In the almost five years I've been a professional rapist, I've raped exactly 522 women, or a little over two a week.  Of those 522, only 18 have reported being raped (I have a few friends inside the police department who keep me informed).  Most women would prefer not to report being raped, since the reporting can be very traumatic, but you greatly enhance the probability that you will not be reported if you keep a few things in mind.  First, the greater your victim's humiliation, the less likely she will report the assault, so make sure she's property humiliated.  Second, if you don't mark up your victim, it makes it easier for her to hide what happened to her from herself and others.  If you have to mark her up for the job, then make sure that the marks can be easily hidden until they heal.  Lastly, it is very important that you choose a time and place for the rape so it doesn't interrupt her normal daytime routine, since that makes it even easier for her to hide it from others.

Of course, applying these guidelines differs from woman to woman.  For example, with Emily, it was relatively straightforward.  I left no marks, heaped humiliation upon humiliation upon her each time I forced her to cum, and left no sign that I had ever been there.  Being young, she was neither strong-willed nor knowledgeable, so it was easy.  Another of my favorite jobs, Jennifer, was almost the complete opposite.  Jennifer was a smart, strong, strong-willed professional woman in her mid-twenties, and it took a different approach to break her down as my client wished.

Jennifer's client was upset that Jennifer was on the fast track at his law firm, despite being only 26 years-old, and he figured that the only reason she was doing so well was because she was good looking, so she must be fucking one or more of the partners to get ahead.  He had heard that I knew how to put 'bitches in their place', so wanted to hire me to do so.  He only had a head shot of her, but good looking was an understatement.  She was a classic blond beauty, with long. straight blond hair, gorgeous cheekbones, pale, thin lips, a cute, straight nose, and piercing ice-blue eyes.  In her picture she was looking into the camera like she owned it.  I knew a challenge when I saw it, and, besides, I wanted to humble this haughty, determined, capable young woman; I wanted to break her will, to turn her from a strong, confident human being into a destroyed beast.

My first thought was to take her in her office, to taint her workplace with her rape forever; unfortunately, after some basic surveillance, I discovered that the security in her office building was tight, and she wasn't usually the very last one to leave (although she was usually one of the last 3 to leave).  I also considered her apartment, a studio in an upscale neighborhood, although without a doorman and no security that I could see, but decided against that option when I discovered her hobby.

Jennifer was a student of Taekwondo.  As far as I could tell, she was a 2nd guep, which meant she was very good.  She went to her school four times a week, once on the weekend; on weekdays she would start at 8 p.m. and wouldn't leave until 11.  It also meant that she would be a fighter, and it is never a good idea to take down a fighter in an apartment building.

I watched her on and off for two weeks, looking for weaknesses in her schedule while admiring her, her posture, the way she walked, the way she moved, her taste in clothes.  She stood five foot eight and weighed about 130 lbs, and most of that was muscle.  She had a lean, strong, beautiful body, with just enough curves to make you want to see underneath the so tasteful clothes she always wore.  For work, she was immaculately dressed, with tailored, gorgeous suits, always with skirts that came down just below her knees, always with sheer pantyhose.  The only other outfit I saw her wear was her Taekwondo student outfit, which hid all of her curves.  Her shoes were beautiful and expensive, with two or three inch heels, giving her a height to match most men's, shaping her calves in the most delicious ways, giving her walk a nice, sexy sway.

This was a woman that, as professional as she was, as conservatively as she dressed, as coldly as she acted, couldn't help but be sexy, couldn't help but attract the lust of the men around her.  She knew it, didn't like it, and was doing everything to make it despite her looks.  I admired the strength and ability of this woman, and I wanted to test myself against her, to see how far I would have to go to break her.

At the end of the two weeks of surveillance, I had decided on my plan of attack.  While she was at work, I parked my car a few blocks from her apartment complex and took public transit to her Taekwondo school, making sure to arrive a bit before I knew she would be leaving.  As she left the studio at a brisk walk, I started to cut across the parking lot toward a bus stop on the corner, making sure I would pass near her car about the same time she would, also making sure that I would be behind her.  She was almost to her car when she noticed how close I really was, but at that moment it was too late--I reached out and pressed an electric shock prod against her belly and caught her as she lost control of her muscles.

I quickly scooped her keys from the ground and opened the trunk of her car, loading her like a piece of luggage into her car.  I stopped for a second and looked around, making sure I hadn't been seen, and took out a syringe and, very carefully, administered just the amount of Pentothal that I thought would keep her out for about thirty minutes, making sure I hit a vein.  Shutting the trunk, I got into the car and drove to our destination, where I would beat, rape, and humiliate this strong, confident young woman.

A BMW 3-series, the car drove beautifully, and I was at our destination within twenty minutes, pulling the car into the abandoned warehouse and quickly taking my victim from the trunk into a room I had specially prepared for our encounter.  It was a big room, about 40 feet by 30 feet, and I had covered the concrete floor with exercise mats.  It had two doors, one of which led to the outside, and which I had chained shut; the other door led directly into the warehouse space.  The windows along two walls that had once allowed an unobstructed view of the warehouse had been boarded over.  I had had to bring in a small generator, and I had hung lights along the ceiling which illuminated the space.

I laid her against the wall furthest from the door and stripped her, leaving her only her sports bra and white panties.  I took time to admire her body, a firm, flat stomach, strong, lean, muscular thighs, a beautiful, firm ass, and just enough breast to make it worthwhile.  I stripped down to a jock-strap myself before putting on a pair of steel-tipped boots, arranged a set of toys in the middle of the room, pulled a ski-mask on, and then sat down and waited for her to regain consciousness.

Jennifer was the type of woman who could always handle herself.  She was strong, physically and mentally; she had never been truly victimized, and believed deep down that she never would be because she was strong.  The first lesson I was going to teach her was that she wasn't as strong as she thought.

When she started to come to I stood up, making sure that I was between her and the door.  She was groggy at first, pulling her legs underneath her, her hands supporting her, looking so sexy with her long blond hair in her bra and panties.  She looked dazedly around, her eyes unfocused; I could tell when it registered that she had been nearly stripped from the way her body seemed to jerk, and her head snap up, her eyes finally focusing.  Her eyes locked on me, a lean, muscular man of average height, wearing only a jock-strap, a pair of boots, and a ski-mask, standing between her and the only exit.  I saw her eyes flicker down to my feet, taking in the bamboo cane and the shock stick as she surged to her feet.

I let her stand there for a minute, letting her take it in:  the room, the toys, me.  She swayed, steadied, and then spit out a challenge.

"What the hell is going on?  Who are you?"

Only a little fear leaked through her words.  She had to suspect what was in store for her, but she still believed in herself, in her strength.  I smiled, making sure she could see my teeth, and answered.

"I am going to beat you, first with my fists, and then with this cane.  When I'm done, I'm going to rape your ass.  Then I'm going to rape your cunt.  Before I'm done, I'm going to bring in a dog and you are going to beg me to let it fuck you.  Bitch."

Her eyes widened as I spoke, disbelief struggling with fear reflected in them, before I saw that wonderful, strong body of hers tense and her jaw set.

"Fuck you.  I'm leaving."

She started walking toward me, and I took two steps forward and waited, watching as the muscles in her thighs played beneath her skin, the sight of her an erotic vision.  She was too smart to try to run, and too smart to try to walk around me.  She came right at me, and stopped just out of range and took up a fighting stance, and I could see confidence fill her as her martial arts training took over.

I knew she was good, but I was no fool.  I would not have challenged her this way if I thought I would lose, although there was always that possibility.  She was a very good practitioner of Taekwondo, but I was an expert at mixed martial arts, with a special strength in grappling, since it came in so handy in my work.  I closed quickly, taking a glancing blow to my thigh and a few sharp jabs to my shoulder, but once I had my hands on her it was all over.

In seconds we were on the mat and I had her back, with her left arm twisted behind her, my legs wrapped around hers, locking her in place.  Quickly adjusting my grip, I jerked her shoulder forward and she screamed in agony as I felt her shoulder pop out of its socket.  I pushed her off of me and stood up, watching as she writhed on the floor, holding her injured shoulder, the sweat of fear and pain glistening on her gorgeous legs and her slender waist and her firm, beautiful arms. 

She was on her knees, her legs slightly spread, her panties stretched tight over her firm, succulent ass, her head resting on the mat as she moaned in pain, her body rocking back and forth as the agony grew.  I kicked her in the belly, my boot thudding into her slender form, her body jerking up, her breath shocked out of her.  Again I kicked her, and she rolled over onto her side, then her back, her legs kicking up in a feeble attempt to defend herself.  I kicked her in the ribs, hard enough to bruise, but not break, and she rolled back onto her knees and tried to scramble to her feet.

I knocked her back down and proceeded to beat her, smashing my fists and feet into her sexy body, driving home to her her helplessness, until she rolled up into a fetal position and lay there sobbing and moaning as I punished her.  The beating was a lesson, a lesson of her powerlessness, of her weakness, giving her a vivid example that she could be victimized, that despite her strength and confidence and skills, she could be reduced lower than a whipped dog.

