A young lady, walking down a dark secluded country path she meets a stranger.
It was cold, it had been warm when she had left the house that afternoon, but now that it had started to grow dark, the chill really set in. She felt underdressed, exposed. It had been a long day, she was tired and could feel the slight haze of alcohol. She had stayed a little later at work that evening, had a couple of glasses of wine with some colleagues, she was desperate to fit in, having only lived in the area for a few weeks. She was naturally confident, had an air of self-assurance about her, but as she walked down the country lane, her sureness ebbed away. She felt vulnerable in the unfamiliar, secluded area and whilst she had always professed to love a feeling of danger, the reality of her situation scared her. She removed her headphones, wanting to concentrate, to listen for cars approaching. She continued further down the lane, the trees growing thicker and the darkness becoming more consuming. Her heels echoed with each step she took, as much as her stilettos fit in at work, they were far from practical for this walk home. In fact, maybe it was her attire that was making her feel more vulnerable. It was modest, she always insisted on dressing appropriately for work, however her hip-hugging pencil skirt and sheer blouse only emphasised her curves. She had felt sexy in the office, and in the bar, she had enjoyed the smooth caress of her stockings on the soft, pale skin of her thighs. But now as the wind chilled her, and her nipples pressed tightly against the sheer material of her blouse, she wished for looser clothing, something that would make her feel less like she was asking for trouble.
She tried to change her thoughts to something more upbeat, convinced that she was just imagining a situation far worse than anything that would happen is such a lovely little village, if any cars were to drive by, surely they'd just want to give her a lift. She tried to think about her plans for the weekend, maybe a bit of shopping, explore the local area, she had heard of a lovely place not far up the road, she'd probably visit there. But her thoughts were broken when she realised she could hear footsteps other than her own. The sharp echo of her stiletto was being accompanied by a dull, heavy thud. Her vulnerability came flooding back to her, she wanted to pick up the pace, but didn't want the person behind her to know she felt scared. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her, trying to soothe her goose-bumps. She reached into her pocket, contemplating trying to fake a phone call. Normally she would pretend to call her dad and say how long she would be, but everyone knew that there is no phone signal down this way, it would just make her look more vulnerable. She resolved to pick up the pace.
The footsteps behind her, kept up with her pace and that's when the reality set in that this wasn't just her imagination. She took the opportunity to flick her hair and glance behind her, hoping to see a neighbour or dog walker, but instead she saw a tall figure, dressed in dark clothes with his hood up. That's when she really started to panic, how could she be so stupid to be, alone at night, in such a secluded place. As much as she told herself it was a bad idea, instinct set in and she started to run. She hoped she could get out of seclusion before he caught her, but she knew it was in vain. As much as she could walk in heels, running in them down a dirt road in a pencil skirt was just plain futile. The blood started pumping in her ears as the footsteps behind her started closing in. She thought she could hear him laughing, but as her breathing got heavier and her footsteps echoed loudly, she could have been mistaken. She knew in a few of his long strides he'd close in on her, but she wasn't prepared to give in. She continued to run, trying to run faster, praying that she would bump in to someone else, someone familiar. She lost her footing on a small stone and stumbled over on her ankle, the pain made her cry out, but her cry was stifled by his hand over her mouth. He had been so swift, so prepared for her to lose balance that he was on her before she hit the ground.
The fear really set in as she felt his strong grip on her face, she flailed, pushing against him with all her might, trying to claw him, punch him, hurt him so he wouldn't hurt her. She had stopped thinking and just began to act. She managed to get him to loosen his grip somewhat and she tried to make a break from him, no longer noticing the sharp throb of her injured ankle, but his hand lowered from her mouth and she felt his fingers close around her neck. Tighter, and tighter she felt like the air was being squeezed out of her, and her mind started to blacken and fuzz, she kicked out, hoping to land a blow with her sharp heels but with every movement she was helping him slowly strangle her. She tried to scream, to beg someone for help, to beg him to not harm her, but he was crushing her voice box, she was just managing to make pathetic mewing noises. She wasn't sure if she'd lost her glasses, or the choking was making her sight funny, but she couldn't make out his face. She could tell he was looking at her and she thought he was smiling but the pain was making everything hard to digest. She wasn't sure if the hands were going to stop, if she was just going to die here in this strange stretch of deserted countryside. She started to lose consciousness as he loosened his grip on her throat, he wanted her conscious for every second. She felt the weight of him atop her chest, him kneeling on her lungs restricting her airflow. She felt complete despair, she was sure that her make-up had bled down her face, her hair tangled and sticking to her tears. She didn't want to cry, she didn't want to be defeated.
