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I'm usually very aware of the risks involved when taking on a specific job, and try mightily to minimize those risks. For example, I refuse any contact with the client; I leave no evidence behind (besides physical and emotional trauma to the victim); I refuse to work with anybody else; I leave the victim, to all outward appearances, much as I find her; I always give the victim an easy out after the rape; I avoid oral rape, unless the victim is ring-gagged; I never put the victim in any inordinate danger of dying; I always take the victim in private. There have been occasions when I broke my own rules, but none so badly as when I traveled to the U.K.
Most of my requests come from the U.S., but I've had a few from expats and friends of expats living in foreign countries. The particular case I'm going to describe came from a client in the UK. He was the drummer in a twisted little band with a small following and a sexy young lead singer by the name of 'Kat', short for Kirsten, and had grown tired of her teasing, me-first attitude, and her desire to control everyone and everything around her. He wanted her put in her place, and had several specific requests: she must be in fear for her life during the entire ordeal; the rape was to end by slowly choking her unconscious with a dog-chain she used to lead around groupies, while she was being brutally ass-fucked, the goal being to make her think that she was going to die; she was to awaken in a dumpster near the apartment of the drummer, naked; he wanted three pictures, one of her looking up at the camera as she sucked dick, one of her being choked and ass-raped, and one of her dumped in the garbage.
Normally, I wouldn't even consider such a request, but the picture he sent of Kat did something to me. It was a picture of her on stage, shot as if you were looking up at this sexy little minx of a girl standing in front of a microphone. She was blond, petite, her face rounded with glowing pale skin and big blue eyes, her hair cut to collar length. Four inch black heels encased her feet; black stockings ran up her shapely legs, stopping just below a short black lycra skirt, a black garter setting off the tempting pale flesh of her thighs. The skirt hugged a tight little ass, every curve revealed. A black lycra bodice exposed her slender waist, flat, sexy stomach, and pushed up the pert mounds of her breasts, exposing pale, delectable cleavage. A black choker finished off the ensemble, making her look like some sexy bondage doll.
The job would be in Bristol, and the take would have to happen in a small club late at night after the band completed the set. This would give me at least a full eight hours, since her habit was to leave with some groupie, so no one would miss her. The client suggested the take happen either in the bathroom or the changing rooms, since there was a fire door quite close, making for a quick escape. What I most objected to were the client's last two requests: the public dumping and the photos. The problem was, I wanted this girl; I wanted to take her and slowly, brutally, strip away her defenses, break her down, ruin her. I made the excuse that I could have a working vacation, and that even if I fouled up, it was in a different country, and I would be out in a matter of weeks, and took the job.
When I got to Bristol, I prepared, renting a garage near Floating Harbor in a reasonably isolated area, within a half-mile of where my client lived, and similarly situated near the club she was to be playing at. I also found someone who could sell me a pistol, and settled on a Ruger Bisley .44 Magnum with a 7 1/2" barrel--it was surprisingly difficult, but money talks no matter where you are. The club was within a few blocks of the university, and Kat's band had a regular gig there on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.
On Thursday, I went to see her sing, and, as attracted to her as I was by the picture, it didn't hold a candle to her when she performed. She was magic, strutting across the stage with a sexy sway to her hips, wearing the same clothes she had worn in the picture, her pale white flesh glowing under the heavy lights, confidence and strength and charisma oozing from her as she sang. What she sang was dirty and twisted and sexual, and she flirted with the audience, teased them, fed their sickest fantasies as she gyrated on the stage, every man there wishing she were his. Even as I felt the pull of her, I considered how I would fulfill my contract, what I could do to break this sexy young singer down.
During a break in their set, I cased the club, finding it just as my client said. I also watched her, and, if what I suspected was true, a germ of an idea came to me, and I smiled inwardly. As the set ended, late in the evening, I watched as the band was swarmed by groupies, the male members surrounded by girls dressed to show their best assets, Kat surrounded by young men. I watched her closely, taking her in. I'm very good at reading people; I have to be in my job. I can sense people's strengths and weaknesses, things they don't want others to know, things they hide even from themselves. I've honed this skill during the past five years, and it was telling me something delicious about sweet Kat.
Her stage persona, combining a strutting, swaying confidence, sexy, revealing clothes, and sexually twisted, explicit lyrics, was also a facade she wore when she was offstage. It was an act that she wouldn't let go of; she was afraid to show her true self, to relax around other people and be herself. She had to be the sexual predator that she played on stage. To eyes like mine, it was as if her insecurity shown from her skin, her actions revealing a need to stay in control of her environment and those around her, using her sexuality as a weapon. It was her weakness, and I knew then and there how I was going to break her.