When I finished I stood back and waited for her to open her eyes; when she did, I told her to sit up.  As she struggled to sit, pain from the beating making her slow and cautious, I picked up the bamboo cane and circled her, watching as her head swiveled to keep me in sight.  Coming up behind her I knelt down and took her back again, hearing her whimper as I locked my legs around hers, all the fight beaten from her.  She screamed again as I started to massage her dislocated shoulder, feeling my way around as her lean, sexy body shuddered and trembled against mine, then jerking it back into place as she screamed.

I released her and stood facing her, the cane in my hand, and waited until the pain dulled.  Her shoulder would hurt, a lot, and it would be very sensitive, a fact I could use, and her arm would be pretty much useless, but she wouldn't be incapacitated for what came next, which was important.

"Okay, you worthless cunt, stand up," I commanded.

When she hesitated, I lashed out with the cane, a sharp scream echoing in the warehouse as I left a mark across her flat, sexy stomach, making her scramble to her feet, moaning as the deep bruised I had given her from the beating ached, to stand with her arms crossed in front of her, her confident pose replaced by a young woman trying to disappear.

"Take off your clothes, bitch."

She looked at me, and I could see the recalcitrance in her eyes, the stubbornness and rebelliousness lurking right beneath the fear the beating I had given her had instilled.  I brought the cane down again, against her left side, faster than she could jerk away, drawing a hiss of pain from her as a dark red welt showed on her waist.

"I said strip, bitch."

Slowly she removed her bra, using her right arm, her left shoulder clearly sore, hissing in pain as she pulled it over her head, revealing two beautiful breasts, creamy white mounds of flesh topped by small pink nipples, standing firm and full below her narrow shoulders.  She kept her eyes from mine as she bent and slid her panties off.  A light blond fuzz gathered at her mons, hiding the soft pink folds of her cunt.  She kept her legs together, her lean, muscular thighs rubbing together as she stepped out of her panties and looked up at me, defiance flashing in her eyes as she stood before me, her hands together just above her mons, not wanting to show weakness by hiding herself.

I slowly ran my eyes up and down her nude body, taking in a face that belonged on magazine covers, her sweet, creamy breasts, her lean torso, her firm, flat stomach and narrow waist, the curve of her hips tapering to well-defined thighs and calves.  She was truly a gorgeous woman.  I stepped closer to her and slightly to the side, and slid the cane underneath her left breast, commenting,

"Nice, very nice."

She hissed, and slapped the cane away, a curse on her breath; I moved more quickly than she could speak, stepping into her, slamming the palm of my left hand against her previously dislocated shoulder, surprise and then pain registering on her face as she cried out, grabbed her shoulder, and then fell to her knees, bending at the waist and rocking back and forth in pain.

"Cunt," I hissed at her, "don't you understand yet?  Do I need to beat you again?  I'm in control here.  If I want to beat you, I'll beat you."  I emphasized that by slamming the cane against her lower back, making her jerk and cry out again, a welt appearing on her smooth flesh.  "If I want to kill you, I'll kill you."  She looked at me then, and for the first time I saw real terror in her eyes.

"Do you understand?"  I lifted her chin with the end of the cane, and she nodded, a quick jerk that took a lot from her.

"Good.  Now stand up, bitch."

I circled her, sliding the cane across her breasts, her ass, her back, her thighs, pushing it between her legs from behind, adding to her humiliation as she stood there trembling.  The whole time I talked to her, playing mind games, telling her the truth I wanted her to believe.

"You're one gorgeous piece of meat, you know that, bitch?  Every man who sees you wants to be me right now, with you standing naked before them, ready to do anything I ask.  You don't believe me?  I've been watching you, and I've seen how men look at you.  They lust after your sweet tits and your perfect ass.  I saw how their eyes traveled over this tight little body of yours, and I know what they were thinking.  They wanted you, they wanted to fuck you, they wanted you on your knees with your sweet little mouth around their cocks, they wanted you on your back with their cock filling your tight little cunt, they wanted you on your hands and knees with their cock plunging into that ass of yours.  That's what you are to us:  something to fuck, something to stick our dicks in to give us pleasure."

I went on like that, interspersing it with comments about how nice her tits were, her ass was, her thighs were, her stomach was, how fuckable she was.  I was still careful, though, because, even beaten and in pain, she was still a fighter, and I wasn't about to give her an opening.  When I was done, I ordered her to lay on her stomach and spread her legs, her arms by her side.

If you've ever seen a beautiful naked woman laying on her stomach, it is a wonderful sight.  Her breasts pillow under her, pushing slightly out the side, the curve of her waist and hips and ass are exaggerated, while her legs are like pillars leading to the dark V of her cunt.  I climbed on top of her, and heard her stifle a whimper as my weight pushed her hard into the mat.  She groaned through gritted teeth as I pressed my cock against her ass, tensing her cheeks tightly together as I pushed, forcing my dry cock into that damp, dark, dirty hole.

She grunted as I forced my cock past her sphincter, sliding painfully into her ass-chute.  I felt something tear, and then I slid in easier, blood lubricating her back channel as she suppressed her whimpering.  I saw tears well up in her eyes as I began to truly rape her ass, sliding my bloody cock in and out of her, slamming my hips brutally against her ass-cheeks.  She took is stoically, even though the pain must have been incredible, only her clenched teeth and the tears flowing down her face revealing how painful her ass-rape truly was.

I made it last, that first humiliation of hers, riding her ass for long minutes, letting my weight press her body into the ground, my legs keeping hers apart, enjoying the tight, steaming channel of her ass squeezing my cock as it trembled beneath my pounding hips, her silky thighs sliding against mine as I pumped into her.  I talked to her the whole time, telling her how this is what men wanted from her, a good, tight hole, a sweet, sexy young body to fuck.  I grabbed her head in my hands and pushed her face into the mat as I came, my cock pulsing deep in her ass.  I laid on top of her for a long time, letting her feel me softening inside her.  When I finally pulled out and stood up I told her to stay as she was, enjoying the sight of such a beautiful woman with such a brutalized asshole.

I picked up the shock baton and quickly shoved it into her distended asshole, burying it four inches deep, making her ass and thighs jerk, her head twisting around to see what was happening, her mouth opening into a small O of confusion just before I hit the button, sending powerful voltage tearing into her ass-chute.

As voltage slammed deep into her bowels, her whole body seemed to leap from the ground to land and flop like a fish out of water.  I followed her thrashing body with my own, kneeling on her tail-bone, my shin supporting my whole weight as I gripped the shock baton firmly, shoving it further into her ass, keeping my finger on the button, keeping the voltage pouring into her sexy, bruised body.  I clenched my teeth as I the voltage jerked into my body and her struggling, bucking body threatened to throw me off of her, her arm beating weakly against my legs and arm, her legs scissoring and kicking as she tried to find purchase on the mats, her ass rolling and jerking as she tried to dislodge the torture device from her ass.

She was screaming, shouting, fighting with all of her strength, but I wasn't to be moved, and fatigue set in, until she was barely moving, until she could only moan and sob and twitch as the voltage pounded her insides to jelly.  I stopped and listened to her sobbing as I slowly pulled the baton from her ass, wiping it clean of blood and shit.  Grabbing her hair I started to drag her to a corner, where a hook hung from a chain attached to a pulley in the ceiling, and hanging from that hook were a pair of handcuffs. 

I walked quickly, keeping my hand low to the ground so she was forced to crawl, enjoying how she scrambled to avoid being dragged by her hair, her face streaked with tears.  When we reached the corner, I pulled her to her feet and snapped the handcuffs on her wrists as she stood shaking before me, still recovering from the brutality of the shock baton.  She cried out in pain as I pulled her arms over her head, her shoulder still aching, and hooked her wrists over the hook.

I pulled the hook up until she was standing straight, trying not to sob too much at the pain in her recently dislocated shoulder, aggravated by her arms stretched over her head.  I didn't pull her off her feet, not wanting to dislocate her shoulder again.  I grabbed her breasts and looked right in her shining blue eyes.

"You don't listen, do you bitch?" I said, roughly twisting her tits as I spoke.  "I told you all men want from that sexy, succulent body of yours is a good fuck, but you can't even do that right.  I stick my cock in your ass and all you do is lay there like a mattress."  I spit in her face.  "Dumb cunt."

I walked back to the center of the room and picked up the cane, walking slowly back to my victim, whose eyes had grown wide with fear as she trembled on the end of the hook.  A beating like the one I had given her was personal, teaching a lesson about her vulnerability, but, unless you wanted to do some real damage, didn't leave much besides bruising and soreness.  Unless repeated constantly, over days and weeks and even months, it wasn't a very good way to break a person down.  A person could say to themselves that they had survived with their dignity; that they had been overpowered, sure, but they hadn't given in mentally. 

That's where the electroshock and caning came in.  There's something about a shock baton shoved up your ass that focuses the mind, that makes you say to yourself "I'll do anything to avoid another like that"; and there is something about women and whipping that makes their defenses melt, more than just the pain.  I don't know what it is, but a woman whipped is a woman willing to please.

She stopped her crying as she saw me coming toward her with the cane, only whimpering slightly at the pain in her shoulder now.  She raised her head to mine and moistened her lips.

"Please, please.  I'll do what you want.  You don't have to hurt me anymore.  I'll do anything."

I smiled and stood before her, knowing that they were just words, that deep down she was just saying them.  She didn't 'want' to do whatever I wanted, she just wanted, logically, to avoid the pain of what I was going to do to her.  Before I was done, the only thing she would want, to the core of her being, was to submit to me.  There is a difference:  in the first case, she would retain control, in the second, all control would be mine--she wouldn't be choosing to submit, she would be forced, like an animal, to submit.

