to follow someone, to learn their schedule, their every move? Be in a parking lot amongst a thousand other anonymous cars? To walk down a street, staring at her, while all that anyone sees is someone checking his cell phone? To walk past her apartment and look up and keep track of when the lights are on and off? How much information is just right there in plain sight for anyone looking? I know her name– thought it is a guttural, common name that isn’t as beautiful as she, so I refuse to use it. I know her classes. I know the long stretches of time when she won’t be missed.
Passion doesn’t mean haste. I’ve spent months planning this, and I’ve been careful. I know where the security cameras are in all our common places, and I’m not on them. I haven’t asked anyone about her. We have absolutely nothing in common. And that’s why it’s perfect. The sheer randomness, the absolute disconnect– there is literally nothing to connect us. She may have chosen me with her beauty, but I am the architect of our destiny. I’ve lived a good life. I have no prints or DNA on file, no wanted posters in my name. I’m not part of the system at all.
And tonight we meet for the first and last time.
She’s on the top floor of a duplex. The bottom floor where the owners live is empty. Away on vacation. She’s studying for midterms. At the coffee shop, she already told her ugly friends she would be “offline” for the weekend. She went grocery shopping and bought plenty. No one is coming to see her. No one is expecting to hear from her.
While she was at class, I went to her place. I wore a hardhat and an orange reflective vest. I’m highly visible but not one can see me. I screwed her windows shut from the outside. The front door is the only other way in or out of her place. I let myself in using the key she hid under the floorboard. I install a trap-lock on the door. Next time it is open and shut, it will lock from the inside. Once she comes home, she is mine. There is no escape. She doesn’t have a landline. My first priority will be getting her cell.
A small apartment. A student’s apartment. A bowl and charger by the front door. If she drops the cell in the bowl, then I’ve won. Otherwise, I’ll have to wait for my opportunity. There’s a common room, a kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom. I can hide in any and see all the others. The bathroom will be best– closest to the front door, most hidden. If she puts down her cell, I strike. Otherwise I lie in wait for when she is most vulnerable.
I spend the next hour sorting through her clothes, in case she is wearing the wrong thing. The black mini skirt. The purple top with the v-neck. All so soft, so smooth, so tight. I pocket a pair of her pantyhose. Then there’s footsteps coming up the stairs. I slip into the bathroom, into the shower. I can see well enough through the shower curtain without drawing it.
A key in the lock and my heart skips. It’s finally time to meet my beautiful one.
She comes in, looking perfect as always. Except her hair is up in a bun, rather than flowing down past her back like it should. No! Why does she do that. Doesn’t she know she looks so much better with her hair down. Stupid. She’s being so stupid! I’ll have to fix that.
She closes the door, and there’s a subtle second click as the trap lock above the door clicks into place. My heart skips again, did she hear it? I heard it. If she sees it and opens it and runs, it’s all over. No, she didn’t hear it. Good.
I’m already hard. I take a deep breath– save it for her. Calm down. Soon.
She tosses her keys in the bowl, but her cell phone is still in her hand. I had already unplugged her wifi, but I saw her cell phone bill. She has 3G, and will still have Internet. Why was she wasting so much money on useless luxuries like that? She’s so stupid sometimes. The phone, I have to get the phone.
I am distracted, and I know it. She yawns and stretches– yes, it was a long day, last day before midterms, wasn’t it?– arms over her head, arching her back. Her pink top rides up her midriff, exposing her cute belly. Flat. Perfect. I can’t wait to kiss it. Maybe I’ll cum on it, watch it all pool on that flat, perfect surface. There’s so much to do to her.
Wait, what’s she doing? She still has her phone in hand, checking her messages. And she’s going over the the window. Why is she doing that? That isn’t her routine. I’ve seen her through the window, she comes in, goes to the kitchen first. Not to the window. She’s doing this wrong! Why is she not obeying? Maybe she just wants to close the curtains but– oh shit, no. She’s reaching for the window.
I take hold of the shower curtains, unsure of what to do. She’s doing this on purpose! Heat is rising up the back of my neck, and I poise to strike. If she tries to open the window, discovers them screwed shut– I’m found out! She’s smart. She’ll deduce something’s wrong. Run or make noise before I can stop her.
She pulls on the window– and it’s jammed, won’t move. She– oh thank goodness, she puts down her cell on the window sill and grips the window with two hands.
This is my only chance. If I don’t move now, she’ll put together that she’s trapped, call for help. I step out of the shower, move slowly towards her. In a panic, I forget that I mapped out the creaky floorboards during my wait– and I step on the wrong one. It creaks and she spins around.
For just a moment, the entire world is still. Our eyes lock– her perfect, brown eyes framed in a face that is cute and sexy and beautiful and heartbreaking all at once. Little round nose. Sharp cheekbones. Tiny chin. She doesn’t see through the cloth mask I’m wearing. Even if she did, she wouldn’t know me from any of the other thousands of strangers on the street. No one knows me. No one loves me. It’s why I can do this. It’s why I have to do this!
We both move at once. I am by no means a massive hulk. That’s up to the jocks and their waste of space on this planet. But I easily outweigh her– and I spent enough of my life learning to defend myself from assholes. I know how to fight. I charge straight at her– no need to get fancy. Get her away from the phone, away from the window. Overpower and subdue. Focus.
I focus too much on her, and only see the lamp too late. One of those tall, halogen deals. I can only turn my body, take it on the shoulder. She’s strong, and has torque on her side. It slams into me, a searing pain on my left shoulder. The bulb explodes and I shut my eyes– but I have physics on my side. I’m still barging forward. She had her one shot, and now it’s mine.
I swing where I remember her being, and connect. Fist dives into stomach– not as hard as I could swing, but maybe harder than I should have. I don’t know how much it hurt her, but my hand is on fire. There’s a crash– the lamp’s on the ground. I can finally open my eyes, still seeing the daze– and see her doubled over, winded. She stumbles back, trips on the lamp cord, crumples to the floor. She’s writhing, but looks dazed. Her skirt’s riding up her thighs. Priorities! I grab her phone, turn it off and shove it into my pocket– draw the curtains closed again. Then I look down at her.
She’s on her back, rolling back and forth– cute little mouth open, gasping for air. I didn’t hurt her. Just winded her. Nothing worse than bumping into a door handle. She didn’t wear much makeup today– some lipstick, eye makeup– but her face is decorated. Her cheek is purple now. How hard did she land when she fell? I’m sorry to have to do that, but she looks all the more beautiful with the mark of my power on her. I’ve hurt her.
