The Watcher
I'm out running--like every night, my run takes me past your house. You sit out
front just to watch me dash by, my breasts bouncing under my tank top, my skin
shining with perspiration. I am oblivious--too into my run, the zone, to notice
your eyes on me, see your attempts to engage me. As the days go by, a plan
forms in your mind. You are frustrated, angry at my teasing, my flaunting
myself as I run past you each night. You are enraged that I haven't noticed
you. You want to hurt me, to own me. You vow to do just that.
You go to Home Depot, pick up what you'll need---rope, duct tape, clothes pins,
lengths of chains with connectors. You go online, order dildos, manacles.
Tapes for you video camera, film for your Nikon. Call a lab supply, order
chloroform. You take to parking your car on the street so I run past it every
night. And then you wait---wait for the perfect moment, the moment when the
street is empty, when you can grab me with no one to see.
The night is warm, humid. By now you have my schedule down--you know down to
the minute when I'll be there. You've already made your excuses, told your
family of your upcoming "business trip." You've rented the cabin, far from
town, no neighbors for miles. Your supplies are already there. The only thing
missing is me.
At 8 pm, you walk to your car--it's almost time. You open the trunk, then bend
down, pretending to look for something. I approach, barely noticing you. You
listen closely to my footfalls, turning as I pass, grabbing my hair, yanking me
back off my feet. Wrapping an arm around me, you press a chloroform soaked rag
over my mouth and nose. I struggle as you lift me, pulling desperately at your
hands, my legs flailing wildly. A well placed kick, and I manage to get free.
I stumble a few feet, dizzy, disoriented, then collapse to the ground. You grab
me quickly, carry me over and dump me in the trunk, slamming it shut. You then
walk calmly to the driver's side door, climb in, and pull away from the curb.
You are so excited, so aroused--your cock is rock hard, you have a huge grin on
your face. You have me--I belong to you now, and you can do whatever you want
to me. You can make me scream, make me hurt. I will never ignore you again.
You pull onto the highway, head north toward the cabin.
The drive takes well over an hour, and 40 minutes into it, you hear me begin to
kick, hear my muffled screams. Your cock goes from rock hard to painfully
erect---you know you'll be hearing my cries every time you hurt me, and the
thought drives you crazy.
Pulling off onto the access road, you smile as you unlock, pull through, then
relock the massive gate---9 miles of rough dirt road and total isolation, with a
gate to keep visitors away. Even if I did manage to escape, where would I go?
In the trunk, I am frantic, terrified. I have yanked every latch and lever,
even pulled out the wires for the lights in hopes a cop would pull you over.
But now I feel the rough, rutted road and know that there will be no rescue.
Any escape will be totally up to me, and I vow to do everything in my power to
get away.
As the car slows, then stops, I fall silent. I hear as you turn the car off,
then climb out, slamming your door behind you. I decide to play dead, lay
still. Perhaps you'll be less careful if you think I'm unconscious. You open
the trunk, look down at me--my tank top soaked in sweat, my little shorts riding
up, revealing the curve of my butt cheeks. You can hardly wait to sink your
cock into that butt, but you want to wait, want everything to be just right.
Reaching down, you lift me out of the trunk. I hang limp as you throw me over
your shoulder and trudge toward the cabin. One hand holding me on your
shoulder, the other running up my leg to my butt, probing my crack, pushing at
my pussy lips as you mount the stairs. I can't stand it, I explode into action,
thrashing, flailing as you struggle to keep hold of me. I throw myself
backwards, falling to the porch, but you never lose hold of my legs. I am on my
back, struggling, as you drag me by the ankles into the cabin. Releasing me,
you turn, double lock the door with a key you then slip into your pocket. I'm
on my feet in an instant, but I'm shaky, wobbly. You don't approach me at
first. Instead, smiling, you walk over to the bed in the middle of the room,
open the night stand drawer to pull out the leather shackles--2 pairs, one for
ankles, one for wrists, with chains and connectors. Then you walk to the
corner, where the video camera is set up on a tripod. You turn it on, make sure
it's set correctly. You turn back to me--I've made a run to one of the small
windows, and I'm banging on it, trying to unlock it. You approach slowly,
holding the manacles out before you. I back away, shaking my head, looking for
some escape. Suddenly you dart forward, grabbing me by the hair, the neck,
dragging me to the floor. I'm screaming, struggling beneath you as you capture
my wrists, one at a time, and apply the manacles. You yank my arms behind my
back, laughing as I cry out, begin begging, please, please don't hurt me, please
let me go. Hurt me? Why, that's exactly what you plan to do. Let me go? Now
why would you do that? Turning, you grasp my legs, shackle them, then drag them
up behind me, securing them to my wrists. I'm writhing in vain, trying to
escape, but there is no escape for me.