My response was to bring the cane down across her taut stomach, driving a gasping shout of pain from her lips.  Then I really started beating her.  I drove the cane across her breasts, flattening those perfect mounds with the violence of my blows, brutally marking them, making her twist and scream with each blow.  I struck her stomach, driving her breath from her, making her gasp and shout, painting a crisscross of welts across her flesh.  I beat her beautiful, curvy ass, slamming the cane against those perfect mounds of muscle until blood oozed from her beaten flesh and she moaned in agony.  I targeted her firm thighs, loving the way she danced in pain with each blow.  Every once in a while I would stop and use the shock baton, making her jerk and dance on the hook, jabbing it hard into her stomach or breasts and sending the brutal pulses of electricity through her bound, hanging body.

It was over thirty minutes before I was done, and I was sweating with the effort, and she with the pain.  I dropped the cane and looked at her, this beautiful, strong woman, hanging by her wrists, ugly red welts marking her smooth, perfect flesh, her chest heaving with panting, moaning sobs as every movement of her body sent the pain of her beating back through her body.  I slid my hands between her thighs and she sobbed but opened them a little for me, and I slid my finger easily into her cunt, slick from the sweat of her struggles.

"That's good, bitch," I said, my fingers twisting in the core of her, "you're learning."

I lowered the hook and she swayed on her feet as I led her back to the center of the room, still handcuffed.

"On your back, cunt, and get ready for me to fuck you.  And you better give me a good ride or next time I won't be so easy on your dumb-ass."

She moved slowly, her body aching, lowering herself to the mat and laying on her back.  She spread her legs and bent her knees, inviting me in, her face a mask, only her gasps and the small twitchings of her body revealing the pain that she was in.  I climbed on top of her, sliding my body across her flesh, slick with sweat, and slid my cock with one stroke into her cunt.  I looked into her unfocused eyes, reading the pain I was causing her as I began to fuck her slowly.

"Wrap your legs around me and give me a good ride, bitch."

Those wonderful, sexy thighs closed around my waist, her ankles locking behind my back, and I let my weight press against her, her brutalized breasts pillowing under me, and I pressed my lips against hers, forcing my tongue into her whimpering mouth even as I continued to pump into her.  She rocked under me as I kissed her, fucking back at me, and I knew that this was total possession.  Raping her ass was merely a tool used to get to this point, where she would do what I said not because it was the logical way to avoid getting hurt, but because of fear, pure, primal fear of pain.

A weak woman learns to bend, to give in, to keep her dignity by accepting her weakness, by working with it, by knowing that there was nothing else she could do.  She knows, at her core, that there are always those stronger.  A strong woman, on the other hand, doesn't bend, she breaks.  When she admits weakness it is a revelation, a dagger to the core of who she is.  She is no longer one of the strong--she is a victim, a weakling; she could never accept, until this point, that there was someone stronger than her.

Jennifer was a strong woman, and as she used her beaten, whipped body to please me, squeezing her cunt, her thighs clenching against my sides, her tongue dancing with mine, her body slowly writhing beneath mine, I knew she had broken.  I fucked her for a long time, forcing her to use that sexy, aching body of hers against mine, forcing her to twist and buck and gyrate beneath me, forcing her to hold her mouth against mine, forcing her to pleasure me until I achieved release.

When I was done, I stood over her, and she turned onto her side, her legs slightly bent, her arm draped across her breasts, her face, streaked with tears, turned away from me.  God, she was sexy.

"That was good.  You'd make a good whore.  I'll bet all those guys you work with would pay a fortune to get into that tight cunt of yours.  Heh.  After seeing you walk around, untouchable, all those years, lusting after you:  man, you could make bank, slut."

I cleaned myself up and put on some pants as I watched her, letting her think it was all over, knowing that she knew my every movement even as she lay beaten on the mat.  It was time to test her, to see if she was truly broken or if she still had some fight left in her.

"Okay bitch, do you remember what I told you when you first woke up?"  She pushed herself onto her arm, her legs folded to the side in front of her, and shook her head, her blond hair damp with sweat sicking to her shoulders.  I walked over to the door, her eyes following me, and I knew there was hope there, hope for her release.  Opening the door, I heard her shift and a small whimper came from her as I whistled.

Rex came running into the floor, his paws pitting the mats.  Jennifer's reaction was priceless as she remembered my words, that I was going to let a dog fuck her, that she was going to beg me.  Her eyes got wide, filled with horror, her body jerking in terror and humiliation, her mouth opened in a horrified O and one hand moved to cover her mouth.  She started shaking her head, raising up on her knees, her hands pressed together before her, begging, "No.  No.  Please no.  I'll do anything, anything.  I'll suck you.  I'll fuck you again.  Anything but that.  Please."

Cane in hand and Rex by my side, I let her plead, tears coursing down her face as she kneeled before me begging to be spared the humiliation, enjoying my domination of this beautiful, sexy woman.  When she wound down, her head hanging as she wept, I said, "On your hands and knees, legs spread, bitch," slapping the cane against the mat for extra emphasis.

Her body jerked at the sound of the cane hitting the mat, and she turned her body and lifted herself onto her hands and knees, her breasts hanging beneath her.

"Down on your elbows.  You're a bitch, and bitches get fucked."

She groaned in pain as she got down on her elbows, the position lending a beautiful arch to her back, making her ass thrust out, her thighs spread just enough to display her bruised, raped cunt and her ravaged asshole.  She had started sobbing, and I gave Rex the command to start.

Rex is a black sable German Shepherd, about 90 lbs, whose been trained to enjoy fucking women.  I don't usually use him in my job, preferring instead to loan him out among my social group for entertainment (something about knowing that a woman is degrading herself by fucking a dog turns me on), but for Jennifer, I figured it would be a way to truly put her in her place.

Rex padded up behind her and started licking, his long tongue lapping against her mons, running across her clit and diving between her swollen nether lips.  He could do this for hours, tasting the sweet juice of a fresh cunt, and I let him work his bitch until her sobbing stopped, her forehead resting on the mat, her breathing steadying as she accepted what was happening to her, probably relieved that there wasn't any pain.

I've been told by many a woman that Rex's tongue is magic, and I was counting on it.  I watched my victim closely as he continued to slide his tongue along her slit, watching her body relax under his attentions, her eyes close.  I smiled, knowing it wouldn't be long before the unwanted pleasure started, the pleasure of being mostly out of pain, of being treated gently, even if by an animal.  Her breathing started to quicken, and I noticed her thighs trembling just a little, knowing that she was feeling it.

I waited, letting her fight it, letting it build until she got close to her ultimate degradation, her ultimate humiliation, cumming for a dog like a bitch in heat.  It would be the final nail in the coffin of her self-respect.  When an uncontrollable moan escaped her, her thighs starting to shake, I gave Rex the command to mount her, and he reared up, his forelegs wrapping around her chest, her head stretched forward toward her neck, his hips hunched as he humped his red cock against her cunt, finding it after three tries, plunging it into Jennifer's sexy young body, making her grunt in humiliation at the penetration.

I fell to my knees and reached under the bitch, my fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing it, circling it, knowing that I only had a minute or so before Rex finished, trying to find the motion that would tip sweet, sexy Jennifer over the edge.  Rex was humping away, Jennifer sweating and panting and trembling beneath his weight, as I teased her sex nub.

I felt her thighs shake and her stomach tense and tremble as she came, a gasp of despair escaping from her lips as her orgasm overcame her, a cum brought about while a dog humped his cock into her spasming cunt.  I saw Rex tense up and finish, and then he was out of her and lying on the ground licking himself, and Jennifer sunk to the mat, legs still spread, dog cum leaking from her freshly raped cunt.

I went to my bag and pulled out a syringe and quickly put her back under sedation.

I had a lot of cleaning up to do, and I won't bore you with the details.  It took hours, and after I was done she had been bathed and returned to her apartment and her bed, her alarm had been set, and her car had been parked in her garage.  Cleaning up the warehouse took longer, but by noon it had been finished.  I checked up on her and found her car still in her garage, and no police cars.

You might wonder why a woman so badly beaten wouldn't call the police to report her abuse.  Well, few woman wants to be seen as a victim, and almost no woman wants to let someone know that they felt pleasure while being fucked by a dog.  I had also made sure that all the physical damage I had done to her could be hidden from her friends and co-workers, so that she could keep what happened a secret.

When I called my client to inform him that the job was done, he insisted, like most of my clients, on all the details.  He laughed when I told him about the dog, and, even at the steep price, was well satisfied.

Like most of my victims, I have no idea what happened to sweet, sexy Jennifer.  She might have gone back to her job even more obsessed, better to block out the horror she had experienced; or she might still be suffering PTSD, hyper-aware of everyone and everything around her; or she could have quit her job and turned in on herself; or she could have become promiscuous, giving her body away before it could be taken from her.  You can never be quite sure how a woman will react.

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.