For the next week I prepared, getting the garage ready, buying the necessary items that I didn't already have, and further casing the club. I also spent some time setting up another job I had taken in lovely England, another case where I broke some of my most important rules. By the following Thursday, I was ready and waiting.
I watched the act, marveling at the energy and charisma that Kat exuded, knowing that soon I would strip all that from her. After her set, I waited outside the fire door, keeping an eye on my target, watching as she flirted and teased her way through her fans. When she left her gaggle of followers and headed for the dressing room I followed her. As she opened the door, I took a quick look around and, seeing my opportunity, stepped into her, my arm going around her middle, pushing her into the room, closing the door quickly behind us.
Before she could turn, before she could do anything but utter a short cry, my arm was around her neck holding her in a blood choke. In five seconds she was out, and I held it for another count of 20. Shifting her so that her arm was around my shoulder, I quickly exited the room and slipped out the fire door, anybody seeing us probably thinking I was supporting my passed out girlfriend. Once outside, I only had a short time, so, working quickly, folded her up in a large, wheeled luggage case, closing her in darkness as she started to come too.
I smiled to myself as I walked the mile to the garage, pulling my luggage behind me, the noise of the wheels on the pavement drowning out the cries and struggling of the package inside, my grip on the handle keeping her violent motions from overturning the case. I knew how disoriented she must be, her body folded and bent to fit into the confined space, no leverage available for her to break free, in total darkness, being pulled along to who knows where, being banged around by the rough ride. She stopped shouting and struggling after about ten minutes, but started up again after I stopped in the garage, pulling the garage door closed while she waited in the case, a package to be opened and used.
I turned on the lights I had set up, leaving the edges of the garage in darkness, and dragged the case to the middle of the garage, pulled a ski-mask over my face, looped the dog chain I had taken from her around my shoulder, and picked up the Ruger before opening the case.
She came out flailing and screaming, her short blond hair disheveled, her face flushed from her screaming, her lycra clothes bunched and askew on her sexy little body. I let her get her balance and stand, let her take in the garage, me, the gun. When she saw the gun her yelling stopped and she froze, her eyes locked on the pistol. I reached back behind me, and at my movement her eyes moved to mine, wide with fear, with the realization that there was only one reason she was here. I saw her begin to shake as I hit a button on the player, and the sounds of one of her songs, set on repeat, echoed through the garage:
I wore a slinky black
thing and then
it was me and a man
and a gun in my mouth"
Her hands went up in front of her as I slowly approached her, caressing the barrel of the gun in front of me as I drew close. She started shaking her head, whimpering, and started begging.
"Please, please. Don't. Please. I'll do whatever you want."
"Oh Kirsten, Kirsten, Kirsten," I said, in my best British accent, which is pretty good, "I just want what you want, love. I've listened to your songs over and over, and watched you perform every chance I had, and I know you love me, and I love you, and I only want to make you happy." I smiled as her eyes went huge, expressions of shock and terror flashing across her face as she realized she was dealing with a deranged fan.
She was a vision, with her hair wild about her face, fear shining in those bright blue eyes, her nipples hard through her lycra top, her belly quivering in terror, her pale thighs visible almost to her crotch as her lycra skirt rode up her beautiful legs.
"I didn't realize it at first," I continued my act, "but then I saw it. I saw what you really wanted, what you needed, your deepest fantasy. It was all right there, in your songs. Right in front of me." I smiled, a big, crazy smile. "I'm going to give that to you, my love. I'm going to give you your fantasy." With that I pointed the gun at her.
She fell to her knees, and started to blubber, trying to tell me that this wasn't what she wanted, wasn't her fantasy, they were just songs, just songs, but I ignored her, and, towering over her, took her hair in my hand and pulled her head back and placed the barrel of the gun against her lips.
"Suck it, Kat. Suck it like a cock."
She slowly opened her mouth, tears starting to flow down her face, as I slipped the barrel of the gun into her mouth, sliding it slowly back and forth, looking down at the sexy little minx kneeling before me, afraid for her life before a creature of her own creation. The more I reenforced the idea in her head that I was a crazed fan, the more it would tear at her mind. The more she believed that her persona, the sexy, strutting, confident little cock-tease lead singer of a twisted little band, which she wore like a shield to protect her, to give her strength, was why she was suffering, the more she would blame herself for the abuse I would heap on her.