Dragging me to the bed, you throw me down on my back, then straddle my waist. I
am sobbing, pleading, telling you I'll do anything, please, anything. You laugh
as you grab the duct tape from the night stand--yes, you know I will. I'll do
everything. Tearing off a hank, you force my mouth shut and tape it securely.
You pause, look into my eyes, huge with fear. Do you want to blindfold me?
No. You want me to see what you're going to do, you want to see the terror and
pain in my eyes.
Reaching into your belt, you pull a knife from its sheath. My eyes widen, I
begin to scream behind the tape, twisting, squirming. You grasp my shirt, pull
me towards you--and cut through the material. Methodically, you slice first my
shirt, then my shorts from me, leaving me in bra and panties. You set the knife
down, then cover my breasts with your hands, reveling in their softness under
the lace of my bra. You knead them, squeeze them, close your eyes and imagine
all the things you will do to them. Grasping the tops of the cups, you yank
down hard, ripping the lace, revealing them, quivering and cool with sweat.
Bending down, you begin to suck my nipples, nipping and flicking with your
tongue. I try to jerk away, but your hands on my shoulders hold me immobile.
You work my breasts for a long time, smiling as my nipples harden, my breaths
deepen. I am horrified---it feels so good. You pull back, look into my eyes,
see the confusion and pleasure mixed with fear. Returning your attention to my
breasts, you work them a while longer--then bite. Hard, you begin biting my
breasts, the nipples, the undersides, your fingers moving down to pinch, twist.
I'm screaming through my nose, writhing wildly, trying to escape this sudden
torture.
Rising, you climb off me, grab rope from the night stand. Pulling me to my
knees, you begin to bind me tightly, rope encircling my breasts, tying them
tightly, trapping them, making the bruising, the bites hurt all the more.
Knotting the rope between my breasts, you loop it over my shoulders, run it
through the rings on my wrist shackles. Pulling hard, the ropes force my back
to arch, yank my wrists up until my hands are between my shoulder blades. I
whine, whimper---it hurts so bad, my wrists and ankles are still connected, I'm
being stretched painfully. I am left on my knees, shoulders nearly touching my
feet, my breasts thrust forward. You smile at your handiwork. I open my eyes
and see the mirror behind the bed. I can see your face, see your smile.
Reaching down, you begin toying with my panties, running your finger under the
elastic, tickling along the top. Working your fingers in at the thigh, you pull
them to the side, start roughly rubbing my pussy. I'm dry, and your rough hands
hurt. I squirm helplessly as you grind first one, then two fingers into my
cunt. You look up at me, the rough rope biting into my breasts, and you grin.
This was exactly what you'd hoped for, even better than you'd dreamed--and you
hadn't even fucked me.
Yet.
In a sudden motion, you rip my panties off, leave them hanging by one leg.