Like I've mentioned before, I usually follow extremely explicit rules, the better to keep myself safe and out of prison.  I have broken them on occasion, though, and a few of the best, or worst, times were when I was in the UK.  Now, one doesn't go into a job like mine unless one has a certain contempt for the female of the species, a certain need to degrade and debase that drives one to cruelty and a lack of empathy that most would find pathological.  Given that, I have my fantasies, fantasies that are restricted by the rules I have set for myself.  I don't play with my victims beyond a few hours (although I did break this rule once, but that is another story) even though the mere thought of having all that time to break down a strong, confident woman and turn her into something less that human is so, so delicious.  I tend not to leave marks on my victims where they can be seen, even though a woman whose neck is red with the marks of a rope, whose face is bruised and battered, makes my blood boil.  I've never, except one time, exposed my victim to anyone else, even though the thought of a woman bound, helpless, being ridden for days on end, her cunt and ass and mouth in use almost constantly, is too exciting to contemplate without a loss of control.

That one time I broke that rule and brought in another group of men to enjoy the fruits of my labor occurred during my second job in the UK.  In fact, it was a specific requirement.  Like I've said, I would usually simply ignore such a request, since for me to rape and break a woman and then leave her for others to use is too risky and too hard.  First, it is almost impossible to hide the fact that she's been raped if other men find her in a bound, abused position.  Also, most men, on seeing a beaten, bound woman in distress, will attempt to help her, not take advantage of her sexually.  In other words, it's risky and it most likely won't work.  The more I thought about it though, and the more I considered the victim, a beautiful, mature (she looked to be in her late twenties) woman with auburn hair and light blue eyes, the more I thought I could make it work, that I wanted to make it work.  Her figure was fantastic, and she stood a statuesque 5'7" and weighed in at around 130 lbs, with tits and ass perfectly balanced around a nice, thin waist.  She had the type of body that was built for sex, built to be used and abused, capable of absorbing an enormous amount of punishment.  Best of all, though, from my perspective, was that she had a little sister, around 20 years of age.

Risky, sure, but I would be in a foreign country, one to which I probably wouldn't return; the money was very, very good; and I had a lever in the sister to ensure that she would behave for the men coming after me.  I took the job.

After a week of scouting I settled on a plan that provided the least risk for myself, although higher than I would have preferred, as well as fulfilling all of the customer's requests.  It turned out that my target, Andrea, liked to go horseback riding a couple of times a week, to which end she rented a horse from ---- stables, about an hours drive from her home.  She tended to ride in the evening, and, at least the times I saw her, she stayed late taking care of her horse, seeming to enjoy brushing it down.  It was the perfect location:  lightly trafficked, and trafficked not at all after about 8 pm; isolated; and, best of all, in the early morning a few rather young, rough looking stable hands who, I noticed, didn't shy away from looking at the talent that came to ride.

In preparation, I went after-hours to the stable and set up an empty stable in the least trafficked area of the building with the tools of my trade, including a mic, a digital camera, a small, remote video camera, some rope, and a few stakes and other assorted items, including a special change of clothes for my victim.  I also prepared a quick way out from the back of the stable in case it came to that, as well as a change of clothes.  I also purchased an old beater and parked it near, so that I wouldn't be seen leaving the stables in the same car I came in.  I also prepared a simple way to enter the stall of Elisabeth's (that was her name, by the way) favorite stall by loosening a few boards at the back of the stall.  All that was left was to wait.

When the time came, a weekday in the late afternoon, I walked a kilometer or so to the stables, making sure not to be seen as I approached, and went directly to my hiding place, behind the stable near the loosened boards.  Around closing time I heard her lead her favorite horse into the stable, and I smiled as I peered through the boards, seeing the horse's legs and the jean-clad legs of my sexy Lizzy, and listened to her chatting with one of the stable boys.  I listened as she flirted lightly with him while rubbing down the horse, teasing him gently in the way only a truly sexy woman could, and I felt myself grow calmer, quieter, knowing that soon I would reduce her to her essence, I would tear her down, strip her of all her humanity, and turn her into an object meant only for the gratification of another, of me and my client.

The stable boy finally left, and we were alone, Lizzy and I, or almost alone, since I could still hear a few of the stable's employees hanging around catching a smoke in the front before they went home.  I could tell by the way she was moving that Lizzy was finishing up, so I had to move quickly.  I waited until the horse was between us before I slipped into the stall, a baseball cap's brim pulled low over my eyes, my head down, a stun gun in my hand.  I slipped around the animal, approaching my victim as she hung up the brush against the wall, closing quickly with her.  At the last instance she felt my presence and started to turn, but by then it was too late, the stun gun pressed against the back of her shoulder, her body slumping against mine as I reached around her, my arm around her waist, pulling her to me.  I quickly lifted her arm and placed it around my neck, keeping my head turned away from her, and paused a second, listening.

This was one of the riskiest times.  I had to move her three stalls down and a couple over, and I would be in plain site of anybody who came along and cared to look.  I wouldn't be exposed for more than about 10 seconds, but I knew as better than most that that was enough time to completely change a situation.  Hearing no one near I slid out of the stall and quickly and quietly shut it before dragging my victim toward her destiny.  I ignored the voices behind me, knowing that they came from out of site, the laughter of people knocking off work, and slid myself and Lizzy into what I now was thinking about as the 'rape stall'. 

I dropped her roughly onto the dirt and straw of the empty stall, leaving her laying splayed on her face, and quickly changed the cap for a mask before falling on my victim and preparing her.  When I was done she was laying nude, spread-eagled on the ground, her legs apart, her arms straight out to her sides, a block of wood covered with a blanket lifting up her hips, exposing that big, sexy, meaty ass, her asshole peaking from between those beautiful cheeks, her cunt pushed out as if in offering, tent stakes on either side of her ankles, her knees, her stomach, her neck, her elbows and her wrists.  Rope tied her tight to the ground, holding her in place, marking her skin.  Her mouth was covered with three layers of duct tape, a large dildo-gag pressing against the back of her throat, gagging her, silencing her even as she started to recover from the stun.  I thought it was about time to demonstrate her place in our relationship and slid my pants down to my thighs, freeing my cock for usage.

I laid down on top her, making sure to cover her completely, enjoying the way she tried to struggle against my weight and her binding, her panicked writhing adding to my enjoyment.  I kept silent, enjoying the feel of her body even as I slipped my cock between her legs, letting her feel me, letting her know what was about to happen, letting her know that there was nothing she could do to prevent it.  I leaned down and blew into her ear, loving the soft, mewling grunts coming from behind the tape, the fear trembling through her body as I slid my cock back and forth along her slit.  I mimicked a slight Irish accent as I heard a car door shut and an engine start up.  "They're leaving, girl, leaving you and me all alone here.  Lucky, isn't it?"

My voice seemed to prod her to greater effort, rewarding me with more tight, squirming bound flesh, my cock growing harder with each quiver of her bound body, until I was ready.  I slid my hips up and guided my cock against the tight brown hole nestled between her gorgeous ass-cheeks and slowly began to press.  I heard a grunt and her nostrils flared as she realized that I was going to ass-fuck her, ass-fuck her dry.  Tight and warm and rough, her ass surrounded me, clenched against me, massaged me, pleasured me even as she fought and cried before she stopped fighting, her body still tense, her muscles still quivering.  I held still inside her, my body covering hers, my cock pulsing inside her, my breath against her ear, against her neck, my tongue dragging across her cheek, damp with her tears. 

I started talking to her, softly, moving only a little, a very, very little, telling her what a sexy bitch she was, what a hot body she had, that she was made to be fucked, to be raped.  I told her that I had been watching her and her little sister (she certainly tensed at that) and that I chose her because I loved the way she used her sexy, sexy body to tease guys, to drive them crazy, promising them things she was never going to deliver on.  I told her I had thought about getting a piece of her the old-fashioned way, but that I knew I'd only get a come-on without the follow through.  This was the only way for teasing bitches like her, the only way to get what we wanted, a taste of their sweet bodies. 

Each time a sound of someone outside made its way to us I commented on it, teasing her with how close other people were, how close she was to being saved, letting hope rise in her before letting it be dashed, driving her deeper into despair.  All the time I enjoyed the sensations wrapping my cock, the feeling of her body trapped beneath mine, the expressions of fear, rage, and despair flitting across her face.  I kept talking, telling her how I knew what teasing cunts like her really wanted; that they really wanted a strong man to take them, to put them in their place, to take the power their sex gave them away from them, to use that power against them.  Only then would they truly enjoy sex, only once they were punished, broken, begging to be taken by their Master would they truly be able to enjoy being fucked.  I told her that I knew that she didn't believe it, but that I would make her believe it, I would make her body respond to me, to cum for me, and then she would know the truth.

All bullshit, of course, but for a woman bound, raped, a cock up her ass, her body covered by her rapist, her mind trying to escape, its mere repetition, and I repeated it over and over for the hour I lay on top of her, enjoying the sensations her body sent through mine, would make an impression, would weaken her defenses, place a small crack in what she believed, a crack I could exploit later, a crack I could use forced pleasure to tear open until her self-worth shattered under the strain. 

When I figured that everyone had left I pulled reluctantly from her ass, my only consolation was that it was now time to get really serious.  Zipping back up, I looked down at my victim, loving the way her asshole gaped from its use, the sheen of sweat covering her body, the way her body tensed and quivered, the tears leaking from her eyes.  I figured it was worth a picture so I stepped over to the corner and pushed aside some straw and pulled out a camera and a cane.  A couple of pictures later and I was ready with the cane, sliding its tip across Elisabeth's back, telling her that she should get ready to get her ass warmed up but good, enjoying the way she whined through her gag and clenched her eyes shut.