It was an act, that confident, swaggering young woman on stage, an act that hid her insecurities and neediness, an act that gave her control and power. I was going to turn that strength into a weakness, make her act the reason for her debasement, shatter that carefully constructed persona that she worked so hard to build up, make her despise it, and herself for creating it and living it, make her believe, somewhere deep down, that her weakness and stupidity and foolishness created me, and brought about her own pain and degradation.
I twisted the gun around in her mouth, making her whimper and twist her head against my hand in her hair as the gun sight scraped against the soft tissues in her mouth, her lips circling the barrel and the base pin, her cheeks sucked in as fear drove her to suck it like a cock.
"Do you feel it, Kat? Do you? God I can see you trembling. You're so beautiful, so sexy. I've imagined you like this for months. I bet you have too, imagined your mouth around a gun, sucking it, servicing it."
Her eyes widened as I pulled back the hammer, her trembling increasing, tears of terror filling her eyes as she whimpered louder, looking up at me, beseeching me with those gorgeous blue eyes.
"I want this to last forever, Kat, don't you? I want to remember you like this forever."
Her whole body jerked as I pulled the trigger, the hammer falling with a loud click. She started sobbing uncontrollably, her mascara painting her face a garish black, and I smelled urine and looked down, seeing that she had pissed herself, urine dripping down her thighs, dropping onto the concrete floor.
I pulled the pistol from her mouth and she bent over, her hands covering her face, sobbing as I gently stroked her hair.
"Don't worry Kat, don't worry my sexy singer, we've only just started, you and I. We're only on your first song, your first fantasy, and we haven't even gotten to the best part yet. Remember the lyrics? Remember?"
I sung along with the song as it played, emphasizing the part that came next.
Cold steel churning my guts
melting me in
a river of lust.
Climbing the peak as the hammer crashes down"
"Now lay down Kat, lay down," I cajoled, using the gun for emphasis, moving her small, sexy body as she sobbing hysterically. I laid her down on the hard concrete, stroking her stomach, kneeling besides her, taking a cloth and wiping the mascara from her face, the tears from her eyes. I reached up under her skirt, undid her garters, and hooked my fingers under the waistband of her panties, soaked with her own piss, and slid them down her legs and over her heels, fear and reaction making her unresisting.
I moved to kneel between her legs, the gun in my hands, pushing her slender white thighs apart, rolling her skirt up around her waist, exposing her, parting her nether lips with the barrel of the gun, slowly sliding it into her cunt, damp with piss, as she covered her face with her hands and turned her head to the side, her body shaking at the violation. I pushed until I could feel the barrel hit bottom, pressing against her cervix, the cylinder mashed up against her soft flesh, and then started twisting it around inside her.
She had stopped sobbing, tears still flowing from her face, as I raped her with the pistol to the sounds of her music glorifying what I was doing to her, her hips twitching as the sight scraped her insides and unforgiving steel of the barrel churned deep in her cunt. I placed my thumb on her clit and slowly started to massage it, giving her just enough pleasure to calm her as well as to make her despise herself.
I raped her with the pistol through two more playings of her song, until the work of my thumb on her clit had started to make her stomach shudder as pleasure and fear and self-hate mingled into nausea. I put the gun aside and pulled her to her knees, dragging her by her hair. She had regained enough of herself to try to beg again, but I cut her off as I reached over and grabbed some handcuffs and an O-ring gag and put on the next song.
"You loved that Kat, didn't you? I could tell, the way you got all wet down there. God it's so wonderful to be the one fulfilling your fantasies. I know you fuck around a lot, but you never found the guy, did you? You never did because they didn't know you like I know you, didn't know your deepest, darkest, fantasies."
"Please, no, it's not like that. Please just stop."
"Oh Kat, I know what you're doing. You have to deny it. It wouldn't be real otherwise." I smiled again, my crazy smile, and twisted her arms behind her back, cuffing them, leaving her even more helpless. "Listen to your song, Kat, listen to what's next, and enjoy."
She listened, and I could sense when realization set in as her body tensed and a soft sob came from her.
It was a punk song, with a hard, driving beat where she repeated one line over and over, inter-cutting it with a different line throughout the song.
Skullfuck me baby,
Choke me with your cock.
Skullfuck me baby,
Slide it deep as fuck.
Skullfuck me baby,
Never ever stop.
Skullfuck me baby,
Make me gag and choke.
Skullfuck me baby,
Make me taste your cum.
Skullfuck me baby,
I'm your little tramp.
...