And I want to hurt her more. It’s real now. I did that. I made her bleed, and there was nothing she could do about it. For the first time ever, someone is truly mine.
Or at least she will be, once I stop admiring her and instead subdue her.
“Don’t struggle,” I grown down at her, my voice lower than my normal range. It’s annoying– but another mask. Can’t be too careful.
I grab the lamp, unplug it, and take the cord. She’s still on her back, so I push her gently onto her side. I kneel on her ankles– she’ll start kicking as soon as adrenaline kicks in– and wrap the long cord around her ankles. Over under over and through. I’d practiced this knot over and over again. It had been with rope– why hadn’t I brought rope? I– my god, what else will I fuck up tonight? No, nothing else. THIS IS PERFECT!
Suddenly, flailing. Her arms are waving, wildly, swatting at the air. I’m on her ankles, and she’s on her back. Her petite frame, her short arms– they can’t reach me.
“What.” she says, her voice slurred, still dazed. Good.
“Shh,” I tell her. I shouldn’t speak much. My actions will speak louder than my words. I pull her pantyhose from my pocket– and wind each end around my hands, holding them taunt. Holding them up for her to see.
Her eyes are wide, everything snapping into place for her. The daze wearing off. The situation sinking in. She jerks to the side, trying to throw me off.
Now it’s begun.
I lean forward, still on her legs, pinning her– and put the pantyhose on her throat. Her long, luxurious neck. Like a crane. A swan. A thin, elegant expanse of soft, kissable skin. I think my biggest regret of this whole thing will be that I won’t be able to push my cock past her soft lips, into her mouth, and down that beautiful throat to feel it from the inside. I just can’t risk her biting me. As much as I know her– as much as I know I can dominate her– I just don’t know if I can make her docile. Why does she have to be this way?
“Just relax,” I tell her. Shouldn’t it be obvious? I push the pantyhose harder against her throat. “It’ll be easier on you, it’s okay. Shh, just relax, and I’ll let go.”
Her eyes are wide and her face is red. The hard wood is scraping against my knuckles. I blink away the thoughts I’d lost myself in, and see her writhing under me, my hands on either side of her neck, the pantyhose digging deep into her throat. Her mouth is open. Small, cute gurgling sounds are making it past her lips. Her whole body is convulsing, trying desperately to get air. On her back, her breasts bunch up at her v-neck. Perfect, soft mounds.
She’s swatting at me, so feebly. I loosen the pressure on her throat– sitting back just an inch, and stop strangling her. Her hands go to her throat and she gasps, gulping in deep breaths. The pantyhose have left dark red pressure marks right across her pale throat. I think I’ve made my point.
I stop and realize I had her life right in my fingers. What a rush!
“Shh,” I say again, glancing down at the pantyhose, then back up at her. “Shh?”
She gasps, looking around the room. For a weapon? For escape? I’m almost tempted to let her try to get loose, only to realize all the ways I’ve trapped her. But that would just be cruel.
But I do need her to realize this is happening. I let go of one end of the pantyhose, pull back– and slap her. Not hard, but it’s loud, vicious. Her head rolls. The side of her face with the bruise is now balanced with a red handprint on the other side.
“Shh?” I imply again. Now she’s crying. Not a quivering, whimpering cry of fear. Just of pain. Anyone would cry if hit. Or hit again.
This time I backhand her–again, not hard– enough for some scary noise. The side of her face fully red now, no distinct hand print. Tears stream down her cheek, her face a mess of ruined mascara. How glad I am she wore that makeup. I know she didn’t put it on for me, but it works so well. She looks so sexy broken like that.
I put my bare hand on her throat– no pantyhose this time– fingers against her windpipe. I squeeze, not enough to cut off air, but just enough to get her attention.
“Shh?” I repeat, hopefully for the last time.
She sniffles, bravely fighting back the tears– and nods. I let go of her throat, and stroke her red cheek. Her skin is every bit as soft as I imagined it.
And now I’m finally realizing just how close to her body I am. My legs are on top of hers, my chest just inches above hers. I can feel her heat rising up. I can smell her perfume. She fits so nicely under me– trim body, shapely legs and holy fuck those breasts. Just the hint of them is driving me wild, gentle tender curves that fill out her shirt perfectly. Rising and falling as she breathes. She’s so young, and they’re still so firm.
I let go of her cheek, and grab one of them. Past the layers of shirt and undershirt and bra– finally, in my hand. It’s just as firm and soft and round and everything I ever imagined. Her eyes close and she looks away, but that is okay. There will be plenty of time to make her watch what I’m doing to her later. This one is just for me.
I rub it gently, the nipple hidden under cloth. I bet I could pull the neckline down, scoop it out of her bra, suck on the nipple. Make it hard. Make her body betray her to me.
It stiffens under my fingers. “See?” I say, “You can still enjoy this.”
Suddenly, flames down my face. FUCK! She scratched me, clawed at my eyes. I grab at my face, and feel blood. She’s suddenly out from under me, struggling to get up– and falls flat on her face. She looks down at her bound ankles, horrified. Ha, she didn’t even realize I had done that. Seeing the hope drain from her face was worth a few nail marks. She reaches down to her ankles– like she can untie that knot– and grabs the lamp.
She swings it at me, and I roll away. I look up, expecting a second blow, but instead see her chop overhead at the window. The fragile window which, if it shatters out onto the street, will be noticed.
The world moves in slow motion as my whole plan is a swing away from being unraveled. The lamp comes down, and strikes the window sill with a loud thunk. She missed the window!
I lunge and grab the lamp, pulling. She won’t let go, pulling, pushing, twisting. I can’t get a good enough grip to yank it from her hands. Her teeth are grit, her eyes wild. She has too much fight in her. If she gets the lamp, she won’t miss a second time.
I lift a booted foot, and stomp on her stomach. My god, this is the first time I noticed, but my boot is almost as wide as her body is. So petite, so fragile. It’s why I need her.
She doubles up, lets go of the lamp, and lets out a nearly silent wheeze, on her side, mouth open. I rip the cord from the lamp and toss it aside, while she just lays there in a fetal position.
I close the curtains tight. Not that anyone looks up in the suburbs.
I want to relax, but don’t have the time. Without the lamp, the knot’s compromised. I need to bind her. I didn’t think she had the upper body strength to fight back so hard. Stupid me. I always described her as having a dancer’s body. I forget she’d also have a dancer’s strength.