The cane was neither heavy enough or thin enough to break her skin, but it would leave a nice mark and sting quite a bit, or, if I really wanted, I could give her a welt that she would feel for a week.  She jumped nicely at the first few blows across those gorgeous ass cheeks, her whole body shaking as I beat her ass and thighs methodically, leaving red stripes criss-crossing her flesh.  After that it was pure, methodical punishment, my blows taking in the backs of her wonderful thighs and her ass, turning the skin a nice, ugly scarlet, my challenge to leave not a square millimeter on her skin untouched by the cane.  After the first ten minutes or so of beating she was sobbing into her gag, every blow making her whole body shake.  By the time I was finished, a half hour later, she was barely conscious. 

Beaten, exhausted, raped, I could tell that Elisabeth had given up.  Maybe if I unbound her, she would fight, but bound as she was, exposed as she was, she knew there was no hope, that I could do whatever I wanted to her and she had no recourse.  I smiled down at her, stretching the arm I had used to cane her to relieve its soreness, knowing that what I was about to do now would break that resignation, would bring this beautiful, sexy woman to tears.  I kneeled down beside her, my hands sliding across her beaten ass and lower back, rubbing her gently, loving the way her muscles seemed to tense and quiver involuntarily under my hands.  I kept rubbing her as I moved one hand down between her legs, sliding my fingers back and forth across her slit, gently massaging it.

I didn't say a word, letting one hand run across her flesh while the other teased her sex, pushing against her clit, teasing her flesh until I started to feel a little lubrication across my fingers, pushing deeper into her flesh as it began slowly to swell.  I felt my cock throb as I saw a tear slowly run across her nose and kept up my gentle assault, now speaking to her, telling her that I knew she was a tease, that I knew she would like this, that all it took was a strong man to put her in her place for her juices to start running.  I laughed at her as she squirmed against my fingers, trying to get away, and sobbed into her gag, keeping up the relentless caressing of her cunt lips and of her clit, sliding my fingers through the soft folds of her pussy to press against her hardening clit, teasing it before withdrawing and doing it again, and again, and again, until I left my knuckles splitting her, pressing into her, while the tips of my fingers played across her clit.

It took forty minutes, but it was a thing of beauty, the way her sexy, sexy body trembled and shook, her face scrunching up in an expression of unwanted lust, tears coursing down her cheeks as she grunted her way through her orgasm, all the while I mocked her for being such a slut, for cumming for her rapist, her torturer.

I stood and stripped of everything except for my boots, finding my prod in the straw before pulling up the stakes binding her to the ground.  She knew what I was doing, but remained still, probably afraid of what I was going to do next.  She didn't even make a sound when I ripped the tape off of her mouth and slid the dildo from between her lips, my body covering hers as I whispered in her ear that my cock would be there later.

It was time to teach her true despair, to show her that, even unbound, she was nothing more than flesh to be played with, flesh that I could make respond any way I wished, from pain to pleasure.

I stood and said, "On your knees, you dirty slut," and waited while she remained motionless.  I pushed the prod against her ass-cheek and watched as her whole big, sexy body bucked on the ground, a truncated scream torn from her throat.

"On your knees," I repeated myself when she had recovered, and I watched as she slowly rose to her knees, her head down, her hair shielding her face.

I kicked her in the stomach, hard, her body jerking forward, retching and coughing, her hands flashing to cover her midriff.  I placed the prod against her shoulder and gave her another shock, knocking her to the ground.  I kicked her a few more times before repeating myself again.

"On your knees, slut."  She moaned as she rolled onto her knees and lifted her body up.  "Look at me, slut," I commanded, sneering down at her as she turned her head up, her eyes sliding from mine as I took in her upturned face, puffy from crying, lips swollen from the dildo and the tape.  She looked gorgeous.  "Legs apart, slut," I said, sliding the tip of the prod across her belly, down toward her sex as she stared off into the distance while I used the prod to tease her swollen cunt.

"Sluts should be thankful when they are made to cum," I said.  "Thank me."

That's when I saw the rage mixed with despair flash across her face, her body tense, and I waited, knowing it would come.  Just as she started to surge up, unable to take the mocking abuse any more, I dropped down into her, dropping the prod, my hand striking hard across her face, knocking her off balance, my body slamming against hers, throwing her onto her back, her scream of rage filling my ears as I used my hips across her middle to pin down her twisting, fighting body, my arms inside hers deflecting the blows she tried to land, her knees thumping ineffectually on my back as I started slapping her across the face, my teeth clenched, loving the feeling of overpowering this strong, sexy woman, of riding her into the ground and physically dominating her.

She struggled and screamed for long minutes, every time she slowed I would start to strike those full, round breasts with my fists until she started fighting again, until her screaming and fighting turned into sobbing and crying, her body shaking with it.  I slid down her body until I completely covered her and thrust my cock hard into her cunt, earning a despairing cry as I started raping her hard and fast, my own excitement driving me as I leaned my forearm against her neck.

"This is what you're meant for, slut," I growled, "to be used like a piece of meat.  This is what all those guys that you teased want to do, to rape to, to beat you and rape you and own your slutty pussy.  And you want it, slut.  You want this, for all your crying and fighting.  It turned you on, didn't it, didn't it, you slut?  That's right, feel my cock, feel it raping you, taking you, owning you.  Slut."

I reached down between us, re-angling my hips so that my fingers could find her clit, digging into it, making her body arch and tremble as I rubbed it furiously.  The adrenaline from her fighting, the endorphins from her tears, her previous orgasm, had prepped her body, readied it for another betrayal, one that would be even greater for being brought about under such brutal conditions.  I kept pumping into her, slamming my hips against hers, words now flowing out from me, almost randomly, since the words themselves were no longer important, only the meaning behind them, that she was a tease and a slut, that her body craved abuse, that she deserved to be raped and used, that every man who saw her sexy body wanted to use and abuse her as nothing more than a piece of meat for their cocks.

I felt my own orgasm approach even as Elisabeth's tortured, abused body began to tremble in its own orgasm, her eyes screwed tightly shut, wet with tears, her nipples hard against her soft breasts, her stomach tense with the near release, and then her cunt clamped down, pulsing around my cock, and I came, spewing myself into her fuck channel as she screamed, despair and disbelieve at the pleasure coursing through her.

Damn, it was good.  It was very good.  I lay on top of her for a few minutes enjoying her debasement before pulling out and standing over her.  She was a sight to behold, laying raped in the dirt, her legs akimbo, her cunt a red, wet, swollen slash between her legs, her breasts bruised, her body damp with out sweat.  I picked up the prod again and stood over her and started pissing, the stream striking against her stomach, soaking her body as I ran it up and down her body until I ran out while soaking her hair.

She was broken, for now, her resistance and rage conquered.  I took a few pictures of her like that, beaten, and also pulled out the remote video camera, training it on her.  For the rest of the night she would be on camera; my client would get his money's worth.

"Thank me for making you cum, slut," I commanded, holding the video camera on her.

"Thank you."  It was weak.  I pressed the prod against her breast.

"Thank you for what, slut?  And speak louder."

"Thank you for making me cum."  Perfect.  Just perfect. 

"That's a good slut.  I see you've finally accepted what you are.  I wonder, is your sister the same as you?  Is she a slut too?"  That shook her out of her stupor, brought life back into her eyes as she looked up at me, covered in piss and filth, my cum leaking from her swollen cunt.

"My...my sister?  Please...she...."

"She's not as stacked as you, but she is younger, and has a nice, tight, sexy body.  Is she like you, Elisabeth?  Is she a teasing slut like you?"

"No!  No!  She's not a slut.  She's not."  She was begging now, on her knees.

"Well, are you a teasing slut, Elisabeth?  Should I play with you some more?"

"Yes!  Yes!  I'm a teasing slut, I came, I came....  Oh god, you should play with me."  She slid down onto her belly, crying.

"Okay, Elisabeth.  Let's play."  I checked my watch.  We had another four hours with which to play, and I planned on making good use of the time.

Like I've said before, I enjoy degrading women, I enjoy it a lot, and on the ground, in the dirt at my feet was a sexy, broken bitch, willing to do anything to avoid future pain, but most of all to avoid me targeting her sister.  I indulged myself, putting her through her paces.

I had her squirm on her belly across the stable while I kicked her ass and thighs and cunt, encouraging her to greater speed while she repeated over and over again what a lowly slut she was.

I had her ride me while I recorded her every movement, forcing her to tell me every little thing she felt as she raped herself on my cock.  I made her cum like that, catching the most beautiful expression of lust and torment on her face as her body quivered through its pleasure.

I had her beg me to beat her with the cane, to shock her, to abuse her because she'd been bad, and I, of course, indulged her by beating her and shocking her while she writhed in the dirt on the ground.

I used her mouth, brutally, her jaws forced open by a ring gag, gagging her, choking her, making her retch and spit up bile while she kneeled on the ground.

I made her kneel, legs spread, and masturbate for me, using her fingers and a vibrator and a dildo, all the while telling me what a teasing slut she was and how she wanted to be raped again and again, every word, every movement caught via the wireless video camera.  When she came I mocked her for her wet, needy pussy, enjoying the silent tears that coursed down her face.