Grabbing more rope, you work some around each knee, then secure it to the sides
of the bed, yanking, pulling my legs wide apart. I scream--it feels like my
hips will break. You rise, walk to the bathroom, then come back---with shaving
cream and a razor. You slather my pussy in shaving cream, working it into my
clit, my hole. I moan, it burns, but not in a bad way. You then set to work,
shaving my pussy bare. With my legs pulled so wide, you have no trouble shaving
every bit. Within minutes, my pussy is soft, smooth, hairless. Putting the
razor aside, you take a damp towel, wipe the shaving cream away. You'd planned
on raping my mouth first, but the sight of my smooth, open pussy is too much for
you--you unzip your pants, pull out your painfully hard cock, and begin rubbing
the head along my pussy lips, pressing it against my clit and working in small
circles. I start to cry, I know you're going to rape me. My eyes plead in the
mirror, and you stare at my reflection as you press your cock against my
hole--then push in, slowly, painfully. Inch by inch you shove your hard cock
into my dry cunt. You never take your eyes from mine, your smile growing as you
see my pain, my fear.
I squeal through my nose as you fill me. You pause, enjoy the feeling of my
pussy muscles squeezing, contracting around you. Then you slowly pull out, and
do it again. Over and over, you slowly bury your cock in my cunt, then pull
back out. Suddenly you slam into me, and begin raping me furiously, ramming
into me as hard as you can, shaking me. I give a muffled cry with each thrust,
helpless to do anything to stop you. You cum inside of me, filling me with your
hot spunk. When you finish, you lean forward, whisper that you would love to
put a baby inside of me. I sob, shake my head in denial. Please, no. I open
my eyes, can see your face above mine, your smile. I whine, my mind crying
please, please just let me go now.
You laugh, it's as though you can read my thoughts. You tell me we're not
done--we've barely begun. You release my knees, flip my on my belly, then wind
rope through my hair, knot it, then secure it to my wrists so my head is pulled
back, up. Kneeling in front of me, you ask if I want the tape off. I moan, nod
as much as I can. You yank the tape off, then sit, sliding yourself right up to
my face. I cry, please no, not that. You take my face in your hand, grind your
thumb and forefinger into my jaws, forcing them open. With your other hand, you
push your soft cock into my mouth. You growl, don't bite, bitch, or I'll take
that knife and cut you up. You lean back, your meat still in my mouth, and
light a cigarette. You keep one hand tangled in my hair, jerking my head back
and forth as much as it will go, stimulating you. I can taste my pussy on your
cock, which, even limp, is huge. My muscles are screaming, spasming, I moan
around your tool, please, please, just untie me, I'll do whatever you want. You
feel your cock stirring as I mumble around it.
Stubbing out your cigarette, you reach down, both hands, and begin to fuck my
face. Your cock swells in my mouth, I gag, start to choke as it fills my mouth,
presses into my throat. You thrust harder and harder, making sure I take every
inch, so my air is blocked, I can't breathe. Your cock is so huge now, my jaws
ache with the strain as I struggle for air between thrusts. You let out a
yell, and your meat begins to twitch in my throat, spitting your hot, sour load
into my throat, my mouth. You force my head to your belly, making me swallow
every drop. I gag, retch, trying not to choke, to drown. You keep your cock in
my mouth until every drop is in my belly. Pulling out, you put the tape back
over my mouth, then rise and walk away.
I am left lying there, staring at my own reflection in the mirror. The silver
tape over my mouth, my tear filled eyes, wide with pain and fear. I can feel
your cum still trickling from my pussy, my muscles tremble with exhaustion.
How did this happen? I begin to cry, my mind filled with "what ifs?" What if
I hadn't gone running? What if I'd run somewhere else? What if I'd just paid
more attention, crossed to the other side of the street when I saw you rummaging
in your trunk? What if someone had seen, had helped me? I had always been so
confident in my ability to defend myself, to stave off attack. Now here I was,
bound tightly, gagged, my pussy and belly full of your cum. And it wasn't over.
I knew it wasn't over.
You come back to stand by the bed, your Nikon in hand. Say cheese, you giggle,
and you begin taking pictures. Click after click, the whirr of the camera as
you shoot from all angles, my cum coated pussy from behind, my tear stained
face. You roll me over so my back is arched, I'm almost resting on my head,
and shoot another roll. My bound, trapped tits, my shaven pussy, red and
dripping from your rape. You kneel in front of me, get a shot of my wide eyes,
my bruised tits jutting up above.
