He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting, nursing a couple of beers, watching the Saturday night crowd swirl in and out of the bar. His eyes kept coming back to one woman in particular -- a tall, slender redhead with firm tits under a tight clinging top and lege that went on forever up to the skirt that shaped her round ass and barely covereed her cunt. He wasn't exactly sure, but he thought he remembered trying to talk to her and being completely ignored by the yuppie bitch. Thinking about that, he vaguely wondered why he couldn't remember how long he'd been here, or when he'd come here. But he wasn't drunk, so it couldn't have been too long... and the thought faded from his mind.
Guys kept coming on to the redhead, and the bitch just brushed them off like flies. Oh, sometimes she'd dance with one, but not more than once with the same guy, and she managed to get rid of them pretty quickly after the dances were over.
God she was hot out there on the dance floor -- she only danced the ones that gave her a chance to strut her body and shake those braless tits, and sometimes her skirt would ride up enough that he thought he could see her bush...
Jesus, it was a boring night. There wasn't a guy in the place that I liked, and I was tired of turning off the creeps who kept coming on to me. There were a couple who were okay to dance with, but then they wanted to talk, and I wasn't interested in nything they had to say.
It was a real turn-on, though, out there on the dance floor, letting the would-be studs get a little feel, shaking my breasts in their faces.
I had decided that I was going to be naughty tonight; I stopped by Hot Rags on the way home from the office and spent way too much for the sluttiest outfit Nikki had on sale that was still just this side of making me look as if I planned to peddle it on the street corners. The tight knit top showed off the fact that my 36C tits were still high and firm and didn't need any artificial support; the tight black buttery-soft leather skirt made it clear that the only thing under it besides me was a sheer pair of pantiehose, and the red fuck-me pumps with their straps and clunky four inch heels completed the outfit.
And then I headed out to the Kumaniwanalea Lounge, the sleasiest pick-up joint near ESU. I was going to find me some college stud, a jock, and take him home and fuck him till he couldn't move.
At least that was the plan.
But they were all so boring.
Suddenly, I couldn't take this crummy joint and all the phony studs out to score, strutting their muscles and money for the girls on the meat rack. The hell with it -- i was going home and use my vibrator.
She was leaving. Alone. None of the guys were good enough for the stuck-up cunt, it seemed. Huh. Someone ought to teach her a lesson.
Without consciously deciding, he set down his beer, shoved a ten across the stick, and began working his way through the crowd toward the door.
By the time he was outside in the cool air, she was half a block down the street, her heels tapping a rhythm on the pavement as she briskly walked toward the parking garage. It seemed as if his feet stepped out in the same direction without his volition, not quite running, but moving fast enough that he could see that he would overtake her near the entrance to the garage.
He looked around. There was nobody else in sight; it was too early for the early crowd to be heading out, and not late enough that the after-hours bunch were arriving yet.
Good, he thought, there'll be no-one to see or hear... And then he wondered why he cared.
I hadn't realised just how dark it was in the streets around here in the evenings, or how deserted. Not that I was worried; the area around the University was one of the safest parts of town -- aside from the occasional cheerleader gangrape by ESU football players, that is.
And it wasn't far to my car in the garage.
Someone was behind me.
I reached in my bag and pulled out a mirror, pretended to check my makeup.
It was that weird guy from the bar. The one who sat and stared at me the whole time I was there. Even when I wasn't looking his way, I could feel his eyes on me; and it was as if I was naked in front of him.
I hurried a little. Once I was in my car, I would be safe.
She'd seen him. She'd speeded up.
Good. The bitch was afraid of him. It gave him a sense of power to know it.
She'll be even more afraid soon, he thought. And then wondered what he'd meant by that thought.
She hurried through the garage entrance, and managed to duck into the elevator. The door closed before he could catch it and the elevator started upward.
I cowered against the back of the elevator as I saw him lunge to try to stop it. But he was too late; I was on my way up to my car and safety.
The elevator was slow but steady; the floors clicked away on the indicator above the door -- two, three, four... five. It stopped, the doors sighed open and I could see my car. I stepped out.
"Got you, bitch," a harsh voice growled in my ear as a powerful arm wrapped around my waist and a rough hand clasped itself over my mouth. As he spun me around into the shadows behind the elevator shaft, I heard him panting for breath and saw the open stairway door.
She struggled ineffectively as he dragged her into the shadows. He snatched the scarf from around her neck, shoving it into her mouth as an improvised gag. He snapped the handcuffs (Handcuffs? Why was he carrying handcuffs?) from his back pocket onto her wrist and to a standpipe as he shoved her roughly down onto a litter of sacking and discarded carpeting in the shadows.
She tried again to kick him, then lay still in wide-eyed terror as he opened a folding hunting knife, flashing the razor-sharp blade in front of her eyes.
"That's right, bitch -- lay there and enjoy it," he grated out, reaching forward with the tip of the knife to touch her belly just below the edge of her top.
