B'Linda's Second Interlude: Predator and Prey
I think I must be both the luckiest and unluckiest girl in the world, and all
thanks to one fucked-up guy. It's funny how things work out. Ever since gaining
control of my very own sexual pet, some strange, unexpected changes have begun
to come over me, changes I could once have only dreamed of.
My name is now 'Big' Linda Skrue, and I've been living up to it with a
vengeance. As a bisexual female loner, I've recently developed an extremely
healthy -- some might say overactive -- sex drive, and now I'm having some
predictable trouble fulfilling my needs.
This probably seems strange to those millions of people who just dream of
meeting a woman like me, but I've got a rather unique problem. Thanks to the
creature I like to call 'Slut-boy" I now need to totally dominate and even
terrorize my partner during sexual intercourse. Not many people -- of either
gender or persuasion -- will willingly choose to go along with that.
Lately I've been forced to hunt around for weaker individuals, cutting out from
the great herd of people those either unable or unwilling to resist my rather
vicious sexual attacks. I suppose if I was a man I'd be locked away in prison,
and rightly so, but the bed is the one place a woman can still get away with a
little dominance.
Of course, that's just the trouble. I'm not interested in just a little
dominance. I now need to make a guy suffer, make him grovel and weep and beg for
the incredibly humiliating abuse I heap on him. Like I said before, I've got
control of this pet cripple, my own private little sex-toy, and all the
outrageous things I've been doing to him recently have totally spoiled my taste
for normal, consensual sex. The thrill of domination is just too exhilarating.
By now I've got my pet little Slut-boy so fucked-up and twisted around by the
perverse ways that I use him that he doesn't even know whether he's coming or
going.
I constantly, mercilessly subjugate him, busting into his house, tying him to
his bed and tormenting him sexually for hours. Over and over again I strap on
one of my big hard cocks and make him play the female part, and even though he's
utterly consumed by shame and embarrassment, the little pig comes his brains out
every fucking time!
I swear, I can't believe I found him. What a perfectly filthy little pervert.
Any other man on the planet would run horrified to the cops after some of the
things I've been doing to him, yet he just moans and groans and begs and pleads
and whimpers for me to do more, more. I'm starting to wonder just how far I can
really go in taking him over. I'm tempted to try re-making his entire
personality. Who knows what kind of crazy, kinky thing I can change him into?
Yet still, even as much fun as using this guy is, I've never quite lost my taste
for the other flavor. You know what I'm talking about. I also really like to
fuck a girl once in a while, especially one who's tender and young and never
before been had by a woman.
Now, after repeatedly raping Slut-boy so hard and so many times, I really get
off on playing the butch -- finding some sweet, innocent little thing and really
putting it into her. I'd be perfectly at home starring in one of those "naked
women locked in prison" movies, but things aren't quite so easy in the real
world. Instead I'm forced to prowl the college bars, looking for a pretty,
sheltered young woman with long-repressed, socially or religiously forbidden
longings that I can exploit.
Despite the inevitable obstacles placed by our rather puritan society, it
doesn't usually take that long. With my statuesque, muscular, 6-foot-one body I
stand right out in any crowd, and my hugely swollen bosom draws disbelieving
stares from men and women alike.
Men are invariably covetous -- at least until I get them home -- and I've
learned to tell envy from admiration in the women. Now it's the guilty, darting,
sidelong glances in the eighteen-year-old, just-away-from-home,
had-a-little-too-much-to-drink freshman girls that I look for.
I'll walk right up to some shy, vulnerable-looking girl, and soon my sheer
sexual magnetism will capture her. I go out wearing a brazenly skimpy outfit,
with high boots and a lot of leather, and the exposure of my huge, womanly
breasts generally offsets my rather intimidating size and appearance. After a
few beers and a little gentle if straight-forward seduction, my intended prey
usually wobbles off her chair or stool and agrees to come home with me.
Of course, once I get her home and get one of my "special" drinks into her,
she's as good as lost. Before long her once animated, almost bubbly conversation
gets increasingly disjointed and rambling, and her eyes slide lower and lower,
lazier and lazier around in her head.