She struggled a little as I put the O-Ring gag in and strapped it around her head, but she was weak and handcuffed and I was much, much stronger than her.
"It's time, you little tramp," I said as I stood before her, my hands engulfing her head. I stepped out of my pants, still talking.
"I love this song, love the way you perform it, sliding the microphone across your lips, those beautiful lips. God, Kat. You're so sexy. I'm so happy that I'm able to give you what you want. I'll bet you've never been skullfucked, have you Kat? You wouldn't need to sing the song if you had, if you had found somebody who would treat you like you wanted. Well, I'm here now, Kat. I'm here and I'm going to make sure you get what you need."
With that I slid my cock into her protesting mouth, my hands hard around her head, enjoying for the first time the sweet, sexy body of Kat wrapped around my dick, the warm cavern of her mouth sending a glowing pleasure through my groin. I took it slow at first, sliding my cock gently back and forth in her mouth, moving her head opposite my hips, slowly fucking her mouth like a cunt, enjoying the soft, wet warmth of her hole.
I looked down, the sight of her feeding my excitement. This brash, sexy young woman, on her knees, wrists bound behind her back, her skirt clinging to her hips, pushed up to reveal the sparse blond hair of her cunt, her pale white thighs slender and gorgeous against the torn black stockings clinging to her lower thighs, her small, pale cleavage emphasized by the lycra tank top that hugged her every curve, her mouth forced open by a ring gag, my cock violating her orifice, making it mine. Best of all is that she had written and sung and performed the script for me; her own words condemned her, and I knew that that fact would break her into a million little pieces before I was done.
It was now that I took the first Polaroid, smiling at her as her eyes widened in surprise, catching her looking up at me, my cock half in her mouth. Gorgeous.
I sped up my thrusts, making them faster and harder and deeper, jamming my cock into the back of her throat, slamming it against her soft palate, making her gag and choke, drool starting to pour from her abused mouth as I brutally used her. I started singing along with the song, timing my thrusts to the beat, making sure not to leave my cock in her throat for more than a second, letting her recover enough to force down her bile before slamming it back, truly skullfucking her.
By the time her song came on for the third time her face was blotchy red and she was gasping and coughing between every thrust of my cock down her gullet, her lycra top soaked with her own drool down to her stomach, her breasts and chest soaked with it, snot running down her nose and tears covering her face with a sheen of glistening wetness. I changed my strokes, making them deeper and longer, pressing my hips against her nose, reveling in the control, the power I had over this young woman, the tingling behind my balls growing stronger and stronger as I continued to rape her mouth.
When I couldn't hold it any longer, I pulled out and tilted her head back, my cock resting against her lips, my cum spurting into her wide open mouth, splattering against her tongue and palate as she coughed and gasped, causing it to bubble and mix with her spit. I don't know what it is, but I love the sight of my cum filling some woman's mouth, filling it with the bitter taste of my domination. With her head pulled back, she had no choice, and I watched as she gagged and swallowed, my cum sliding down her gullet into her belly.
"Oh god, that was incredible, Kat. Just incredible."
I went down to my knees in front of her so I could look her in the eyes, my hands caressing her sides, one hand closing around the back of her neck to hold her in place while the other slid down between her thighs, my fingers softly stroking her pussy while she whimpered in my grip.
"You're so fucking sexy, Kat. I love you so much. I just wish I could be you right now, feel everything you're feeling as you live out your fantasies."
She grunted at that, and tried to speak through the ring gag, but I ignored her and pulled down her shirt, my hand on the back of her neck tightening as she struggled as I exposed her breasts, the lycra shirt framing her perfect, soft mounds of tit-flesh, pushing the up and together, her nipples small pink cherries riding on top of those smooth, creamy, fleshy breasts. I went around and undid her cuffs and grabbed the back of her neck again, pushing her down until she was on her hands and knees.
"Don't move," I commanded, getting up to collect the toys I needed for the next stage. She crouched there, her hands pressed flat against the concrete floor, her ass near her calves as she kneeled, her tits stretched by their own weight, her head hanging down, her body trembling slightly from the abuse she had taken, from the fear of what was next. I started up the next song, and smiled as she started to weep quietly.
You treat her like a queen,
get her everything she needs.
Nothing is too good,
From jewelry to fine food."
I crouched over her and removed the gag, stroking her shoulders, cooing to her.
"Okay, you sweet bitch, it's time to be my dog."
I want to be your dog!
Crawling on my knees
only meant to please.
I want to be your dog!