For my fourth orgasm, and her fifth, I gave her a nice, loving shag, laying her on her back, my body covering hers, my cock resting comfortably within her as she wrapped her long, sexy legs around me, her hips moving in unison with mine, her breasts flattened against my chest, our bodies slipping against each other, made slippery from our sweat.  My lips took hers, my tongue forcing itself into her mouth, demanding a response; my lips against her neck, her ear, my hands at her head, my body covering hers, owning her, completely possessing her.  A nice, leisurely fuck to finish, making her pretend to be a lover, not caring, really, if she imaged that I were someone else, because I knew worse was to come for her.  I timed her orgasm to match mine, and laughed at her for coming more times while being raped and beaten than she probably ever had before.

I might be done, well, except for the waiting and watching (the server for the video camera wasn't too far away, and I would have to retrieve it, at the latest, the next evening), but Elisabeth wasn't.

I put a leather collar with a leash on it around her neck and led her, unresisting, to be cleaned up.  I then dressed her in a corset that lifted her red, bruised breasts beautifully, some very high heeled leather boots that covered her calves up to her knees, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail.  Cuffs around her wrists and just above her elbow allowed me to bind her arms behind her, wrist to elbow.  Back in the stable I set up a sawhorse and a card table.

Before I bound her, I gave her a few uppers to keep her going; she had been awake all night being raped, after all, and I wanted her alert for what I hoped the stable hands would be doing to her.  I also reminded her that if she didn't stick to the script, I would be making a visit to her sister, and I would be pissed.  If she thought one night was bad, I would keep her sister for a week, a week of my tender, loving care.

I tied her to the sawhorse, legs spread on one side, two small chains from the other side clipped to her collar pulling her completely over so that her head was only about a foot from the ground and her body formed a gorgeous 'V', her beautiful, firm ass, striped, the flesh bruised, raised high.  Her breasts hung down, fat and heavy, their soft undersides exposed.  I ratcheted open her mouth with a mouth spreader and wadded a cloth in her mouth before covering it with duct tape.

On the card table I placed the prod, the cane, a single large dildo, a Hitachi magic wand, some baby oil, the video camera, her clothes, nicely folded, and a letter.  The letter read, "Dear sirs, do not be alarmed.  My MASTER feels that I've been too much a teasing slut, and HE has decided that my punishment will be to be humiliated in one of my favorite retreats.  Please do with me as you will.  My MASTER commands it.  Punish me.  If you have any questions, ungag me and I will beg you to punish me.  My MASTER has one request:  in return for being allowed to use me, HIS property, please keep the video camera trained on me to record my punishment."  I had had her sign it earlier "Elisabeth the cock-teasing slut".

With that I cleaned up and left.  I had told my client that I couldn't guarantee results, but it was the best I could do, and I was hopeful, since the boys at the stables weren't the smartest bunch, and they were young.

As I left, I checked the server I had left half-buried and running behind the stables, glad I had purchased the extra battery, since it had to run for a while longer.  Luckily, simply recording video didn't take up too much power, so I shouldn't miss anything.  With that checked out, I simply walked to my car and took a nap.  Raping a bitch for eight hours will tire a man out.

I awoke around noon and figured I'd check out the stables and see what was happening.  I pulled up and wandered in, saying hello to a few of the stable-hands, saying I was from out of country and just liked horses.  I kept an eye out and noticed a bit of activity near the back, and when I wandered that way, I was gently redirected by a couple of boys, smiling to myself.  It had already been six hours or so.  I wondered how long they would keep her.

After wandering about a bit I went back to my car and waited, and waited, and waited some more until I the sun started to set and I had to go somewhere less conspicuous.  Around eight that evening I watched from a distance as a couple of the employees half-carried, half-dragged my sweet Elisabeth across the field and push her into her car

I had to wait a few more hours before I could retrieve the server, and it took me a few more hours before I could start editing the video that I had captured.  For all the women I had raped and tortured, I have never seen another man rape a woman, or, in this case, multiple men.  The most dangerous time, I knew, had been her discovery, bound like that, but I need not have worried.  Two men found her, and, although the sound wasn't very good, it was clear that they were surprised, and that at least one of them had the thought to free her.  The other, though, convinced him to ask her directly.

She had performed like a good, scared little whore, telling them that she was there of her own free will, at her Master's behest, and that they could do anything they liked to her teasing, slut body.  Neither needed telling twice.  The gag went back in and their cocks came out and, while one fucked her cunt the other played with running the camera along her body, and got some close-ups of her being fucked.  The other used her ass, his friend playing with the cane, slapping different parts of Elisabeth's body, making her jerk against her bonds.  When the second was done, they had a discussion of some sort and one went out while one who had taken her ass stayed and started beating her ass with the cane.  Ten minutes later he was in her ass again, but this time with the prod in one hand, which he used liberally as he raped her ass for long minutes.

Just as he was about to finish another man came in, and he turned out to be my favorite--he was a sadistic bastard.  Within minutes, Elisabeth's chains were unhooked, her head pulled back by her hair, her legs still bound to the horse, while the new man raped her ass and the previous man whipped her tits with the cane, hard.  She looked gorgeous, her body arched, her tits bouncing under the blows, tears streaming down her face. 

He took his time, and when he was done moved around to her head and removed the tape and cloth from her mouth, replacing it with his cum-covered dick.  I could see him instruct the other man to take the vibrator and to use it on Elisabeth, her thighs starting to shake under the vibrator's power even as he jammed his entire cock into her mouth.

Throughout the day he would come by time and again, and each time he would up the ante.  Bottles, brushes, even his fist found their way into Elisabeth's holes; he even brought a pair of pliers and twisted her nipples and clit while she screamed through her gag, men watching in rapt attention.  By ten o'clock, she had taken eight men, and had been untied from the sawhorse, her arms still bound.  They must have called their friends, because by noon another eight had cycled through Elisabeth, some just fucking her, some beating her, some playing more painful games with her body, and some trying to make her cum.  Even with the poor video I could see that she was taking a beating, her cunt a swollen red slash between her legs, her asshole swollen and torn, her breasts and ass turning black and blue from the constant abuse.

From noon until around seven those sixteen men, and I think one or two new ones, came and went into the stable, using and abusing poor Elisabeth.  Around five, when she could barely move, and merely writhed slowly and moaned with each further indignity heaped upon her body, my favorite decided to bring in a horse.  Even I wondered what he was up to, but when that horse started pissing, a huge, powerful stream splashing hard against Elisabeth's unresisting body, I was impressed.  No one fucked her after that, but they did cane her, and shock her, and kick her, and crush her tits beneath their boots, and grind their boots into her crotch while she screamed silently into her gag.  At this point she wasn't human to them, wasn't even an animal.  She was nothing but meat, sexy, abused meat with which to play.  It wasn't until after the stables had shut down and most of the men had left that those who were left cleaned her up and dressed her like a rag-doll and carried her out to her car.

Needless to say, my client was very, very happy.  As for Elisabeth, I have no idea what happened to her.

About a year after I started my current profession, I ran into a string of jobs that left me bored.  One of my clients had been a frat boy who had wanted the frisson of fucking his girlfriend knowing that she had been raped, and was emotionally tormented by it.  The job went well, and I proceeded to get a string of similar jobs, all targeting similar women:  pretty, spoiled, weak coeds.  Sure, the money was good, and the jobs were low risk, but there really wasn't much challenge, since the client didn't want much besides their girlfriends to have suffered a traumatic rape, and the women themselves weren't very interesting.

So, when I got a job that promised to be completely different, although it was somewhat outside my comfort zone, I was intrigued.  The target was the client's girlfriend, a cute little blond number with nice breasts, a sweet ass, and a shaved cunt.  According to the client, she was "a bit too timid in the sexual department, «didn't» like to suck cock and «he» really almost had to throw her down and rape her to fuck like «he» wanted to."  Truthfully, I was a little surprised, since he had sent me nude pictures of her posing on her deck.  In my experience, any slut that lets you take pictures of her holding her quim open for you will pretty much be willing to do anything, but, apparently, as much as this girl liked to tease in public, she was reserved in bed.

As I read a little bit more about her from the client's description, I became intrigued.  Here was a girl, spunky, gregarious, a little bit immature, with a wild side she kept bottled up.  According to the client, she was quite sensitive, and would most likely fold at the merest hint of pain or emotional distress.  He wanted her completely turned out, completely submissive to his every sexual demand, willing to do anything to keep him by her side.

I get a lot of requests like that, from people who read too much fantasy or watch too much porno.  People just don't work like that; without a great deal of time and complete and constant physical control over someone, it is almost impossible to break them for any sustained amount of time.  Damage them, yes; break them, no.

Rebecca, though (her name was Rebecca), promised to be another thing altogether.  From the description, it almost seemed as if she was begging for a strong hand, a man to take her and user her like the teasing little slut she knew, deep down, that she was.  In her case, it might just take a little work to bring out that need, that hidden desire.  As an added bonus, the client was promising that I could spend a long three day weekend with her in her own apartment, the first time I would spend more than six hours with any one girl.  The idea of having 24/7, unrestricted access for three days to this girl excited me.  I decided to check her out myself, to see if she was as described, and arranged with the client to enable me to watch her at their favorite club.