Setting the camera aside, you grab more rope. Pulling me to my knees, my head
pulled back almost to my feet, begin snaking the rope through the knot between
my breasts, running it down, between my legs, then up the back, looping it
through the knots at my wrists. Yanking tight, you position the rope so it cuts
into my pussy lip, pulls it wide. Tying it off, you loop back, pulling the
other lip open so my reddened pussy is held wide open. You give another good
tug, making sure the rope is as tight as possible, then secure it. You grab the
camera, take more pictures. You congratulate yourself, both on your rope work
and your foresight in bringing so much film. You push me back, take close up
shots of my aching pussy, my hole open, visible. Putting the camera down again,
you push me on my belly, begin pinching my ass cheeks. I am watching your face
in the mirror as I sob. You catch my gaze, tell me this is my fault, I'm such a
bitch. You tell me you're going to rape my ass, tear it wide open with your
cock. I moan, squirm, shake my head, please, no, I've never. You begin rubbing
your hardening cock across my rectum, taking time out to smack my ass with it.
You laugh at my whimpers, tell me that none of this would have happened if I
hadn't been such a snob, such a self-impressed cunt. And then you press your
huge tool against my virgin asshole, pushing, relentless, tearing into me. I
gag, grunt with agony as you fill my ass, all the way to the hilt. I feel your
balls slapping my bare, raw pussy lips as you fuck me hard.
You rape my ass for what seems like forever, stopping each time you come close
to climax, prolonging my torture. Reaching forward, you grasp my clit between
your thumb and forefinger, begin working it roughly, rolling it, pinching it.
My hips buck involuntarily, my pussy begins to lubricate with the stimulation.
You laugh as my muscles clench, spasm around your cock, my orgasm approaching
fast despite my pain. As it crashes over me, I scream, my ass milking your
tool, drawing the cum out of you. You flood my bowels with your jizz, hot,
thick. My belly cramps from the rape, the load in my bleeding ass.
Pulling out, you reach up, unhook my wrists from my ankles. My tortured muscles
protest as the blood begins to flow into them again. I lay moaning through my
nose, your spunk squeezing from my spasming ass. Rising, you reach for the
camera, shooting yet another roll. My reddened ass, pink tinged cum running out
of me. You stand, take a shot of yourself in the mirror, my wide, stricken eyes
staring up at your reflection.
Setting the camera down, you walk to the video camera, pull the tape, putting a
new tape in. You go to the door, unlock it, step outside. When you return, you
have a sawhorse, chains bolted to the legs. You place it in the middle of the
room, then return to the video camera, re-aiming it. Striding to the bed, you
grab me, drag me to the sawhorse, push my back against it so the hard wood is
biting into the small of my back. I writhe, squirm weakly, but you force me
into position easily. Unhooking the chain connecting my ankle restraints, you
spread my legs, secure each to a leg of the sawhorse so I am spread. Walking
to the night stand, you pull out a thick leather collar, return to affix it to
my throat. Standing behind me, you drag me down, bending me painfully
backwards by the collar. I am whining with the pain, the strain of being
stretched this way. You latch the chains to my collar, one from each side so I
am held secure. Walking away, you go to the door, pull something out from the
umbrella stand. I can't see you, don't know what you're doing. I hear the
whistle through the air, then feel the sharp pain on my thigh---a riding crop.
You have a riding crop, and you begin to whip me mercilessly. You tell me it's
my punishment for having neglected you, having thought myself better than you.
The crop comes down, stinging, on my bare, bound pussy lips, sending jolts of
agony through me. You tell you'll whip me for me all the times you smiled at
me, waved at me, and I didn't respond. My hips, my thighs, my trapped pussy
turn an angry red from the blows. You stop, walk around so you are facing my
front. I can only see your lower legs, but I hear the whoosh of the crop as it
slices through the air, drawing a muffled scream from me as it connects with
first one breast, then the other. You whip my tits, my belly viciously, leaving
hateful welts rising on my tender flesh. I am whimpering, flinching with every
blow, my eyes filling with tears as I beg behind the tape, please, God, please,
I'm so sorry, so sorry, I didn't mean it. You continue to whip me until the
entire front of my body is red, stinging. Stopping, you unchain me, turn me so
I am belly down, re-chain me . . . then start again. Hard, burning blows to my
ass cheeks, the backs of my thighs. I am sobbing weakly from the pain, praying
that I will pass out, stop feeling. But I don't-I feel every slashing strike,
my back, my arms covered with raised, angry welts. You finally stop, tell me
you hope I'm not thinking I've felt the worst you have to offer, because I
haven't-not by a long shot.