Her legs aren’t going anywhere, so I don’t have to worry about them. I step over her, now facing her back. Her skirt’s ridden up, exposing as much as it can without giving me a glimpse of her underwear. It’s– it’s so fucking perfect, I couldn’t have planned that. I kneel down, one knee on the ground, and the other on her neck, and apply just enough pressure so she can’t move.
I grab her wrist, and tie the pantyhose in a knot around it. Tight enough that I can maneuver her arm, but I don’t want to cut off circulation. Given time, she can slip out of it. I just won’t give her that time. Control now, dominance later.
She only has one couch, a two seater facing the TV. It looks heavy, solid. It’ll do. I stand up, a firm grip on the pantyhose, and drag her to the couch. Her arm extends. I can almost see her shoulder straining to keep her bones in place. This would be easier if she wasn’t resisting. She’ll learn.
I kneel on the couch, and start to drag her up the back of it. She’s gone limp, and I don’t know if that’s the beating or her being passive. Not that it matters. 110lbs of dead weight is still that. I put my back into it, heave– fucking hell– and finally get her up, draped face down across the back. It’s an ugly blue thing, probably bought second hand when she moved in for college. Probably dragged up the stairs by friends and loved ones. People who care about her.
People who can’t help her. Can’t save her. People who won’t miss her this whole weekend. People she can think about while she’s bound to this couch being raped.
There’s the word– and sure enough I’m hard again. I’ve thought of it so many ways. That I’ll fuck her. That I’ll use her. That I’ll make love to her. But I tried to avoid thinking of that one word. Not because I have any delusions about what I’m doing– but because I want to do it so badly. Each time I thought about raping her, I would get hard. The blood would rush to the wrong head. It would get hard to plan. I’d have to masturbate to her pictures.
But I can’t think of it any other way now. I just need to focus. Almost there. Almost there.
The couch is just tall enough– I can drape her over the couch, her stomach on its back, her feet on the floor. She took off her shoes, but that works out well. It makes her just the right height. She’d be too tall in heels. Bent over, her arms draping, there’s more than enough slack in the ‘hose to reach the floor. Pantyhose are, after all, at least as long as two legs. I reach under the couch and find the boxspring. Loop the hose around– once, twice, and knot it– then loop it back up. I look up at her– her eyes are almost glazed over, her breath in short wheezes, her face flush. She’s looking up at me now.
I grab her other wrist and finish the binding. She’ll still have plenty of mobility– move her arms back and forth, but she’s firmly bound to the couch. I’ll need more pantyhose, though. I had just thought of tying her hands together. I hadn’t actually planned of full body bondage. I guess I thought she’d give in by now. The couch is, honestly, a stroke of inspired improvisation.
I hadn’t originally meant to hit her this much. I knew I’d have to in the beginning. It’s unavoidable. She had to be subdued. She had to be hurt to know I’d hurt her more. I’m taking what I want from her, and I know she wouldn’t just let me. But inflicting that pain on her, beating her–
– actually, it felt fucking wonderful. It’s like, I knew I’d be able to rip pleasure from her body by fucking her. I never thought it’d feel just as good to make her suffer just because I could.
I reach up and grab her messy face in my hands, shake her, make her look at me. Look right in my eyes. This was getting a bit hard, talking only with ‘shh’. I didn’t want to say too much. I didn’t want her to know my voice. But a few very carefully chosen words, in a deep growl below my normal range– combined with the stress of the situation. That should work.
“Stay,” I growled, “Quiet.” And finally I reached into my vest, and pulled out the ten inch blade I’d bought at a second hand store, with cash. It was a knife, just like any other knife. Except this one was in my hands. “Or else.”
I held the knife right below her eyes, and made sure she looked right down at it.
She burst into a fresh set of tears, and these ones were from fear. Her whole face contorted, and she sputtered when she spoke, “Please, don’t…”
I laid the tip of the blade gently on her cheek, letting her feel the point, feel the sharpness. I didn’t put any pressure on it. I didn’t need to. “Behave.”
“I’ll scream,” she threatened, but it felt more like a desperate grasp. At least her voice was low and quiet.
“And I’ll slit your throat.”
She looked up definitely at me. “People will come to help.”
I looked down, like I was looking at the apartment below. “No one home.” I looked at the curtains, to the suburbs beyond. “No one cares.” I looked back at her. “Scream, and die. Quiet– maybe I’ll let you live. Maybe.”
Maybe? That wasn’t what I had originally intended, but– yeah. I could take her life. It was mine, just like her body. I started to put a bit of pressure on the knife– kept going, a dimple in her skin– kept going, her eyes closed tight and pushing out tears– kept going– and there was a drop of blood. I pulled back, letting the drop roll onto the blade, and showed her.
I stabbed the knife into the arm of the couch, so that it would always be in her line of sight.
I got up, confident that she’d stay put, at least for a little while. I saw the fear in her face. She was as unsure of her survival as I was.
I went into the bedroom, and grabbed all the pantyhose I saw. I looked wistfully at the clothes I had laid out for her. I had hoped to just overpower her, hurt her, break her spirit, make her co-operate. Get her to dress up my favorite outfit of hers. Fuck her in it. Tear it up. Cum on it. Ruin it. Stain in. Destroy it. But now she fought back, and I’d have to tie her up completely. I couldn’t change her without untying her. Maybe one limb at a time, but– fuck, she was making this so difficult. This WAS happening, one way or the other. I was taking my pleasure from her. No question about it. Why couldn’t she just make it easier on both of us?
Not that there was anything wrong with what she was wearing now. It was a nice circular skirt, black, flared– but too loose. I could flip it up, expose her, fuck her. But it was just too easy. I wanted her to wear the fitted purple miniskirt. So I could push it up her thighs, make it cling to her hips, force it up and over her ass. Really work for it.
The best laid plans, I suppose.
I came back, carrying the handful of pantyhose. They weren’t silk scarves, but they were sturdy. It’s funny, the fucking things will get a run if you blink at them, but they’re nearly impossible to actually pull apart. Weird physics.
I took a moment to just look at her, bent over the couch, arms pulled in front of her, legs bound at the ankles. Bent over like that, her skirt did ride up nicely, the bottom of her ass just peeking out from under the hemline. She was wearing black panties. I wonder if the bra matched? For a short girl, her legs were long. Perfectly curved, perfectly shaped. I loved the way she walked, one leg proudly moving from under her skirt, then the other– criss cross– swaying hips. So sexy. Without her shoes, her legs didn’t seem as long. The illusion of heels.