The girl could dance, and clearly loved it, loved the attention and the eyes that seemed to be drawn to her as she swung her hips around the dance floor.  I could almost sense her weaknesses, the soft exhibitionism that drove her, the hidden narcissism that saw herself as the center of everything, and the trepidation keeping her from going too far, from being too wild, too needy.  I took the job, licking my lips at the thought of brutalizing this weak, needy young woman.

The setup was simple.  My client would start a public argument with his girlfriend just before the upcoming three day weekend, which would give him an excuse to avoid calling her all weekend.  Also, since she had cleared her schedule to be with him for those days, I wouldn't have to worry about her friends or family bothering us.  Using a key my client would leave hidden outside of her apartment, I would enter her apartment that evening, keep her under my control for three days of use, and then leave her to be found by my client.  The riskiest part would be entering her apartment, followed by how to keep her under control for three full days.

I took a long time preparing my kit, since it needed to fulfill several purposes:  to keep me alert for three days; to keep her submissive for the same amount of time; and to break down that brittle barrier she had, to expose the dark need to be controlled I sensed in her.  For this girl, fear and pleasure and humiliation would do the job, with only light touches of pain to keep her in her place.

Come the evening I trailed my client and my victim as they went out clubbing, hopping from place to place, Rebecca growing wilder and wilder, her inhibitions loosening with the booze and the music and the dancing and the male eyes devouring her as she displayed her tight, sexy body.  I watched as, early in the morning, they began making out in a dark, private corner of a club, his hands all over her.  I watched the whispering, the pressuring, and then the fight as she denied him, followed by him storming off, leaving her trailing after him, both leaving in separate cabs.  It was cleverly done, I thought.  He had pressured her for some sort of almost-public sex, it had been clear, and used that as a pretext to anger when she refused.  There was probably some history which made it real, I guessed, but it didn't really matter.  She would be back in her apartment soon where our meeting would take place.

I waited until about four, two hours after she came home, before I entered her apartment.  I used a small flashlight to see my way to the bedroom of her one bedroom apartment, taking quick inventory of the basic layout of the apartment, her furniture, her kitchen, and her bathroom.  Putting on my hood, I entered her bedroom, shielding the light, stepping quietly over to her bed.

She was sleeping on her back, her covers twisted about her limbs, her breathing heavy and deep.  I watched for a moment, and carefully placed a halothane soaked rag over her mouth and nose, letting her slip deep into a drugged sleep.  Based on the amount she had inhaled, I guessed that she would be out at least two hours, plenty of time for me to set up.

Leather cuffs went around her wrists and ankles, metal loops allowing me to tie them to the head and foot of her bed, respectively, leaving her spread-eagled on the bed.  I used a knife to remove her clothes, leaving her naked.  A collar went around her neck, the black leather contrasting wonderfully with her pale skin.  I got out a small egg vibrator and placed it between her legs for later use, letting my hands slide over her wonderfully firm body, squeezing her perfect b-sized breasts and tweaking her large pink nipples.  I took out a ball gag and harness and put it beside her head.  I was in an apartment building, after all, and I didn't want her screaming when she finally came out of her drugged state.

Satisfied that I was as ready as possible for her to awaken, I took a closer look around the apartment.  I took all of the phones and moved them to her linen closet, leaving the cords in place, thinking I might have fun with them later.  I also went through her kitchen and moved the most obvious items that might be used as weapons into a single drawer, and used some duct tape to cover it, making it unlikely that she could get at them quickly.

I moved some furniture around, leaving a large open space in her great room, and got out some of the DVDs I had brought and set them beside her DVD player.  I checked out the fridge and her cupboards, happy to see that she had plenty of food to last the both of us through the long weekend.  That done, I went back in and checked on my victim, loving the sight of this hot, shaved twenty-something tied spread-eagled to her bed. 

To kill time before she awoke, I decided to play with her a bit, to see if I couldn't get a physical reaction from the little sex-pot even while she was unconscious.  Dripping some lube over her cunt and breasts, I started slowly and methodically rubbing her erogenous zones.  A woman's body is a wonderful thing, so responsive to physical stimuli, so easy to manipulate.  Within ten minutes blood had swollen her cunt open, her labia bright pink and glistening with her own juice, her clit hard under its hood, her nipples firm and pinched.

I started working her clit now, pinching and pulling it, trying to tease it from its protective hood, disappointed when I realized that she just wasn't built that way.  I kept adding more oil, keeping her unconscious body stimulated as her breathing became more normalized, her eyes fluttering in real sleep.  I moved up to lay next to her, my lips inches from her cheek, my hand still slowly caressing her swollen cunt, teasing her sensitive flesh. 

I watched as her eyes fluttered open, groggy and fogged, and then her body jerked slightly against her bonds as she tried to move, followed by shock as she focused on my face.  Her whole body tensed as she tried to sit up, panic lighting those beautiful blue eyes, her mouth widening for a scream.  I rolled over onto her, my body crushing hers into the soft mattress, one hand covering her mouth, stifling her scream, the other locked around her neck.   I held her like that for a minute until her panic subsided to mere terror, and removed my hand from her neck and lifted the ball gag up for her to see.

She whimpered when her eyes saw the gag.

"Now Rebecca, you are going to open your mouth and I'm going to put this between your teeth.  Do you understand?"

I waited for a slight nod of her head, and until she breathed out.  I removed my hand from her mouth and fear made her compliant, her mouth wide, accepting the gag easily.  I took a little longer than necessary binding the harness around her head, locking the gag in place, letting her feel how tightly she was bound  and how completely she was at my mercy.  She had closed her eyes and I saw tears beginning to leak from them.

Still laying on top of her, I began to speak.

"You don't know me Rebecca, but I know you, know your type.  I saw you with your boyfriend at Club ___, dancing, flirting, shaking that sexy little body of yours, and I thought, there's another one, there's another teasing little slut, turning herself on by making all the men around her want her, desire her, need her.  Isn't that right, Rebecca?  You like being sexy, you like being looked at, don't you?  It didn't bother me, really, Rebecca, it didn't, because I saw you had a boyfriend, and I figured that you would be spreading your sexy legs for him, turning all the sexual energy toward pleasing your man.  But you couldn't do that, could you?  I saw it all.  I saw the way you pushed him away, the way you rejected him.  All he wanted was a quickie in the back, and you, for all your teasing and flirting couldn't do that."

I rolled halfway off of her, letting my hand gently rub her taut stomach, enjoying the heat of her flesh against my hand.

"That's the problem with girls like you, Rebecca.  I've seen so many like you.  You don't realize what you really want; you deny who you really are.  You don't understand me, do you Rebecca?  Well, you will.  You see, I know you.  I know that you love flirting and attention and teasing not just because you love the attention, the male eyes boring into you, devouring you, imagining what it would be like to take you.  No, it's also because, deep down, deep deep down, you are really hoping that one of them will see you really want, to be free from any inhibitions at all.

"But you can't let that happen on your own.  You need to be pushed, pushed harder than your boyfriend pushed in that dark little alcove in the club.  What would have happened, Rebecca?  What would have happened if he had pushed harder, had taken you by the hair and held you against the wall and just raped you, Rebecca?"

I slid my hand down until it was gently massaging her still swollen and lubricated cunt, enjoying the way her body tensed and the way she sobbed. 

"Would you have screamed, Rebecca?  Would you have screamed as he raped you?  I don't think so.  I think you would have wrapped those sexy legs around him and cum harder than you had ever cum in your life.  It would have been liberating to you, Rebecca, to be forced to be that slutty, that exhibitionist.  You wouldn't have had a choice, like now.  Now you don't have a choice."

I took the egg shaped vibrator and turned it on, placing it against her exposed clit, watching as her thighs clenched and her stomach trembled as I violated her.  I turned to a better position, holding the vibrator in place, my other hand turned up, two fingers sliding into her tight, wet snatch, making her moan and sob and tense her body, trying to reject me.  I pushed in as far as I could go, bending my fingers up to press hard against the upper wall of her cunt as if I were trying to feel the vibrator tormenting her clit through her flesh.

I began finger fucking her in earnest, her breasts heaving as she sobbed at her violation.

"Why are you crying, Rebecca?  This is exactly what you need, to be taken against your will.  I know you don't believe me, but your body doesn't lie, does it?  I can tell you're feeling it, feeling the pleasure I'm giving you.  My hand is dripping with your fluids.  Feel it.  You're going to cum for me, you little slut."

I started rubbing the vibrator in small circles over her clit, enjoying the way her breathing quickened, her nostrils flaring as she tried to get more oxygen, her hips jerking ever so slightly in her bondage, her tight snatch squeezing my fingers involuntarily as I worked the tender flesh fast and hard.  I was a bit surprised at how quickly she was approaching orgasm, but then I had been teasing her unconscious flesh for over an hour.

Her sobbing had stopped, to be replaced by small gasps and cries, muffled by the ball-gag as I forced her closer and closer to an unwanted orgasm.  Her eyes were tightly closed, and her head turning back and forth in denial.  I felt her cunt clamp down on my fingers, fluid gushing from her cunt, her thighs trembling and shaking, her back arching, grunting, shrieking noises coming from behind the gag as she came.  I didn't stop, instead increasing my efforts, finger-fucking her faster and harder, my fingers curled up inside her body, the vibrator pressed hard against her clit as her hips jerked through her cum.

"Oh yes, slut, this is what you want, complete freedom to cut loose and feel.  Cum for me again, Rebecca.  Cum for me again."