I knew that my legs were splayed wide open as i fell, and that my skirt was riding up onto my hips. I tried to fight, tried to breathe around the mass of cloth that he jammed into my mouth. Then I felt the cold metal on my wrist, felt my arm wrenched above my head and shackled to a pipe.
He pulled out that huge knife, and I was suddenly afraid that this might be more than rape -- suppose he was a psychotic killer. What was he going to do? Would my mutilated corpse be the front page in tomorrow's papers?
I felt the cold metal of the knife against my belly, and I sobbed in terror, then lay still as he slashed upward between my breasts, completely slashing through my tube top. I lay there, tits exposed, as he stood back and looked down at me. Wind blew across my breasts, and, despite the terror I felt, iI could feel my nipples rising a bit in the cold air.
Reaching down, he clutched my left breast in his hand and brutally squeezed it; not so hard as to herm me, but painfully. He pressed his palm over my nipple, rubbing it back and forth, then twisting and tweaking it with his fingers. I was astonished and angered to feel my flesh responding in spite of the situation; to feel my nipple rising and hardening even more.
He grinned humourlessly as he felt her nipple pressing against her palm; they were all alike; all sluts, bitches in heat. All it took was a real man to get them panting for it.
He let go of her tit, reached down, under her ridden-up skirt, and roughly clutched her mound through the sheer pantyhose. Despite his weight pinning her and the cuff binding her arm to the waterpipe above her head, her body bucked as her eyes widened and she made garbled sounds of protest through her nose and the gag in her mouth.
"Like that, do you?" he grinned, deliberately misinterpreting her reaction. As she frantically shook her head and twisted her hips, trying to escape his hand, he let one middle finger trail slowly along the lips of her cunt, back and forth. Leaning forward as he did so, he bit at her erect nipple, sucking it into his mouth and roughly attacking it with his tongue.
Her eyes widened again, but this time in surprise. Moist heat began to make itself felt through the crotch of her pantyhhose; he felt her pussylips beginning to open under his rough touch.
I couldn't believe it -- my body was beginning to react to his attack; I could feel heat beginning to rise in my belly and every time his teeth grazed a nipple, little jolts of something confusing, a mixture of pleasure and pain, shot through my entire body. I had to stop this somehow.
I twisted my hips, trying to get away from that hand that was probing at my pussy, stimulating it in spite of me, bringing more and more heat and more and more wetness between my thighs as my body began to ready itself for what was to come, whether I wanted it or not. I tried harder and harder to force out protests past the silk gag in my mouth, tried to turn my chest away from that maddening mouth that brought my traitor nipples even more throbbingly erect and hard, tried to jerk my self away from that hand...
Then he stood up and stepped back a bit -- I couldn't believe it -- was it over?
He spoke again "Having a little trouble breathing with that thing in your mouth, aren't you?" I nodded frantically, hardly daring to hope that he was going to take it out of my mouth... He reached down, grabbed one corner of the silk, and acted as if he were going to remove it, to let me breathe fully and talk again.
With a grin, he made a gesture as if to remove the gag, then let his hand fall away, relishing the disappointment in her eyes as he did so.
"Oh, I'm going to take it out," he said. "But we can't have you screaming -- not yet, anyway." He reached to his own waist, unbuckling and unzipping his pants, letting them fall, exposing his throbbing cock to her suddenly comprehending eyes. He reached out, grabbing her hair, and pulled her up to a kneeling position, her cuffed hand still behind her, bound to the vertical pipe.
With one hand he took hold of the corner of the scarf; the other one remained tangled in her hair. Jerking the silk from her mouth, he pulled her face forward, forcing her to face his massive cock as it jutted toward her, a drop of precum already oozing from the tip.
"Suck it, bitch," he hissed.
"No... please, no..." she whimpered.
"Yes!" he barked. "Suck it, damn you!" he ordered as he forced her face forward, the head of his cock pressing against and then between her lips as she gave in and opened her mouth, letting it begin to slip inside. At first he was content to simply pump it between her lips into the warm wetness of her mouth, but soon he ordered again "Suck my cock, you lousy cunt!" When she still didn't, he slapped her face once, then again. "Suck, bitch!"
The pain of the slaps cut through my panic and confusion -- they didn't really hurt a lot, but they stung and left my cheek burning, reminding me that he had me at his mercy; that he could do anything he wanted and I couldn't stop him.
Using the hand in my hair to move my head back and forth, fucking my mouth relatively gently, he raised his hand again for another slap. Sobbing quietly around the huge cock filling my mouth, I began to do as he said, sucking at the head of the thing as it pushed in and out, even using my tongue to pleasure him more, trying to make him happy, hoping he wouldn't hurt me seriously if I did what he wanted.
His free hand reached downward, and he began squeezing and manipulating my nipples and breasts again, and again, though I was sure that there would be bruises on my breasts if I survived this, I began to feel a perverse stimulation from the combination of pain and pleasure his hand brought me.
I thought that this humiliation was the owrst my body's traitorous reactions could bring me, but I hadn't reckoned with my captor's perverse imagination.