I sat on the floor behind her, and got to work. First step, tie the pantyhose around one ankle. A knot tight enough to be firm, not so tight as to cut off circulation. Not like she’ll be able to kick her way out of it. I won’t give her the leverage.
Her leg jerked, and I grabbed her ankle harder. She squirmed. “Please stop,” she pleaded– quieter at least. “Please stop– I know what you want. You don’t have to do this. I’ll–” she paused. It was so cute how she could be confident and nervous at the same time. I always liked that about her when I eavesdropped on her conversations in public. “– I’ll give you a blow job. I’ll even let you– finish– in my mouth if you want. You don’t have to tie me up. Please.”
“Let me, huh?” I said, musing over her words. “You wouldn’t even let me buy you a drink the other day at the coffee shop.”
She was silent for a moment. I could almost hear her mind racing. Funny, my heart skipped a beat, too. Almost– almost– as if she could say the right thing, right now– maybe I’d feel bad about this.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last, “I had people waiting for me.”
And so much for that. I swatted her ass, hard. Loud. She let out a yelp. “We never met in a coffee shop,” I growled at her. “We’ve never met. But I’ve always been there, watching you wrapped up in your little self absorbed life. Looking good for the world. Looking good for me. But you’ve never seen me before. Have you?”
Silence. I spanked her again. “Have you?”
“No!” she cried out, sniffling again, “I don’t know you. I promise, I don’t– I won’t tell anyone I saw you, or describe you or anything please just stop.”
“Finally, some honesty,” I said. “Too late, though. You had your chance not to be a silly lying little cunt.” I pulled the knot tight around her other ankle.
Thank goodness the underwear was all she was wearing on her legs. I hated when she wore tights or anything else to obstruct the view of her legs. Some women needed them to tighten things up, to hide their veins and bruises. Not her. Fucking perfect. I looked up, could see right up her skirt– her underwear was bunching up, her shaped cheeks right above me. I reached up– no, not yet. Fuck, she was already trying to distract me.
I gave her a playful swat across the back of her legs. She let out a guttural yell, so I slapped her again.
“QUIET!” I growled– and her cry became a forced, throaty, stifled mutter. She was trying. I didn’t want to gag her. I didn’t want anything to get in the way of her face or mouth when I came on it.
It ached to sit down like these in jeans. I was rock hard, so ready, pressing against the fabric. Come on, enough time wasting. I ran the pantyhose under the couch, looped around a spring, then back to her ankles. One at a time, I made slipknots. Then, finally, I loosened the lamp cord. Her legs were loosely bound, free for the briefest of moments.
I gave her other asscheek a spank. “Behave,” I ordered, reminding her of my presence. I yanked hard on the slipknots, pulling her legs apart, wide open. Nice and wide. Ankles further than her shoulders. Perfect. I tightened the knots, binding her right to the couch. No wiggle room.
Then I did the same to her wrists– one at a time, multiple bindings, just like I’d studied on the bondage websites. Each pantyhose was a counterbalance to the other, making any arm movement impossible.
Finally, she was in place. It was time to set up the scene.
I went back to the bathroom, and got two important things. My duffle bag, and the bathroom mirror. I carried them back to the couch, and she was just plain weeping now. Full on tears, mascara running off her face. Her body was twitching, trying to find a comfortable pose given her restricted movement. She’d settle into a groove, I was sure. Maybe I would prop her head up with a few pillows. Maybe.
I put the mirror by the TV, facing her. Facing us. I wanted to watch me raping her. This was too good to miss out on.
From the duffle back, three cameras and folding tripods. Older model digital cameras with custom firmware. No metadata, no location data. Fully anonymous. Perhaps filming my rape of her carried some risks, but those risks were far less than those of being a repeat offender. This was the one and only time I would do this. I wanted more than just memories.
“Cover my face,” she whimpered, “Please.”
I unfolded the tripod, talking to her as I went. “Nope. I want to see your ever reaction to what I’m going to do to you.”
“I don’t want to know– to know I’m on film– like this. Please?”
The tripod legs extended– long, hard. What a metaphor. “Oh, but I need your face. You. Specifically. Because even after I’m done raping you, I want you to know I still have this–” I reached out a stroked her. “I’ll treasure it. Watch it often. From every angle. Make the perfect edit of it. Jerk off to it, hundreds– thousands of times. And really, you’re being an altruist here. Put in a good performance, and you’ll save some other poor innocent girl from getting raped because I needed to rekindle that spark.”
Three angles– behind, stage left. In front, stage right. And low angle looking up at her face– to see her tears, her anguish, and the inevitable facials. Plus extra angles captured by the mirrors. It would be enough.
“And besides,” I continued, “This is, let’s say, insurance. If I hear you’ve been talking about tonight– and believe me, I see and hear everything you say and do– then a copy of my little movie will find it’s way to your father. Along with explicit instructions on how I pulled it off so easily. And trust me–” I knelt down in front of her, “– he’ll appreciate it. He’ll be the next one in your apartment, looking to reclaim daddy’s sexy little girl.”
As I balanced the tripod by her face, she sniffled, then spoke again. “Why?” she asked.
“Because I want to fuck you,” I answered truthfully. “You’re sexy.”
“You can stop,” she begged, “I’ll strip for you. You can film that as much as you want. I’ll– I’ll even play with myself.”
“But I want to play with you,” I said, getting a bit weary of this noise. I white balanced the camera, perfectly capturing the pale, lush and silky tone of her skin.
“Please, you haven’t done anything yet, you can stop and go away and I won’t tell anyone I promise, please…”
I twisted around, and slapped her again, for the third time in the same spot. Her head jerked to the side, then hung loose. My heart skipped until I heard her sniffle. Phew, maybe don’t hit her that hard again. She was in an odd position, and I didn’t want to snap her neck or anything. But she had to shut the fuck up. “This is happening,” I said, “I don’t want to gag you. I really don’t. So if you make me gag you, I will make you suffer for it. A lot. Got it?”
She sniffled again. I reached up, and pulled the elastic from her hair. Her long brown locks fell down across her face, still so straight and silky and smooth fucking hell I love her hair. I grabbed a handful of it, and yanked hard, pulling her face up to mine. “Got. It?”
She nodded, and I let her go.
