“I…” She pauses, gulps hard, and sniffles several times, before continuing. “Please…please don’t…” Being half strangled by her own bra, it’s hard for her to speak.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t…come inside me…”
“Inside your pussy!” the man commands, tightening his choke hold on her neck.
“My pussy!” she gasps.
“A whole sentence, goddamn it!” he hisses at her, fucking her now with slow grinding movements.
Hating herself for having given him fodder to taunt her with—for having even verbally recognized his existence—the young, married woman, truly worried about being impregnated by a rapist, complies with his demands. “Don’t…come… inside…inside my…inside my pussy!” She spits this out as best she can, her voice hoarse, her throat on fire. She is rewarded by feeling an easing of the pressure of the bras straps around her neck. She is also acutely aware of how her rapist’s penis is again moving in and out of her.
“Louder!” she is told.
“Don’t…please don’t come inside…my pussy”, she cries.
“Wrap your feet around my ass!” she is told as he continues to pound her sexually. Knowing that she had best do as told, the young woman meekly complies. The force of the bra strap around her throat has not been completely released. She slowly, tentatively lifts what had been dead legs into the air. Her calves encircle her rapist’s buttocks and her ankles lock together above him.
“Squeeze me!” he commands. Grimacing, the young blonde submits to his wishes and flexes her athletic thigh muscles against the ribs of her rapist as he fucks her with force. The feel his body on the insides of her thighs makes her nauseous all over again. Her feet, locked together above his ass, jiggle with each rapid fuck thrust she receives.
The man, meanwhile, feeling her luscious thighs clinging to his ribs, senses he is on the verge of orgasm, and holds back again in his thrusting. This is so much fun, he wants it to last! “I didn’t tell you to shut up!” he whispers hoarsely in the woman’s ear.
The young woman is finding this verbal provocation to be nearly as infuriating as the sexual assault itself; however, not wishing to feel the dreadful bra straps around her neck once again, she quickly speaks. He is fucking her with less intensity now, and it is easier for her to speak. “Don’t come…” she begins, but then her voice falters under the stress of fifty different emotions.
“Yes?” he says, stroking her long, blonde hair gently, just as gently as his cock now goes in and out of her vagina—as gentle as a genuine lover. “Don’t what, baby?”
The young woman composes herself as best she can under the circumstances. “I…please don’t come…inside my pussy.” With difficulty, she manages to spit out the words that her rapist wants to hear. Words that make her want to vomit again.
“Why?” the man demands.
“I’m not on the pill!” she cries.
“Why the fuck not?”
Weeping bitterly once again, the young blonde struggles with her choice. Does she utter the most intimate details of her personal life to this vicious rapist, or does she want to feel the bra straps again? Or perhaps the cold, steel knife blade again? If speaking the things he wants to hear will prevent that, then, what choice does she have? Making her decision, she cries out: “I want to get pregnant!”
Her rapist’s body jerks so hard in laughter that his penis slips from her vagina. He reaches for it and guides it back inside her, then gives her a number of strokes with it.
“Well, I can help you out there, sweetie!”
“No!” she cries, gasping, but her rapist ignores her and begins fucking her hard once again. His force drives her body into her forearms and hands beneath her, parts of her body that are too numb to feel pain. What does hurt is the way her ass is being ground into the metal handcuffs connecting her wrists. She unlocks her ankles from around her assailant’s ass and allows her legs to drop limply to the mattress. The man sends his arms between those legs now, spreading them wide. His hands grasp his victim by both her buttocks, his fingers digging deep into their firm flesh. He is fucking her so hard, and his cock is so big, that the young woman feels as if her entire womb is being sucked out of her on his outward withdrawals, only to be stuffed back inside her on each inward thrust, all in rapid fire succession. If she is pregnant, her fetus is getting a workout.
“No-o-o-o!” the young woman cries, her vocal cords vibrating from the onslaught. She is sensing that he is ready to ejaculate. “No…please no…oh god…not inside me!” This time her pleas are genuine, not something that she has been forced to say to please whatever perverted turn-on it gave her rapist. “Please no,” she gasps. “Not inside me! No! No! Please!”