I put a collar around her neck and attached her own leash to it to give it that little added bit of humiliation. Then my arm when around her neck as I pulled her up so that I could put clamps on her nipples, viscous, toothed clamps that turned her tears of humiliation and fear into tears of pain as they closed over her sweet tits, small two ounce fishing weights hanging from them, tearing at her tender flesh as I pushed her back down onto her hands, stretching her breasts into cones of tortured flesh.
I want to be your dog!
Collar 'round my neck
answer to your beck.
I want to be your dog!
I stood and, leash in one hand and a cane in the other, gave her ass a hard swat.
"Crawl, my sweet little bitch."
So she crawled, tits swaying beneath her, weights painfully stretching them, her nipples clamped brutally, a small trail of blood sliding down the weights, her knees bruising against the hard concrete garage, stripes spreading across her ass as I caned her again and again, soft, pained cries escaping those beautiful lips as I tormented her.
I stopped every few minutes and kneeled down beside her, my hand snaking between those sexy thighs to caress her clit, rubbing it as we listened to the music and her soft cries of pain. I would rub her for a minute, until I could feel the humiliation of the pleasure I was giving her suffuse her body, and then I would stand again and bring the cane down on the soft white flesh of her ass and pull on the leash, forcing her to crawl around the garage again.
I want to be your dog!
Worship at your feet
For a taste of meat
I want to be your dog!
The third time I stopped she tried to talk to me, to regain control, her voice steady and sure, with only a little quiver in it revealing just how much effort it took.
"I'm not a dog. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not Kat. I'm Kirsten. I'm a human being. My songs aren't my fantasies. Their just songs. I'm a performer. I'm not the same as I am on stage."
All that and more while I rubbed her little nub, sending degrading pleasure through her body. I let her go on, on hand on her shoulder to ensure she didn't try to get up, to keep her physically under my control. When she started to tail off, I answered her.
"Don't lie to me. You don't think I haven't watched you? Seen how you act after your show? How you strut and preen and make all the boys chase you, flashing this leash around, making the fight over it, fight to be your next lover? I know you Kat. I know who you are, what you want, what you need. You always choose a different boy. You know why? Because they can't satisfy you; they don't know you like I know you. Of course you're a human being, a hot, sexy, gorgeous human being who's even sexier and wilder off stage than on it. And your songs, they're windows to your soul."
I want to be your dog!
Keep me in a cage
Your will to assuage
I want to be your dog!
I made it crazier and crazier after that, rambling in that vein for a long while, stroking her clit, massaging it even as I made her kneel there on all fours on the hard concrete, making her hips slowly gyrate as the pleasure grew in her belly, her crying starting up again as she realized that I was crazy, that nothing she said was going to get through the fantasy I had constructed from her persona and her music, despair setting in even as her body responded to my insistent rubbing.
I stopped when I felt her cunt begin to leak, and led her around some more, letting the song play a few more times, the cane a constant counterpoint to the music, leaving her ass-flesh a mass of painful red stripes
I want to be your dog!
Writhing on my back,
Begging for a snack.
I want to be your dog!
Make me your sweet, sweeeeeet bi...itch!
"Time for your snack, my sweet, sweet bitch." I rolled her onto her back, glorying in the tears, the breasts, the stomach, the legs, and pushed between her thighs, my cock hard as I lay full upon her, the clamps and weights cold against my chest. I slid into her easily, her sweat and my ministrations keeping her slick and ready, her slender, sexy young body tensing as I raped her, her cunt tightening around my cock, sending delicious sensations through my body.
While I raped her I sang along with the song, driving home her own complicity in her debasement. Even just laying there, her only movements caused by her sobbing, she was a wonderful fuck, her body warm and soft and welcoming, her cunt tight and wet and clasping. When I removed the clamps from her tits she cried out wonderfully, the pain of release making her squirm and buck under me. I sucked on her neck, nuzzling aside her choker, making her whimper as I marked her; I licked her face, tasting her tears of humiliation; I rubbed and squeezed her breasts underneath me, making her arch her back sexily against me.
I want to be your dog!
Wagging my sweet tail,
Needing your hard nail.
I want to be your dog!
I fucked her for a long time, making sure my groin massaged hers, smashing her clit between us, rolling my hips to massage it even as it churned my cock inside her cunt, forcing pleasure on her from this most degrading act. I kept myself in check until I felt that she was close, her body quivering and shaking, her tears running faster, her jaw set as she fought the humiliating sensations of pleasure. I grabbed her thighs and pushed them back, opening her up, my hands sliding up the back of her legs until I was leaning over her, her ankles against the side of her head, my hands holding them down, my cock pistoning in and out of her slender body brutally, her ass bouncing and recoiling with each thrust of my body. Each thrust was like a blow, and she cried out, pain from the welts on her ass flaring up as I pounded my cock into her, washing away her incipient orgasm.