The third camera was in place. I walked around and hit REC on all three.
I had planned to start slowly. Expose her slowly, run my hands over her body, experience every inch of her. But I was so worked up now, so hard, so close to just exploding. I didn’t want that for my first time fucking her. But that didn’t mean my first load should just go to waste.
I knew I shouldn’t do this– I shouldn’t take any more risks, but I had to do this. I had to use her mouth.
I walked around her, and positioned myself so that her head was between me and camera 3, on the floor, looking up at her. Leaning like this, held aloft by her arms spread to the side, she was just at the perfect height. I stood so I was in frame. I brushed her hair to one side, exposing her bruised and beaten face. And then slowly, I unzipped my pants, pulled them down, and kicked them off to the side.
Women always say they like men with big cocks. But those same women are stuckup bitches who don’t give guys like me the time of day. How can they know my cock’s big enough for them if they won’t even talk to me? Well, their loss. I mean, I wasn’t huge, not like those donkey monsters I’ve seen in porn. But I was big enough. Hold it with two hands. Just barely get thumb and finger wrapped around it. I’m not going to brag. I’m just going to put it to good use.
I took a step forward, and put it on her nose. A slow thrust forward, and slow pull back. I quivered with just that touch. So ready.
“Open your mouth,” I said, and put my knife into frame. “If you bite, I’ll slit your throat and throatfuck you while you die.”
A moment of hesitation on her part– was I going to have to hurt her more? Hit her? Cut her? I did like the thought of that. Then, finally, she obeyed– parting her lips and just opening wide.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and pulled, lifting her face– using her like a toy, maneuvering her mouth to my cockhead. Just her warm breath on my skin was enough to send a pulse of delight up my spine. This wouldn’t take long at all. A risk, but a quick risk.
I moved her head into place, and put my cock in her mouth. It rested on her cheek– my first feel of her warm insides. It was everything I’d imagined. Everything I’d thought about while masturbating, dreaming of her. This was all worth it.
“Close your lips,” I whispered, and she obeyed. I was enveloped. I put the knife down on the couch, in her view, so she’d know I was serious. I rested my hand on her head, the other under her chin, and gripped her face like I’d grip the hips of a lover I was fucking from behind.
And fuck her I did. I thrust up into her mouth, rubbing along her tongue, her lips– just enough to wet myself. Her mouth was so warm and wet. From all her crying? See, abusing her first was the right thing to do.
I pulled back, fully wetted, and slid back up. Further up this time– but there was only so far I could thrust up without standing on my toes. I didn’t want to be off balance. So instead, I pushed down on her head. Forced her down on my cock– gentle, but firm. Down, then started to pull her head back up– riding up my cock.
I got into a rhythm, push her face down towards my balls, pull it up to my head. I only dared to push her halfway down my shaft. Faster now. Harder now. I could almost feel the back of her throat, but didn’t dare push into it. One of the downsides of being this long. I’d accidentally hit the back of a woman’s throat before, and been admonished for it. Told off. But– why was I obeying that inhibition now? What reason did I have for holding back?
She was mine to do with as I pleased!
I took a firm grip on the back of her neck, and pushed her down hard on my cock. I slammed into the back of her throat, and held her there. She gagged, hard, choking on my cock. Drool oozed from her pursed lips, dribbling down my cock and falling onto the couch. I held her there for another moment. Another gag. Then finally I yanked her hair, violently pulling her off me. I let her get a gasp of air.
Too bad she was at this angle. I’d love to fuck her throat. But then again– she was bent over. What was stopping me?
I shifted positions so that I was in front of her face– mindful not to block the shot. With my grip on her hair firm, I tilted her head so she faced forward. How obedient. How easy this was. I put my cock on her lips.
“You said you wanted to give me a blowjob,” I told her, wiggling my cock on her face. “Here’s you chance. Do it well. The sooner you wear me out, the sooner this is over.”
And without any other warning or ceremony, I thrust as deep as I could into her. Past her lips, past her tongue, right down her long, tight throat. I pushed harder and deeper until her nose touched my stomach.
She convulsed, and gagged hard. I may have been cute before when I described choking her with my cock, but this was the real deal. I could feel her throat tightening around my intrusion, plugging her, her body desperate to gag me out. More waves of saliva poured from her mouth, her eyes welling with tears, her face turning red. I gripped her hair tight, holding her in place, fighting against her convulsions. Then, with short strokes, I started fucking her throat. I moved my dick around in her throat– rubbing myself about in it. So hot, tight, alive with gagging and fighting. My cock started tingling, welling up. This was fucking amazing, and I wasn’t going to last long at all.
At the last possible moment, I pulled out, held her head in one hand, my cock in the other, and came on her face.
It was a hard, violent spurt– built up for days in anticipation. I fought all my inhibitions… so many harpy voices in my head… don’t get it in my hair… don’t get it in my eyes… ewwww… and aimed straight for her cute little face.
The first blast hit her right in the eye, and she recoiled. It splashed across her face, the second spurt jetting out, arcing over her head and landing in a gobby streak in her long hair. My vision blurred, my knees weakened, and I dumped the rest of my cum on her face. It dribbled down her forehead, pooling in her eyes, smearing her cheek, mixing with the gobs of saliva I’d fucked from her throat.
She was still coughing and gagging as I took a half step back, my head a buzz with the post-cum fuzzies. Her eyes were closed tight, her face scrunched in disgust, crying.
For the first time, I looked at her without sex on the brain and cum in my balls. I looked at her as she was, not just as I saw her. A girl. I’d broken into her apartment, attacked her. Beaten her. She was frightened, tied up, captured, terrorized. Afraid for her life. And now well and truly raped. I’d violated her, just because I wanted to. Because I could, right or wrong be damned. And I’d only begun what I’d planned to do to her.
A gob of cum ran along her lips, and she sputtered and spat it out.
Whatever calm had come over me suddenly vanished in a wash of rage at the sight. “Don’t you EVER spit that out again!” I growled at her. I grabbed her face, and wiped the cum from her eyes. “Look at me.” I shook her head. “LOOK AT ME!”
She opened her eyes, barely, blinking away the remnant of my ejaculation. Her eyes were red. I’d gotten her good. I shoved my cum-soaked fingers into her mouth.
“Look me in the eye and swallow,” I commanded, squeezing her face harder. She closed her lips, and her eyes. “LOOK AT ME!”
