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