When I came, it made my toes curl and my hands clutch convulsively against her ankles, a cry of pain and despair from Kat's throat adding a delicious spice to my pleasure, my cock pulsing deep in her cunt, pumping its seed inside her, every pulse making me shudder in pleasure.
I let her legs flop down and lay on top of her, my cock softening inside her.
"Oh Kat Kat Kat, that was incredible. You are so good, so good. I knew you were about to cum but I know that isn't part of your fantasy. I know, that's why I stopped you. Oh Kat, I'm so glad we found each other."
I made it almost like I was asking her to thank me, to thank me for fulfilling her fantasy to be used like a dog, like in her song. I think that's what caused something to snap in her. Fear and pain and the knowledge that I could overwhelm her had kept her in check, but the humiliation and the abuse had just become too much. She screamed, a scream of rage and despair, and attacked me even as I lay on top of her, her hands reaching for my face.
I shifted, grabbing her hands, using my head to keep her from biting me as she struggled beneath me, bucking and arching and twisting, grunting with effort, cursing me with every name in the book as I lay on top of her, holding her down, a sick smile on my face as I stared down at her.
"Struggle, Kat, struggle. It feels so good, doesn't it, your total possession? Feel it. Feel how helpless you are. Oh god Kat, you are wonderful. I know you're feeling it, feeling the total release of not having a choice. Keep it up, learn that there's nothing you can do."
She wound down after a while, falling back into tears, my words tearing at her even as she struggled. When she was deep into her sobbing, I got off of her and grabbed four leather cuffs. She was unresisting as I placed one around each of her limbs, the last of her fight used up in her futile raging.
I stretched her out, tying her limbs to four eyebolts I had driving into the concrete, leaving her spread-eagled on the concrete floor, her clothes dark bands across her white, exposed flesh, her cunt red and swollen between her legs. I changed the music, putting on the song 'Burn' as I prepared for her next humiliation.
She ignored me as I set a cooler next to her spread legs, and knelt there with some water, some lather, and a razor. She had a well trimmed bush, but for what I was about to do to her, I needed her completely shaved. She didn't response when I went to work, and I happily hummed along to her music as I proceeded to shave her cunt bare. It didn't take too long, and it was easy because she had decided that she would pretend that I didn't exist.
When I had finished I got up and grabbed my branding tool, a small, inch and a half high 'S', and kneeled between her bound legs.
"Kat. Kat." I said, trying to get her attention, sliding the metal brand across her stomach, using my other hand to slide my fingers into her cunt, still damp from her earlier rape. I was in no hurry, and was actually enjoying the way she kept her head turned to one side, her eyes tightly closed, her lips pressed together tightly. I kept sliding my fingers in and out of her newly shaved cunt, the slick, soft flesh of tunnel smooth against me, all the while calling her name, first calling out 'Kat' and then 'Kirsten'.
After a while my fingers were covered in her sticky cunt juice, and, even though she tried to hide it, her breathing had quickened just a little. When her mind ran over her rape again and again in the future, I knew she would remember these moments the most, with the most humiliation; those moments when the pleasure stole over her unbidded, unwanted.
"Kat. Listen to the song. It's your next fantasy. Burn. I'm going to burn you Kat. I'm going to burn you really, really good."
When my words finally sunk in she finally opened her eyes and lifted her head, her short blond hair sweeping the concrete floor, and saw the brand I was holding. Her eyes widened in shock; she couldn't believe that she was about to be branded. She started begging, pleading with me, and I let her ramble for a while before I responded, "Just listen, Kat, listen to your song," as if that was the final word.
I watched as the despair set in, the realization, constantly reinforced by my act, that she was being raped and tortured by her own words, by her own music, by her own stage act. That she had built a web of sexual deviance around herself, and her own construct was tearing her down.
I took off the lid to the cooler even as she began struggling against the bonds, giving up trying to talk to me, even to curse me, the muscles in her legs tensing beautifully, her calves bunching and thighs straining against her restraints, her stomach hollowing sexily as she fought to free herself. I dipped the brand into a mixture of about 5% dry ice and 95% alcohol, letting it cool for a few minutes while I watch Kat struggle.