Her eyes snapped open, welling with tears– she looked up at me, eyes wide, terrified. Her head still hung low, her eyes rolled up to see me. She sucked on my fingers, her tongue licking, lapping, and then slowly, and deliberately, she swallowed. I saw her throat work my cum down inside her. I pulled my fingers out, and stroked her hair– being careful not to upset the nice streak of cum I’d laid in it.
“Good.” I said, relieved I didn’t have to hurt her more just yet. I did want a moment to breath before I got myself worked up again. I knelt beside her for a good, close look. I’d memorized all the curves and nooks of her face from photos. I’d cummed on pictures of her. But nothing captured the reality of the moment as a good, close look. The way it pooled, the way it gather. The way her skin glistened. It even covered part of the bruise.
“You look so much more beautiful with my cum on your face,” I told her, and it was the truth. “Show the camera.”
She obediently moved her head side to side.
“I’m going to leave you glazed, let you enjoy it on your skin.”
“You’re done?” she asked, hopefully, looking up at me with her cum-stained face.
I almost laughed at the naivety. “Oh nononono, you silly little cunt. That was just to relieve some tension while I got ready for all the other ways I’m going to rape you. There’s so many places left for me to cum in, and on. So many more of your clothes to ruin, and body parts to glaze, and holes to fuck. I’m going to rape you– it feels so good to say that outloud– rape you. Hard. I’m going to rape you until I’m satisfied, and there’s nothing you can do about it. You’re mine to rape until I say otherwise. We have all night. We have all weekend. I’m going to rape you until you’re completely ruined. And if you even think about doing or saying anything to the contrary, I will hurt you. Badly. And then I’ll just rape broken little you some more. So just shut your fucking cunt mouth up, and do what I say, and maybe this won’t turn into a rape/murder. Got it?”
I stood up and stretched my back. She was oddly silent. I guess that was a good thing. Of course, I didn’t want her to completely tune out. I strolled casually behind her, stopped, and slapped her ass. Hard. She cried out.
“That wasn’t a rhetoric question, you cunt!” I growled at her. “Got it?”
“Yes,” she whimpered, giving a half-hearted struggle against her bonds.
“Yes…” I said, leading.
“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice sounding deliciously broken.
“Good,” I answered, really getting into it now. And I was worried I’d lose my nerve after my first cum dump. In fact, all this talk of rape was getting me hard again. Just a little stiff, still quite flaccid, but perking up. All I needed was some encouragement.
I pushed my body into her backside, her legs warm against mine– and leaned over, retrieving the knife. I lifted it up, making sure the blade passed right by her face– and rested the tip on the nape of her neck. I held the blade in my fingers, letting it dangle– no pressure, whatsoever. Her beautiful shoulder blades tensed. Good. I ran the knife down her back, over her shirt of course, along her spine. She was whimpering again. Encouraging, but not enough.
“Please–” she said, and caught herself, “Sir, please– I’m begging you. I’m begging you. Don’t cum in me.”
I snickered, admiring her tied and prone body. “I already did. Can’t you taste it?”
“In my–” she swallowed. “Down there. In my vagina. Don’t–”
I played with a locke of her hair. “Why not? Are you not on the pill or something?”
She was silent for a moment. “No.”
And that one word brought me an unexpected shiver of delight. Cumming in her pussy wouldn’t just be raping her. It’d be violating her right down to her core.
“I’ll cum wherever I want,” I said.
“Please…” and she clammed up as soon as the knife point started to move.
I guided the knife over her ass, down one cheek, over the hem of her dress– then down, down down, scraping along the back of her leg, leaving a trail of subtle white pressure marks as it went. Down to her ankles, until it touched the bondage. Then back up, now on the inside of her legs. Goosebumps everywhere. She was shivering.
“Be still,” I said, warning her, “this is delicate.”
She stiffened up, and I tried not to laugh. I couldn’t believe how much control I had over her.
I brought the knife tip up past her inner thighs, and finally let it come to rest on her underwear. Now, I could just as easily cut the waistband. But where was the fun in that?
I slid the blade under the cloth sideways, metal to her pussy. The tip of the blade peeped out at me.
“Now, if you make even a sound,” I warned, “I’ll turn the blade this way…” I gave it just ever so slight a twist, turning the edge towards her skin.
I twisted the knife the other way, edge to cloth, and with once slice, cut her panties. Now that the cloth hung loose, I just cut away the rest of it, leaving the waist-band on her like some perverted lingerie.
I flipped her skirt out of her way, took a step back and admired. Her ass was just like I imagined– firm, round, as shapely as the well toned muscles of her legs. I’d only seen it swaying side to side under skirts, under tight pants– the barest peeks of it from the bottom of shorts. Now it was before me, spread as wide apart as her legs. Both her holes stared back at me.
She was trimmed down below. I honestly never could guess what she’d be. I was hoping shaved, but she didn’t seem like the type of girl. But still, it was nicely kept. All the hair was there, but it was short. Like she took very careful scissors or a trimmer to it, but didn’t dare let a blade cross her gentlest of areas. Ironic, given what I just did to her.
Her hairs matched her head. Thank god. If I found out she faked that beautiful hair color of hers, I might have lost it.
Her lips were spread apart, a tiny glint of pink inviting me. And goddamn if it didn’t seem a touch wet. “You’re enjoying this, you silly little cunt.” I teased.
“No,” she muttered, closing her eyes and pushing a tear past the cum stains.
“You’re lying again,” I said, playfully patting her ass. Then rubbing it. By finger brushed her soaked hairs. “But your pussy isn’t. You like being dominated, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what you make my body do, I don’t want this. I don’t want you. Fuck you.”
“Actions, not words,” I answered, and took a step towards her, closing the gap.
I took my semi-flaccid cock, and laid it between her soft ass cheeks, just below the base of her spine. I had to stand on toes to do it, and as I relaxed back flat, I slowly rubbed my cock along her ass, between her cheeks, over her hole– until I finally fell out, bouncing off of her.
“Goddamn, you’re soft all over,” I admired. She was. Even the skin of her ass was soft and tender, like she moisturized and pampered herself all over. It was like rubbing my cock on silk. I ran my dick along her again, and I wasn’t soft anymore.
Now I didn’t have to stand on my toes to reach her ass. I Inched closer, my knees grazing the back of her thighs, my erection full. I pushed up along her crack, this time my head poking at her asshole before popping out and moving along.