Just before she loses the ability to walk entirely, I help her up and lure her
into my newly furnished seduction room. There I force her directly onto the
giant, four-poster bed, and any hope of her escape swiftly disappears. She lies
there in a barely comprehending daze, mutely watching as I strip down to my
tight leather harness and boots, and offers only token resistance as I rip off
her clothes.
Nearly panting with lust I ravish her, climbing all over her nubile young body,
roughly kissing and fondling and probing at every innocent inch of her.
Sometimes she'll cry out, or struggle a little bit, but my sure, confident
strength always prevails over her sludgy drunkenness. And soon enough she starts
to respond, accepting my touch, moaning at my licking, sucking mouth and
educated fingers, groping for my heavy breasts. Then I know I've got her, and
the evening's fun can begin.
I go to work in earnest on her, using every weapon in my arsenal, beginning with
the most insidious: tenderness.
I slowly, gently caress and massage and oil her entire teen-age treasure, that
gloriously smooth, springy, resilient young flesh. Soft, breathtakingly
beautiful skin and firm taut muscle are treated to a tune-up they rarely
receive, outside of a massage parlor, and as my little honey's hazy reverie
deepens I prepare to finally finish up by carefully trimming away the untidy
little bush growing at her groin.
I brush off the clippings and then continue, gently oiling and massaging and
then lathering up the stubble. By this time my adolescent prey is usually so
lost in the bliss of her rub-down that she hardly notices me subtly preparing to
shave away her modesty. And indeed my touch is so sure and skilled, and the
silver crescent of my razor so sharp and keen, that it hardly tugs at her at all
as I smoothly, effortlessly strip away the excess hair.
After that comes a creamy lotion, then more rubbing and massaging, as I at last
stroke away even the memory of her unnecessarily evident maturity. Then my
caresses slip lower, and deeper, and gradually more fervent, until she slickens
up well and her moans betray her. Finally, once I've thoroughly prepared her for
me, once I've established my complete and unremitting control over her, I strap
on one of my hard rubber dildos and take her.
And oh, mama, that's where the fun really begins! As dazed, drunk, or even
reluctantly, dizzily aroused as my prey might be, that sudden thrust of a manly
hard cock never fails to bring a shrieking response.
She may only stir and moan, or shudder uneasily when I spread her open and move
between her legs, but when my formerly gently caressing fingers and tongue are
suddenly replaced by a hard, wickedly stabbing prick, she always screams and
thrashes, frantically if ineffectually bucking under my weight and fighting my
brutal invasion. Still I hold her down and open and fuck her, pumping my big,
hard, nine inch cock deep into her tight, virginal little body like no man ever
could.
Looming over her like a goddess, pinning her to the bed, I take my nascent
little lesbian and subdue her feeble struggles with the sheer force of my
unstoppable assault.
Like I said at the beginning, she really has no chance. I'm just too big, too
strong, too deeply imbedded in her closely-shaven, unprotected pussy. Over and
over again, I slam relentlessly down into her, grunting and snarling in animal
need, and soon she reaches whatever accommodation she can with my brutal
onslaught.
Sometimes she lapses disappointingly away into a drugged, drunken stupor, and
sometimes she fights excitingly against me, requiring an exhilarating struggle
before I finally have my way, but usually she eagerly surrenders the last of her
inhibitions and joins in the fun, moaning and flexing and writhing breathlessly
beneath me.
Then I know for sure that she's really mine, and I can enjoy spending the rest
of the night (and one of these times, just maybe the rest of her life) teaching
her all of the wonderful things a motivated woman like me can do for her.
That's an education I relish, of course, no matter who I'm delivering it to, and
yet until now it's ultimately been one I've always found a little bit
disappointing.
Something necessary just seems to be missing somehow from these encounters. I
don't know what it is. I guess maybe that as much as I love to "turn" one of my
girls, the fact remains that it's the men out there who really deserve such
treatment. That one little disabled man in particular.
So that fucking little Slut-Boy just better watch out. I'm barely getting
started on his conversion.