When she finally gave up she closed her eyes again, tears running down her face. I pulled the brand from the cooler and pressed it firmly against her newly shaved mound, the bottom of the 'S' just above the joining of the skin of her labia, and held it there for a count of 12. Cold branding isn't painful, at first. The pain comes when the flesh warms, and the nerves awake to the knowledge of dead skin, when the pain becomes excruciating. One other thing of note about cold branding is that the hair on the brand will grow back white, so, even with her blond bush, she would never be able to hide her marking.
Done, I quickly packed up, humming along with the music as Kat lay on the ground, small mewling sounds starting to come from her as the pain from the branding started to kick in. I felt myself begin to grow hard again as her breathing quickened and she began to moan and writhe in pain.
Straddling her, I wrapped the leash she had used to lead her boys around around her neck, staring into her eyes as I tightened it, watching the terror grow there as her pain was crowded out by fear, her lips quivering, her body bucking for air as she fought for breath. I loosened it, letting her breath, keeping it around her neck as I undid her wrist and ankle bonds, still straddling her body, her flesh hot and quivering beneath me.
"Roll over, Kat. Roll over. I've saved the best fantasy for last; the one you'll enjoy the most. And then we'll be done, and you'll be free. Come on Kat, roll over," I coaxed.
Still whimpering, pain and fear fighting each other, the pain of the branding dulled by the influx of endorphines triggered by her choking, fear of the leash still around her neck, ready to cut off her air, she rolled over beneath me, reaching out as I guided her arms and legs back into bondage, leaving her spread-eagled on the hard concrete. She had turned her face to one side, mewling, whimpering sounds coming from her soft lips as she struggled against the pain, her hips lifting up off the ground to prevent the brand from touching the ground. Her breasts were pillowed beneath her, scraping against the rough ground, her skirt rolled up above her hips, showing the welts on her sweet, pale ass, her gorgeous legs spread open, revealing the soft crack of her ass and cunt to me.
I got up and put on the last song, and she started sobbing almost hysterically when she heard it.
used up, broken by the rich
found face down ass up, in a ditch
I poured some oil between her asscheeks as she sobbed in her bondage and despair before mounting her, my legs pressed against the inside of her legs, my body heavy on hers, the leash twisted in around my hand, tight around her neck, a half turn of my wrist all that would be needed to stop her breathing. I slid my cock between her pale, muscular ass-cheeks as they quivered with the effort of keeping her brand from the floor, enjoying the feel of soft, smooth, warm flesh before pushing my cock slowly into her ass.
one night screaming in despair
next day, maggots in her hair
I fucked her slowly, enjoying the pleasure her body was bringing me; enjoying the tightening of her body as I twisted the leash around her neck, cutting off her air, her whole body trembling as she struggled to breathe; enjoying the way her chest heaved beneath me when I loosened the leash; enjoying the way she twisted and bucked her hips to avoid aggravating the agony from her branding.
empty a load in my unblinking eyes
you're going to slap my plastic wrapped ass goodbye
I talked the entire time, making her believe that I was her own creation, the outcome of who she was and who she pretended to be. I know that she heard only parts of what I was saying, her whole being engulfed in a fight to breathe, to live, to keep living, terror at her bondage, at her pain, despair at her pure helplessness, at what she 'knew' was going to happen each time I tightened the leash, so I repeated myself, over and over, driving home her own culpability in her defilement.
I raped her like that for a long time, my cock sliding in and out of the tight, hot confines of her ass, my body blanketing hers, the leash around her neck tightening and loosening, keeping her dizzy from lack of oxygen, making her struggle and fight just to breath. I shifted slightly, sliding my hand under her, feeling her hips jerk back, grinding her sexy, beaten ass against my groin, as my fingers slid across her brand.
I knew the pain had dulled by then, though, covered by the endorphines and adrenaline and corticosteriods flooding her system as she fought for survival. My fingers found her clit, and I started the endgame, the final humiliation. I slid my fingers roughly over the little bud, my hips pressing hard into her ass, my cock twisting deep in her ass, churning her fuck-tube as I tormented her clit.
