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Exhausted worn women, with their smudged make up and too bright lipstick, slouching in their fuck me' outfits. But still, there was the possibility, a real possibility, so faint and illusive that it was almost nonexistent, but just there enough to spark her clit. Gonna put heavy ass rings, maybe 4 gage, gonna braze them so they can't be taken off, make them so big you see them poking through her bra. They knew her birthday, three digits of her social insurance number, and four digits from her Mastercard. Sure, there was a certain fun to it, a certain excitement. So he sat there, reading the same fucking newspaper articles over and over again, scanning over every trainload of incoming passengers as they debarked on the platform and alternately fantasizing about raping the bitch and punching out Mike. It hugged so close he could see the telltale ridge at her hip that people might take for panties, but he knew was a garter belt. All those fucking promises, oh she never thought she'd have to come through, and she'd probably try to weasel out.... The minute she was out of sight, he grabbed for his cell phone. She's here, dressed exactly the way you said, fucking exactly. Only then did he lay the newspaper over his lap so he could unobtrusively stroke his erection, and lift up the camera screen to see what his pictures had captured of her. She gasped as she felt his hardness surge into her, for a second, her breath caught and her mouth gaped open with his fucking, gulping like a fish. It was strapless, and it kept slipping down, exposing her nipples. There were a pair of dirty white stockings that went with it. They stayed with her, making sure she applied make up. Ian walked her to the skytrain, accompanied her on it. I want you to lay face down in the foot area in front of the seat. Once she was wedged in, he covered her over with a blanket. Perhaps heaving up enough to open the door, tumble out, and go hopping away, shouting for help. Instead, she just laid there, staring at the carpet, hating herself for her weakness and her fear. He said, the moment I stuck my hand up between your legs... He controlled the urge, and simply smiled innocently at her. Jack watched the emotions, the confusion and uncertainty warring on her face, she didn't have enough presence of mind to conceal them. Jack again enjoyed her humiliation, but also enjoyed having witnesses who could testify to her consensual intimacy with him. She woke to rushing panic, her heart racing, pulse pounding, muscles clenching, her body washed with cold sweat. She was on her stomach, and there was a pillow under her hips, elevating them.

Sometimes sitting legs akimbo, so anyone could see up their thighs, and they couldn't care less. They knew two banks she wasn't dealing with, and a dozen restaurants where she'd been, what days she had done her shopping, and her favourite dry cleaning chain. According to their database, there were four areas where Lynsey usually shopped. But he wasn't sure if he truly expected to find her, or what they'd do with her if they did. But Mike, fucking Mike, had one of his wild inspirations. She licked glossy lips, an unconscious gesture that brought his cock hammering to painful erection in his pants. * * * * * * * * * * Lynsey wandered through the Metrotown mall complex, not hurrying. Ian, after a second, wrapped his fingers in her hair and started throat fucking her. She felt a bottomless shame as the other passengers got on and saw her, trashy make up, revealing slut dress, dirty, filthy, smelly, hair disheveled. No, bend your knees, your legs can stick straight up. And then, whistling tunelessly, he put the car back in gear and started driving. As he whistled, she could hear street noises outside. A million scenarios of rescue and escape rolled through her head, all beginning with a scream, a cry for help. While the car drove and drove, turned right and then left, paused and accelerated. The last thing he needed was to call attention to himself. And let me tell you, I was a little nervous until then... See, he lectured her, I used to work in hospitals, in trauma ward, emergency. He was lying, but of course, she couldn't know that. Thing with a woman, if it's genuine rape, like she really doesn't want it, there's physiological reactions, right? She's dry as a bone, the muscles are tight down there, not even much sensitivity. See, the private parts need to saturate with blood for arousal. Now a lot of the rape cases we got at the hospital... She's in an awkward situation, she's scared, she's upset, so she tells everyone it was a rape. Some of these bitches, excuse my language, they convince themselves and wind up believing it. So you know, Police, the Hospital, we'd have a protocol. He loved what he was doing to her, spinning her head around. Of course he doesn't believe he really raped me, she thought, that's why he's made me coffee, why he's so casual like this. Could he be right, he seemed so confident, so certain about that. Let her bring a rape complaint, if she could, he laughed to himself. The world twisted unsteadily around her as she tried to thrash. She realized that they were fastened behind her back at her wrists and elbows in a posture that was just on the edges of discomfort. Her legs were splayed widely, trying to pull them up, she could feel cords at her ankles, she succeeded only in wiggling her ass.

Hello - This is a story that i have been tied-up and gagged. He had been meaning to tie me up for months and he decided that day he would. One day ten minutes or so after I had started I heard the door knob rattle.

The string for the cuffs was always within easy reach and I would often spend hours enjoying my helplessness before freeing myself.

Once in a while, she thought of breast implants, but never too seriously. Sex, like the rest of her life, had come easily and well lubricated, easy penetrations by lithe young boys, never wild or out of control. A terrycloth bathrobe and bunny slippers, she typed. Perhaps they would spot her in that article of clothing? The idea that she might be under surveillance, might be stalked, that any minute some rough man might grab her and drag her into an alley, made her stomach flutter and her nipples hard. He typed into a very select chatroom, to a very select group of friends. The Lynsey project united them, it galvanized them, giving them a sense of purpose. And there is an Italian restaurant three blocks away from her bullshit location. Humming, brimming with excitement, almost floating with sexual tension, she left the apartment. I dunno, fucking her mouth I suppose, probably tighter than her pussy. She was shocked into stillness when Ian simply upended the contents of her purse out onto the filthy ashpalt. She lost muscle control, collapsing on the filthy garbage strewn alley. Beaten, without a shred of hope or resistance in her. When she reached him, she looked up a final time, hoping for a shred of compassion. She stuck her tongue out and ran it along the leather toe of his boot... She lapped at the boot, her tongue working away the grit, smoothing the leather. Jack watched her face contort, almost able to read her thoughts as she worked her way through it all. He pulled out, his semen dripping from her lip, her expression dazed, confused and needy. You're going to walk out of here with your pussy throbbing, and all those ideas I put in your head rolling around, and you won't know if you're coming or going, you won't know up or down, you're just going to be so confused you'll swallow every bit of bullshit because I've tied your head all up in knots and your pussy is throbbing. Instead he helped the now helplessly docile Lynsey up, escorted her to his car. She built an island of stability for herself around that point. After a few nights, she had recovered herself enough to return to some of her comforting rituals, her life settling back into her old groove.

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