Ignoring her pleas, the young woman’s rapist plants his cock as deep into her vagina as anatomically possible. “No!” she cries one last time before a torrent of semen explodes within her, bathing the deepest recesses of her womb in one massive squirt after another. Feeling this, the young woman grimaces, and her mouth gapes open, but no other sound comes from her as millions of her rapist’s sperm cells swim madly within her in frantic search for a fertile egg cell to impregnate. After pausing to fully appreciate the intensity of his ejaculation, the man—his dick still rock hard—resumes fucking the young woman, whose body has now gone as limp as a rag doll. He continues doing her for two or three minutes. She is lifeless as he does this. At long last, his sweaty body collapses heavily in exhaustion on top of her.
XXXXX
A half hour passed. The beautiful young blonde lay face down on the bed in her hotel room. She was still naked. Her torn bra remained wrapped around her neck, and her destroyed blouse bunched around her shoulders. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, but at least now she was no longer compelled to be lying on her arms. She was regretful that she could not get up immediately and give herself a thorough shower and cleansing. She had never felt filthier in her life, lying on a bed where she had peed and vomited, with her face caked with blood and snot and dried tears, and her body coated with her rapist’s sweat. The filth that she most acutely felt was the sticky residue of her rapist’s sperm that had oozed from her vagina and became smeared over the insides of her thighs. She was afraid, however, to move, to try to get up. Her rapist was still in the room!
For a long while after he had finished with her, he had lain heavily upon her in exhaustion, savoring his conquest, the weight of both their bodies crushing her forearms and wrists into the mattress, the handcuffs digging into her bare ass. When at last he rolled off her, she had remained as he left her, on her back, legs splayed, his sperm dripping from her pussy and soaking the sheets between her thighs. It was only after several minutes that she found the energy to roll over onto her stomach and felt the relief of at long last having the painful weight off her numbed arms. Her cuffed hands rested on the upper most swell of her bare buttocks. She gingerly twitched her almost lifeless fingers.
She was staring at the curtains on the far wall of her hotel room as her attacker sat in a chair on the other side of the bed. She was no longer sobbing. There was apparently a limit to the amount of tears one can cry. Her nostrils were mostly congested, and she breathed through a panting mouth. The beginnings of a pair of black eyes—giving her a raccoon-like appearance—could easily be seen, results of the viscous slaps to the face she had received. Without the gag, she could have screamed now had she wished, but she knew that if she did, even if she managed one loud scream, the man would beat her senseless before she managed a second one. Besides, he was done with her now…wasn’t he? He was going to be leaving the room soon…wasn’t he? Well… the fact that he had slipped into one of the white, terrycloth robes he had found in the bathroom did not portend a quick exit. The young woman continued staring grimly at the curtains, unsure of her immediate fate.
As she lay there in silence, of greater concern to the young woman than her external filthiness was the filth inside her: she knew that a bucket lead of her rapist’s sperm had been deposited within her. It was a despicable feeling. How dared this man to have thought that he could simply take her and use her body in this manner, as if she were nothing more than an object—a receptacle—for his sick pleasure! And, in addition to the dirty feeling that had been used like a public toilet, was the very real fear that his sperm could be impregnating her at that very moment as she lay there helpless. She wished desperately to get off the bed immediately and go douche herself. He was still in the room, but maybe he would let her do that? She was too afraid to find out.
It was when she heard the man rifling through her purse that she turned her head in his direction. She watched as he dumped the contents of her purse on a table by the chair where he sat in the white bath robe. He had also opened one of those tiny bottles of whisky from the room’s mini-bar and killed half of it before beginning his examination of the contents from her purse. This invasion of her privacy cut further into her soul that had already been deeply sundered by rape.
Beside the chair in which her rapist sat was the camera on the tall tripod. The red light was still on, and the camera’s lens was still staring directly at her in unblinking fashion. It had captured everything, she knew, as she stared at the camera like a deer in headlights. Then, realizing that someone at some time would undoubtedly be watching the video and would at this moment be looking into her eyes, she buried her face into the mattress, but not before noticing that the man had come across a photo of her and her husband when they were on their honeymoon, smiling and madly in love. She knew that the man would read the slightly naughty, intimate note that her husband had penned on the back of the photo. After having been viciously raped, his reading of this note might have been a relatively small additional insult, but it did not feel small to her at all.
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