The chemicals coursing through her bloodstream, brought out by terror and pain, combined with the harsh pleasure scraping across her most sensitive flesh, sent confusing pleasure spiraling through her body. I made her periods of breathing free even shorter, driving her closer and closer to an unwanted orgasm, her body overwhelmed with both terror and pleasure. For long minutes I worked her like a meat-puppet, making her body dance to my tune, her asscheeks quivering and shaking, her stomach roiling, her strong, sexy thighs trembling as she fought for both breath and her body approached release.
dead doll in the boot of your car
bastard i know you're going to send me to hell
I let myself go when I felt the first wave of her orgasm crash over her, her bound body tensing, the tendons in her neck standing out as she arched back, her fingers curling into fists, my cock pulsing its cum deep in her ass. I twisted my wrist, cutting off her air, her brain locked on the overwhelming pleasure, her ass spasming around my cock, milking me even as her orgasm rolled on. Five seconds, ten, twenty, thirty, then forty I rode her, my fingers madly working her clit, my other hand gripping the leash tight around her neck, connected to her by my cock still tingling in her convulsing ass chute before the darkness found her and she passed out, her last though, doubtless, that she was going to die, cumming like a whore on the end of her rapist's cock, all because of who she was.
As much as I would have liked to lay there and enjoy the wonderful sensation of her ass around my cock, I quickly checked to make sure she had started breathing again, and, finding that everything was all right, I gave her something to keep her out for about an hour. I got out the Polaroid again and took a second picture, this time of her just ass-raped, bound on her stomach, her legs spread, her cunt puffy and red, her striped, beaten ass slowly leaking my cum.
It was cleanup time now: she was cleaned, redressed, and put back into the suitcase. I walked her to the drop-off point, a dumpster in an alley outside my client's apartment, and carefully placed her, on her back, among the refuse of the block. Wading in the muck, I posed her, legs askew, her skirt riding up her sexy, pale thighs, her stomach exposed, her arms over her head, her breasts pulled tight against her top. One more Polaroid, some tape to affix the three pictures to the middle of her back (on her shirt), and I walked away to call my client. After giving him the details, I told him to expect, if things went as planned, to see his victim within fifteen minutes.
Like I said, I usually have no idea what happens to my victims once I'm finished with them, but Kat was a different story. My client was thrilled by the results of my work, and it seemed he had to share his experience that night with her.
She had apparently staggered in about twenty minutes after I had called him. His email went something like the following (transcribed from memory, since I delete all my e-mails as soon as I get them).
Fuck man, best money I ever spent. Damn. So you call, and I'm sitting there, waiting, the biggest fuckin' hard-on I'd ever had, listening to what you put her through, wishing I could have been there. Damn. Then I get this knock on the door and I'm shakin' 'cause I know it's her, and then there she is, lookin' like shit. Damn. She was messed up and she stank. Her clothes were filthy and she wouldn't look me in the eye. She just pushed her way in and said she needed a place to clean up. I was like, "Bad date, Kat?" and she just mumbled something like "Yah. Bad date," and practically ran to the bathroom.
The shower started up right away and I heard her get in a few minutes later. By this time I had my cock out and was stokin' myself thinking of her naked in my shower knowing she'd just been royally fucked. I snuck in and grabbed her top and got the pictures you had taped there (brilliant, that was). I swear, I fuckin' beat off right outside the door looking at those pictures. That teasing little bitch looking like nothing more than a piece of trash--damn!
So, after relieving myself, I ask her if she's doin' alright, just to hear her voice, you know? I think I hear her cryin', but she says she's fine, to leave her alone, so I go to sit down in my kitchen and have a beer, still thinkin' of all the nasty things you had done to her just a little while ago. Sweet, man. Sweet. 'Bout a half-hour later she comes out, wearing only a towel, lookin' hotter than ever with her hair wet and just a short towel between me and her, and sat down across from me, straddling the chair, making me lick my lips as I watched her suck down a beer I had out, imagining it as a cock sliding between her lips and down her throat as she gagged.
She practically chugged it, and then she looked at me and said, "You want to fuck me, don't you?"
I played it cool, you know? I leaned back and said, "Sure, Kat, everyone wants to fuck you."
Then she did something that blew my mind. She got up, still wearing just that little towel, walked over to me, and straddled me. "What's the matter, then? Your dick don't get hard?"
"Fucking bitch!" I shouted and carried her into my bedroom with her legs wrapped around mine while she sucked so hard on my neck I thought she was going to start sucking my blood out. She fucked my fucking brains out that night. She was fucking insatiable. She kept challenging me to fuck her harder, and longer, and telling me what a limp-dick wimp I was. She even told me to fuck her ass, which was sweet, let me tell you, but then, you know. Heh. Whenever I asked her about the stripes on her ass or the mark on her cunt, she told me to shut the fuck up and give her some dick. Whenever I came she'd go 69 on me and use that sweet little mouth to get me going again, while grinding her cunt in my face.
Like I said, best money I ever spent.
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