“Do you like anal?” I asked, genuinely curious. I knew why guys liked it. It pressed against certain anatomy that girls just didn’t have. I’d played around with some toys more than once myself, curious how it felt. But girls– mixed reviews.
“Please, don’t,” she said, a certain seriousness to her voice, “You’re too big for me.”
“Nonsense,” I dismissed, waving off the objection, “It’s all a manner of stretching. Now, fucking answer me because either I’m going to allow you the leisure of the vibrator and lube I brought to stretch you to accommodate me, or I’ll just shove my cock up your ass as hard as I can, ripe and tear my way as deep as I can go, and lubricate myself with your blood. Do. You. Like. Anal?”
I shrugged, and ran my cock up her crack again, poking the head into her hole without any force yet, before continuing my stroke upwards. “Well, I do. Or at least I think I do. I’ve never done it before. First time for everything!”
“Please, don’t–” at the very words, my hackles raised. How many fucking times do I have to tell her. I pulled my cock away, and spanked her hard, making sure the strike landed as close to her hole as possible.
She nearly screamed, but bit her lip, and then said through clenched teeth. “SIR,” she said, catching my attention, “I was going to say please don’t do it without lube and stretching. Please. Sir.”
Ah, I guess I was too quick on the draw with the beating on that one. I leaned forward, and planted a gentle kiss on her red ass cheek. The smell of her sex wafted into my nose, and I breathed deeply. “I guess you weren’t objecting after all,” I said, then stood upright, “But I’m sure you had negative thoughts on your mind, so–”
I whacked her ass again, once, then backhanded, then followed through with a third. Her tender skin was aflame with red marks now.
Was her pussy wetter now?
“I’ll get the lube.”
I dragged over the duffle, and took out the tube of lube (extra large size), and my personal vibrator. “I know as a fact this one loosens up the ass,” I said, unscrewing the lube tube. “It’s been inside me many times. I’m so glad I can share it with you.”
I got back into position, so glad to once again be near her body. I’d admired her from afar for so long. Never been this close. Even passing on the street had felt like being miles apart. Now my skin was against her skin. I could just sense her entire body this close to me, her warmth, her bones, her holes. If I wasn’t hard from the warm up, that reminder got me the rest of the way.
I laid the vibe on her asshole, and squirted a load of lube onto it. I twisted the vibe on, and ran slow circles around her ass– spreading the clear gel over both her and the toy. I added more squirts liberally– I suppose I did want a nice clear path deep into her. Hurt her or rape her, either way was good, but the latter seemed more fun in this case.
I leaned in closer, both so I could watch, and so I wasn’t obstructing the camera behind us. Her tiny pink hole, so tight, so new. It was almost unbelievable that I was going to get my thick cock into an opening the size of what– a penny? A dime?
I laid the tip of the vibe against the hole, and with very little force, let it penetrate. Hold there for just a moment, let the vibrations do their work– then I pulled it back. Another gob of gel, spread around, and plunge back in. A little further now. I peeked over her shoulder to see her face in the mirror. Her eyes were closed, her face scrunched in pain. At least she wasn’t screaming. This was hurting her, though. Did we even have enough time to get her fully and properly stretched?
Actually, who gives a fuck? I put my palm to the vibe, and shoved it deep into her. It slide in on lube and force, hilt deep.
“owowowowowowow!” she spat, the words deep in her throat, trying to so hard not to scream, “ow!”
Her cheeks tightened, her body trying to squeeze the intruding object out. I pushed hard, pushing against the resistance of her body, keeping it in. I thumbed the vibe up to its highest setting.
Something happened with her body. It convulsed, just once, and her her face distorted something different. A dribble of creamy, almost clear liquid dripped from her cunt and ran down her left leg.
“You just came, you silly little cunt,” I said, and looked her. “You are enjoying this.”
She was crying tears of shame. “No,” she wailed, genuinely ashamed.
I flicked my tongue out at the drip running down her leg, lapping up her tangy orgasm. I licked long and hard, up her leg, craning my neck and finally flicking at her lips. I wriggled my tongue between them– not quite penetrating her, but enough to lap at the delicious treat her body had betrayed to me. I swallowed. “Yum,” I said.
Then I stood up, and get into position behind her. “That’s enough warm up for you, you silly little cunt.”
I drew the vibe out from her, and rested my cock on her now gaping asshole. Another glob of lube, getting myself nice and slick, even though I could clearly see plenty of lube inside of her. I pushed my cock head against her asshole and unlike the slow and steady of the vibe, I just shoved myself in nice and deep.
And unlike the vibe, I was much thicker. And much longer. Her whole body tightened, fighting against me. I leaned forward, putting my whole weight into fucking her up the ass. I pulled back, her insides nearly crushing the entire length of my cock. I thrust forward again. Hard, violently, wanting nothing more than the stuff my whole length into her. To rip her open.
Her face was red, making the cum stains contrast that much more. Her fists clenched, pulling hard enough against the restraints that they were leaving deep red marks.
I fucked hard up into her again, hard enough that the couch moved an inch. The tightness, the resistance, the soft, spongy insides rubbing every inch of my cock, it was everything I imagined. “I don’t care if it hurts,” I grunted at her, slamming into her again. I braced myself on the couch, pulled back, and drove deep into her ass. “I’m glad it hurts, you silly little cunt. You enjoyed the vibe too much, that was my mistake.” I slammed her again, then again, my cock starting to tense. “You shouldn’t enjoy getting anally raped. I enjoy it. You shouldn’t, you fucking silly little cunt. You deserve the pain!”
I pulled back far, almost all the way out. She deserved this. She deserved it for dressing like she did to entice me, to tease me. She was no innocent, she knew exactly how anal worked. She walked around with the knowledge. Dressed herself with that knowledge. She carried it inside her, waiting for it to be put to good use. What good was having her body if it wasn’t used properly?
I stuffed my cock into her again, and now started to fuck her properly up her ass. Hard, fast, pounding strokes. Let the lube do it’s job. Rape her. Rape her ass. Rape her.
Her head was hanging, tears running freely. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, and used it as leverage as I anally raped her. Grabbed a clump near the top of her head, and pulled hard– pulling her body towards me as I fucked her, pulling her head up. “OPEN YOUR EYES!” I growled, “Don’t you fucking dare look away while I’m raping you. LOOK!”
She wouldn’t open her eyes. I yanked on her hair harder. I could hear strands snapping, ripping from her scalp. My grip slipped, so I tightened it, wrapping her long hair around my fist. “LOOK!”