Returning to the night stand, you pull out two huge dildos. I can see, can see
these monstrous fuck toys you're bringing over. I begin to thrash, my butt
wiggling, my hips bucking against the hard wood. You step up behind me, press
one of the giant dildos against my open, raw pussy. Pushing hard, you ram it
into my cunt, your cock jumping as I scream through my nose. You remember me,
just hours ago, running oblivious down your street, my now aching tits and ass
cheeks bouncing perkily with each step. You look at me now, imagine me trying
to even walk with this gargantuan fuck tool buried in my pussy. You laugh,
begin to fuck me angrily with the dildo, hardening at the sound of my gasps, my
whining. Grabbing the other dildo, you shove it in my ass in one vicious
thrust, all the way in. Grasping the ropes binding my arms, you start slamming
it into me, your meat stiffening completely at the sight of my ass cheeks
quivering with each plunge.
Burying the massive tool deep in my bowels, you walk around, kneel before my
tear stained, sweating face. You rip the tape from my bruised mouth, grab
handfuls of hair, and plunge your cock into my mouth. My jaws ache, strain as
you sink the entire length into my throat. Gagging, choking on your thick meat,
my legs jerk against the restraints, my cheeks balloon as I struggle to breathe.
You rape my mouth fast and deep, your hips jerking hard, slamming your tool into
my throat again and again. You reach around, begin twisting my nipples hard,
bringing blood into the skin as I squeal weakly around your cock. Reaching up,
you grab the dildo in my ass, begin grinding it in and out as your orgasm
approaches. You ask me if It feels good, if I like having all my slut holes
filled. Shouting, your meat explodes in my mouth. You pull out, splatter my
face with your cum, filling my eyes, coating my lips, my cheeks. My belly
lurches, my eyes squeeze shut, tears mingling with your sticky spunk. You rise,
retrieve the camera, and begin snapping more shots---my jizz covered face, my
dildo raped ass and pussy, the angry welts covering my body. Turning me over
once again, re-chaining me, you snap more shots, humming happily as you bend to
get close-ups of my abused pussy and ass.
Walking to the video camera, you insert a new tape, then carry it to the
bathroom, set it up. Unchaining me, you drag me to the bathroom, throw me into
the tub. Yanking my legs up, you attach the shackles at my ankles to the
handles on either side, leaving me on my back, head still yanked back, arms
behind me. My bound breasts glow pink from the trapped blood, the blows of the
crop, the torture of your twisting and pinching. You leave the dildos inside of
me, smiling at the obvious pain and humiliation they cause me. Turning on the
water, you plug the drain, let the burning, near scalding water collect. I
scream as the steaming water reaches my ass, my pussy. You pull down the
shower massage, begin spraying the cum and blood from me. Smiling, you set the
shower head to pulse, and press it against my clit. My hips buck violently as
the burning water courses over my red, rope tortured pussy. A rhythm sets up
as, even through my pain, my body begins to respond to the stimulation. I'm
crying out weakly, begging, mumbling, pleading with you to please stop, please
don't do this. You pinch my bruised nipples, tell my I'm an ungrateful whore.
Grinding the shower head in hard, you move it rhythmically, and my hips match
your pace. I climax painfully, my legs trembling, belly jumping with the force
of the orgasm. You keep the massager in place, bring me off twice, three times.
I'm sobbing weakly, ashamed, in agony, my body stinging, aching-and feeling
intense pleasure.