Her lungs were desperately seeking out air, the small breaths she could manage to take were stinging her tender throat, she tried to kick out, to knock him off of her, to show him she wasn't willing to let him get away with what he was going to do, and that's when she was sure she could hear him laugh. She was angry, she hated that he was amused at how futile her fight was. He was going to have his way with her, and the anger in her eyes just made it all the more enjoyable to take. He pinned her by the throat with one hand as he tore her flimsy jacket from her. The fabric sharply dug into her skin as it ripped, laying in tatters around her, she hated thinking of how dishevelled she must look. She felt exposed and vulnerable as he ripped open the buttons of her blouse one at a time. He was toying with her, drawing it out, exerting his power over her as she lay helpless. She tried to scream, but he just strangled it, pressing harder on her throat. He knew no one could hear her, but he enjoyed the power of preventing her screams. He looked down at her exposed chest, one nipple having escaped her lace bra. He enjoyed the view, the moonlight highlighting her pale flesh, her shallow breathing accentuating the curve of her tits. He dug his fingers into her flesh, enjoying the imprints he left behind, loving the feel of her hot, soft skin against his hands. Her chest started to flush and despite her writhing beneath him to escape, he knew she was aroused. He pulled her nipple sharply, her intake of breath telling him it hurt, she seemed to cope with the pain, not wanting to show him he was getting to her, maybe trying to keep him out of her head. He pulled both pert tits out of the confines of her bra and enjoyed feeling her shiver as she was exposed to the cool night air. He pressed hard on her throat as he knelt down further, she felt him sink his teeth into her, his pressure breaking the skin as she held her breath, he released her throat as he sucked the blood from the wound, savouring the sweet, iron taste. Despite the released pressure from her neck, she still held her breath, struggling to withhold the guttural moan building inside her. She felt his tongue, lapping above her broken skin, the soft, tender contact prolonging the pain, teasing and torturing the raw tit-flesh. She felt a hand in her hair, it had been pinned up but now was loose around her shoulders. His hand gripped tightly, knotting her hair at the base of her neck, tilting her head back so her windpipe was restricted and her neck so exposed. She felt him sink his teeth again, this time into her neck. Biting and sucking at the same time, intensifying the pain. She was sure her eyes rolled back, the situation so intense, overwhelming. She didn't have the strength to fight back, her limbs all limp, heavy and useless. She hated that he had so easily over-powered her, it angered her that he had made her feel so weak when she had wanted to push back, fight him. He did the same with her neck, licking over where his teeth had just penetrated her skin. He pulled her head back further, his hand still tangled in her hair. He caught her off-guard as he darted his tongue between her parted lips, filling her mouth with the taste of her own blood, before she registered what was happening, he was back out of her mouth, but the taste lingered on her tongue.
He pushed her back to the ground, growing impatient, wanting his release. He hitched her skirt up around her hips, exposing her. He briefly ran his hands over her lace knickers, the dark lace matching her bra. He was annoyed at their existence, and reached for the gusset to rip them from her. Her underwear was damp, in fact it was soaked, despite her fight and reluctance she couldn't deny that she was a slut, and now they both knew it. She was humiliated as he could feel her arousal, and the smell of her eager cunt just made him all the more hungry for her. She found her voice and pleaded with him not to take her, begging him in a small, strangled voice. He bundled the torn, wet lace of her former underwear, shoving it hard into her mouth. He wanted the slut to taste her arousal as he took her, showing her the exact affect he was having on her. As she heard the zip of his trousers, she knew what was coming, she clamped her legs shut, attempting to prevent his access to her. He pinned her hands above her head, and sharply pressed his knee between her legs, crushing and bruising her soft, tender skin. He could feel her hot, wet cunt against his leg as he took a moment to look at her, a trickle of blood running down her neck, mascara down her cheeks, her lipstick smudged, hair tangled and her clothes in tatters around her. She looked so perfectly broken and vulnerable.