She was crying out from behind the gag, her neck arched up, her hips bucking against my hand and the vibrator, trying to dislodge the overwhelming sensations I was driving into her body.  I held my place, continuing to stimulate her overstimulated flesh, my fingers flicking her cunt juices all over her thighs and my arm as they continued to drive in and out of her snatch.  I smiled as her whole body tensed again and she cried out as another orgasm took her.

She collapsed down on the bed, her sharp cries turning into soft sobs through the gag, humiliation turning her cheeks red.  I slid my hand, covered in her spend, over the insides of her thighs and across her stomach, making sure she felt the result of her unbridled lust.  I teased her nipples, hard with her lust, and drove my point home.

"That was so sexy, Rebecca, so sexy the way you came twice for your rapist.  I knew you'd love it, knew you'd cum for me.  Like I said, I know you.  This is something you need.  Don't worry, we have a plenty of time to play, to let your true self come to the fore, to free you to become the true slut you are."

Her sobbing continued, tears filling her blue eyes as they tracked me as I grabbed a chain from my kit, attaching it to one of her ankle cuffs.  I released her cuff from the bed and brought her legs close enough so I could attached the hobble chain to her other ankle cuff; there was no reason to give her her freedom during her ordeal.  She lay submissively on the bed, still bound to the bed frame, her breasts rising and falling enticingly as she closed her legs and turned to the side, her sobbing slowing as she watched me pull out a shock baton.

"Now, Rebecca, you are going to do everything I want when I want it, aren't you?"  I asked, smiling at her through my mask.

She nodded fearfully, and I pressed the shock baton against her stomach.

"Just to make sure you know what will happen if you don't, here's a little taste of the least I will do to you."  With that I pressed the button on the baton, sending voltage pounding into her flesh.  She screamed through the gag, her eyes wide with pain and terror as her muscles cramped in agony, her body jerking violently away from the baton, leaving her shaking in reaction.  I grabbed her face in my hand, squeezing, and forced her to look into my eyes.

"Do you understand, slut?"

Beautiful blue eyes filled with tears and fear, she nodded, her sexy body still trembling.

"Good."  I leaned over her, letting her feel my chest pressing down against her face, another proof of my control over her, and undid the chains connecting her wrists to the bed.

"Now get down on the floor, Rebecca, on your knees."

I stepped back, still holding the baton, waiting as she slowly folded her legs beneath her, her eyes down, her mind still trying to come to grips with what was happening to her.  She slid those sexy legs off the side of the bed and a soft whimper came from behind her gag as she turned her head toward me, begging me with her eyes and body to release her.  I don't know why they do that; they should know that that look, that helpless pleading look, with eyes wide and damp with tears, is like a red flag to a bull for men like me.  I stepped forward quickly and slapped her across the face, rocking her head hard to the side, the sound of flesh on flesh vicious.

Slapping a woman across the face is very personal.  It's a violation of her space and her body in a very intimate manner, second only to sexual assault, in my experience.  When trying to control a woman, a slap across the face shocks and dismays, and demonstrates power, restrained power, power that could be used in a much more brutal manner.  A simple punch to the gut, although more brutal, is many times less effective, because you are not striking at such a personal, vulnerable place.

"I thought you understood, Rebecca.   You do what I want when I want or I hurt you.  Unless you like being hurt.  Is that it, Rebecca?"  I grabbed her by her nipples and started squeezing and twisting, her body shaking and turning as she tried to escape.  Terror filled her eyes as she looked at me, her head shaking back and forth, strangled sounds coming from behind her gag as she begged me to stop.

I let her go and stepped back.  "Now, let's do this again.  On your knees."

This time she sank quickly to her knees, looking like a vision kneeling before her bed before me, her long blond hair shading her face, her body slender and curved, her flesh smooth and pale under the bedroom lights, the harness gag emphasizing her submission.  I handed her a leash.

"Attach this to your collar."

I waited and watched as she fumbled with the leash, a blush spreading over her face at the humiliation of being forced to leash herself.  Her boyfriend was right, I thought, watching her body language, seeing the defeat etched there, the submission to her fate.  Even though most women would do what I asked, in small ways they would remain defiant, trying to hold onto a little bit of their dignity as I abused them.  It would be visible in the way they held their bodies, the way they responded to my commands; it would show that they were trying to hold onto a little piece of themselves that I couldn't touch.

This girl, though, was resigned, body and mind.  She feared, and let that fear consume her, her weakness making me think that I might be able to turn her into something somewhat along what my client wished, a submissive sexual plaything.  To make that happen I would have to destroy her self-worth, to make her feel like a nothing, a nobody, to abuse and humiliate and degrade her so much in the next three days, and to involve her in her own debasement, that she felt that she had nothing to offer anybody, that nobody could want her as anything besides a thing.  Then, when I left, she would hold onto the one person she thought cared for her for her as hard as she could, willing to do anything to keep him, fearful that he would start to see her as I made her see herself.

"Hand me the leash." 

She didn't look at me as she handed me the other end of the leash.  I stood next to her, leaving a little slack in the leash, and simply said, "Heel," and started walking out of her bedroom.  She started shuffling forward on her knees before whimpering and dropping down on her hands and knees and crawling out into her living room besides me.

If you've never had a naked, leashed, collared woman crawling at your feet, I recommend it.  It is...satisfying.

I stopped her in front of the television, and told her to sit, with her hands kept flat on the floor.  She kept her head down, not looking at me, as she obeyed, and I went and turned on her television, starting the DVD I had selected for her.  It was a Japanese porn movie called 'Game Over', where a young woman is captured, raped, and kept in a cage as a sex slave, all done with Japanese style.  There were no sub-titles, but it was reasonably easy to follow.

"Down on your elbows.  Ass up.  Knees apart.  Keep your eyes on the tv."

Satisfied at her speed in obeying my commands, I walked around behind her, enjoying the way her back arched as she struggled to keep her neck up to watch the humiliating images on the screen.  She flinched and trembled when I placed my hands on her firm buttocks, squeezing and massaging her muscular ass, the trembling of her body making me hard.  I stood and quickly undressed.

"I'm going to rape you now, Rebecca," I said, my fingers sliding up and down her slit, still damp from her previous cums, her body trembling in humiliation and dread.  "Try not to cum too many times."

She sobbed when she felt my cock press against her from behind, and I'm guessing she closed her eyes, and tried to close her ears against the high-pitched begging coming from her television as one of the women was getting fucked.  I slid easily inside her warm, wet sheath, bottoming out against her ass, my hips flattening her sexy ass, her cunt tight around my shaft.  Her crying shook her body, making her cunt tremble around me, sending delicious sensations through my body.

I took it easy, slowly sliding in and out of her, fucking her slowly and methodically, every fix or six strokes I would pull out and stroke my cock across her clit a few times, keeping the confusing mix of unwanted pleasure and humiliation swirling around in her head.

"You've got a nice, tight cunt, Rebecca.  So nice and warm and wet.  You'd almost think you were enjoying getting raped, Rebecca.  But that's impossible, isn't it, Rebecca?  Only worthless sluts enjoy getting raped.  Unless you're a worthless slut," I mocked her.  "Oh yes, Rebecca.  This is great.  You know all those men you tease every time you shake your ass on the dance floor?  You know them, the ones who make you tingle knowing they want you?  This is what they want.  They want you on your knees with their cock up your cunt.  You know that, don't you, Rebecca?  You know what you are to them, and it turns you on.  You know what you are to me, too, don't you, Rebecca?  You're a piece of meat; a fuck-toy; nothing more than a thing I'm going to use for my pleasure."

I kept it up for almost a half-hour, occasionally teasing her, slapping her ass every once in a while, enjoying the jerking of her body with each blow, sometimes leaning over her and playing with her breasts, switching my cock from sliding between her thighs to plunging in and out of her tight, wet cunt, keeping sexual energy thrumming through her body, never pushing her close to orgasm, but then again never letting the pleasure fade enough to let her imagine that she wasn't responding to her rapist.

When I was close, I pulled out and walked around to her face, her eyes big as she saw my cock, hard and slick with her own juice.  She whimpered as I grabbed her head by her harness and dragged her from her elbows to her hands, my other hand stroking myself, the tip of my cock against her upper lip, stretched around the ball gag.  She flinched as I came, my cum splattering across her lips and face.

Satisfied, I grabbed her by her hair and pulled her up to her knees, her hands falling to her sides as she watched me as I looked down at her.  I stepped back and stood in front of her, to the side of the television (now showing a scene where the woman was in a cage) and simply said,

"Start masturbating.  I want to see you cum in the next ten minutes."

She looked at me with those beautiful blue eyes, tears streaking her face, her mouth obscenely distorted by the ball gag, the black leather harness framing her beautiful face, and shook her head, her hands coming up as if to beg me to stop.  I folded my arms.

"You have ten minutes, slut.  If you don't cum within ten minutes, I'm going to hurt you really, really badly, and then we are going to do this again."

She leaned back onto her heels, her head hanging down, her hands held defensively in front of her pussy, soft sobs coming from behind the ball gag.  She didn't look at me, she didn't move, she just knelt there while I stared at her.  She wasn't going to do it, I realized, starting to think how best to punish her.  Something simple and humiliating, I thought.  Basic and painful and infantilizing would be best.  I pondered as I waited for her ten minutes to pass.