She refused. I couldn’t stop pounded her ass, so deep, so hard– completely enveloped with her. My balls were slamming into her cunt, getting wet with her spray. I couldn’t stop. I was so close. She had to watch this!
Had to! Why wouldn’t she look? Obey, you silly little cunt! I reached forward, grabbed and her left breast. Even though her shirt was still on, I could feel the nipple under the cloth. It was as hard as I was. I gripped it with my fingers– and squeezed as hard as I could.
She started to scream, so I let go of her breasts– and put the knife to her throat. She gurgled and stopped. “OPEN YOUR EYES!”
She obeyed, eyes locked on the mirror, me towering over her thrusting up into her ass– hands locked in her hair, pulling her head back taut– her exposed throat tight, a knife hovering over her skin.
This is what I wanted. Her. Powerless. Defeated. MINE! Mine! Mine to rape! Mine!
My body started to shake. Every inch of my rubbed cock turned into prickles of pleasure which shot up my spine, spread through me. I pulled the knife away– nicking her skin, drawing blood, just a scratch– all the pleasure scrunched up into a ball in my stomach– fucking harder, deeper, completely loosing myself in the violent anal rape–
and I came.
I shot the first load deep into her ass, there was nothing stopping that. I quickly pulled out. I couldn’t aim in time, and the second bust shot across her back, a long, white streak from her skirt, up her shirt, and on the back of her neck. I aimed the third shot, and splashed her gaping asshole– mixing with the cum and lube leaking out from her. It splashed messily, coating her cheeks, her cunt.
My brain went wicked, and I aimed very carefully for the last spurt– cumming right on her sopping wet cunt. She bit her lip hard, her eyes valiantly open– welling with tears, her fists tight. She was pulling so hard against the restraints that her right wrist was bleeding.
“don’t cum in me don’t cum in me don’t cum in me,” she started weeping, pleading. Trying to move her hips away from me, but her legs were nice and properly bound. “Please, don’t get me pregnant, please stop please.”
I squeezed my semi-flacid shaft, poked my head between her parted lips, and dumped the last bits of my cum right into her. “I’ll cum where I want,” I said wickedly. I rubbed the inside of her lips, smearing my stickiness all around, painting her.
“Stop!” she croaked, sobbing. I pushed again, could I get hard again this quick?
“I…” her breathing was faster, harder– and she fainted.
I looked down at her, hanging prone from her restraints. Her shoulder slump, her head lolling. It wasn’t from blood loss– there was barely any there. From pain? Panic?
I rubbed again in her cunt, my cock rock hard. It was an entirely different sensation– warmer than any ass. Softer than any mouth. But– she was unconscious. If this is what I wanted, I would have just knocked her out and fucked her. This wasn’t as much fun, and I was losing my erection.
I dug through the duffle, and got some juice. Might as well recharge while she had her little hissy fit. I needed her well enough to decide how I’d rape her next. I already knew I had the erection just waiting.
I leaned on her prone body, tracing a circle around her ruined asshole. I could see right into her, see my cum pooled in her. Her ass looked just as beautiful as her face– ruined, bruised, coated with my cum. It’s exactly what I wanted her to be. A fuck toy. A series of holes to cum in, and body parts to cum on. She was living up the my expectations. Except for passing out. I didn’t want to fuck a sleeping beauty.
But I could still take advantage of the situation. If I hurried…
I ran to the bedroom, and got my chosen outfit. I’d have to be quick before she recovered from blacking out. I had not idea how long that would be.
I’d already ruined her backside. I could flip her over and redress her. Rape two birds with one stone-hard cock.
My fingers were shaking with excitement as I worked the knots. Damn fuck it, I wouldn’t get these undone in time. Fine– I just sliced them, as close to the springs as possible. I’d just have to retie them.
She slumped down on to the couch. I rolled her onto her back, laying her out on the couch– making sure there was enough room for me to mount her later. Might as well continue with the knife. I cut her skirt, and tossed it aside. No time to admire– I quickly slipped the tight miniskirt over her feet, and pulled it into place. Now for her shirt– sliced from the belly to the throat. Then the bra– thank goodness she wasn’t an underwire girl. Cut, and open it–
For the first time, I saw her tits fully exposed. Oh god how glorious! They were exactly as round and firm as I hoped. 34B. It took a lot of studying of her photos to figure that out. Natural, so they flowed and fell exactly as they should– just off to the side of her trim chest. On her back like this, I could almost make out her ribs. Her stomach rose and fell, hard abs just underneath tight skin. Her hair was fanned out perfectly beneath her, a well organized tussle of brown locks. Her nipples were soft, pink nubs– errect. Begging to be kissed.
I put the knife down on the floor, and reached out to them. They fit perfectly in my hands– just exactly the right amount to hold. To squeeze. So firm!
Her eyes opened. Shit!
It took her half a second to see the lack of restraints, no knife in my hand– and suddenly she was a squirming, flailing bundle of limbs. Rolling back and forth, trying to get off the couch, out from under my hands. Slapping at my face, knees trying to connect.
I jumped onto the couch straddling her hips. “Stop it,” I said, trying to calm her down. She knew better than this.
Her hand scratched at my eyes, and only by the grace of god did I pull back in time. This was getting out of hand. I reached for the knife, but it wasn’t there. It was across the room. How?
That claw was a fist now, and it struck my temple. Not hard, but my eyes buzzed, and stars were in my vision.
“STOP IT!” I shifted position, hips to hips, pinning her lower body. Crushing her with my weight. I caught one of her hands by the wrist– her right wrist, and struggled because it was slippery with cum. She’d dug the restraints into her skin. Fuck. I finally got hold of her wrist, and pulled her arm down to the couch– propping myself on my left elbow. My right hand tried to catch her other. I could feel myself pressing against her– rock hard.
“This is how you want it, you silly little cunt?” I growled in her face. I stopped trying to get her other hand– and slapped her instead. As hard as I could. She had to shut the fuck up and stop struggling. Now! Her head bounced. “Fine, you asked for it.”
In that brief moment of her daze, I shifted– and shoved my cock up her cunt. No foreplay, no seeking, no stretching, nothing. Just hard and rough right into her. She wasn’t wet. She wasn’t ready. I knew I entered at a weird angle. I could feel her insides pressing the wrong way against me. I didn’t care. My cock was still covered in lube and cum. I thrust. Her tight skirt pushed up, scrunching around her waist. No obstacle at all.