Grabbing the video camera, you take it back to the main room, train it on the
bed. Pulling me from the tub, you drag me back to the bed, force me to look at
myself in the mirror. I am horrified---no part of my body is untouched, no part
of me isn't red, sore, stinging. Grabbing the knife, you cut my hair, freeing
my head. The pain in my neck is excruciating, I wail weakly. Rolling me on my
back, you yank my legs wide, chain them to the footboard. Climbing onto the
bed, you straddle my head, facing my trapped tits. Grinding your balls into my
nose, my lips, you reach into the night stand, pull out the clothespins. I cant
see, I'm whimpering as your move your hips, crushing my face with your sac. You
set to work, affixing the clothespins to my sore, angry tits, one after another
until there are a dozen pinching, tearing into my stinging flesh. My screams
are muffled under you, so weak and shrill I don't even recognize my own voice.
Your cock begins to stiffen, and you climb down, smiling at the masterful job
you've done of torturing my tits. Grabbing the camera, you take shot after shot
of my spread out body, my pinned and tied breasts. Your eyes light up as you
get an idea. Setting the camera down, you unhook my ankles, drag them up and
chain them to my collar. You take more pictures, your cock now rock hard at the
sight of me open in this way. Kneeling before my pussy, my ass, you reach down,
then hesitate. This will be the last-where do you want to fuck me? Which hole
do you want to rape? You decide to drill my pussy one last time. You tell me
what you're thinking, go over it aloud, tell me how you're going to miss me,
even though I've been a miserable whore. I'm begging, sure you're going to kill
me. My voice, weak, hoarse, I beg---please, please don't kill me, I can be
better, I can do whatever you want me to do. You laugh-what can I do for you?
I can suck your cock, I cry. I can suck your cock better than you've ever had,
milk every drop of your spunk, swallow it down. I can fuck you with my ass, my
pussy, I can ride you. I can hurt myself while you watch, take pictures.
Please, please, let me please you, let me fuck you, let me suck you. You grin,
pretend to think it over-then tell me no. No, you're not interested in a used
up fuck toy like me. I begin to sob as you pull the dildo from my cunt, replace
it with your thick cock. Grasping the ropes on my tits, you begin to fuck my
violently, furiously. My groans are guttural, driven out of me by the force of
your slamming into me. Each jarring thrust jams the dildo in my ass further,
deeper into me. You fuck me harder and harder, me legs bouncing, my trapped
tits jiggling. Your thrusts are angry, hateful, ripping. As you cum, you pull
out, splatter my pussy, my belly with your thick spunk. I am moaning weakly,
crying.
Climbing off the bed, you move the video camera one last time---to the front
porch. Coming back, you snap the last of your film, capturing my horrified,
exhausted gaze, my swollen, cum dripping pussy. Lifting me from the bed, you
haul me toward the door. I am screaming hoarsely, thrashing with the last of my
strength, sure that you are going to kill me now. Carrying me through the door,
you take me to the porch railing, throw me over it. Bending down, you bind me
securely to the rail, my ass and pussy up. You tell me that hunters and kids
partying come up here fairly frequently, that I should feel free to cry out for
help . . . but that I shouldn't be surprised if that "help" comes in the form of
a half dozen or so cocks raping me. You tell me not to worry---someone will
find me, that you'll call the biker bar down the highway and inform them of my
situation tomorrow, just in case. You wouldn't want me to be lonely, thirsty.
Walking back into the cabin, you grab your camera, begin gathering your toys.
Pausing, you consider the dildo that had been in my pussy. Walking back to me,
you jam it back in, tell me you don't want my slut cunt to be jealous. I groan,
mumble, please, please don't leave me here, please don't call them to rape me.
You smack my pink, bruised ass, tell me I've been an ungrateful cunt, and that
you are sure I'll realize how good you've been to me once the bikers and anyone
else who stumbles upon me gets through with me. You pack up the video camera
last. Calling out from the car, you tell me you'll be sure to send copies of
the tapes and pictures to me---and everyone I know.
You climb in your car, wave as you pull away. I cry, moan with pain, terror. I
call out weakly, please, someone. Please help me. I drift, pass out. I
awaken hours later to the roar of motorcycles approaching.