He spread her thighs apart further, not breaking eye-contact with her, amused that she was trying to avoid his eyes, she eventually closed them, knowing what was coming and now knowing there was nothing she could do to stop him, she was pinned and exhausted. He had enjoyed watching the fight diminish in her, and now that he was confident that she had accepted her fate, he plunged into her, claiming her. She could feel his cock spreading her, stretching her cunt around him as he slowly buried himself into her, taking her and enjoying exploring her tight, hot hole slowly. She felt so filled as she felt his balls rest against her arse. She didn't want to open her eyes for fear he'd read her fulfilment in them. Her cunt throbbed as he pulled out of her, the emptiness aching more than the stretching had, she could feel herself clenching, trying to keep him inside. He knew exactly what she was doing as she contracted around his cock, tightening and massaging him. He buried into her again, this time fast and menacingly, starting to fuck her hard, knocking the air out of her lungs, pushing her further into the soft ground. She wanted to fight him, or at least pretend that she was indifferent to him, but her body defied her, milking his cock, her juices steaming. She was more annoyed at herself than him as a soft moan escaped her lips. He could read her like a book, and dug his fingers into the fresh bite wound on her tit. The pain sending jolts through her, causing her cunt to contract around his cock more. She could feel him slowing, knowing he was close. She felt so empty as he pulled out of her. He moved further up her body, rubbing a trail of her juices on her stomach and tits as he wiped his cock on her. He sat, straddling her chest, his cock resting on her chin. He looked at her once more, and this time she made eye contact with him, her eyes pleading with him, he knew the desperation in her eyes, he knew what she was begging for. She was frustrated and he was loving it. With one movement, he removed the lace from her mouth and sunk himself into her throat. He remained there, enjoying the feeling of her gagging, her eyes bulging as she desperately searched for a breath. Yet he could still feel her tongue lapping up his length, soft, wet lashes of her tongue, eager to please him. He groaned, pulling out of her throat quick enough to shoot his cum all over her face. She closed her eyes in time before the ropes of cum shot against her face, running down the sides of her face into her hair. She darted her tongue out from her mouth, greedily seeking the cum, lapping the head of his sensitive cock.
He got up, and pulled up his trousers, pulling something from a bag he had nearby. She stayed on the ground, not managing to muster the energy to move. She felt his hands in her head once more, pulling her to her knees. She felt the chill of something around her neck and heard the chink of metal. No sooner had he removed his hands, could she feel a heavy, unfamiliar weight around her neck. She felt his hand between her legs, brutally grabbing at her, as his other hand twisted in her hair, pulling her eyes up to meet his, "This is mine, remember that" he said as his grip tightened painfully on the folds of her cunt. "And you are mine slut". He released her and she remained on her knees, overwhelmed she felt herself starting to sob. She was so relieved, felt so comforted by his words and the weight around her neck that her emotions over took her. She cried, not from sadness but from glee at the realisation that he had taken her, because he can and that she is his. She took a moment to compose herself.
When she had managed to control her tears, she looked up, expecting to see him, but he wasn't there. She searched around, looking for him, hoping to see him nearby but she couldn't. She looked down at herself, her clothes in tatters and strewn around her, cum drying on her face and matted in her hair. She looked a mess and realised that she was going to have to walk home like this. She gathered the cunt-soaked lace from the floor as she tried to wipe some of the cum from her face, only succeeding in smearing it further, she tucked the remaining material of her blouse in her bra, trying to cover at least her tits. She got to her feet and rolled her skirt down, hoping on the way home she wouldn't see anyone. Walking home, with her head down she felt humiliated, she felt like it was so obvious she was a dirty little slut, and she didn't have her innocent exterior to hide behind. She felt the most exposed then, because she felt like anyone that looked at her would know what she was. She rushed home, opening the door and taking a moment to look in the hallway mirror, to appreciate the collar. It looked beautiful, like it had always meant to be there. She smiled, feeling so wholesome and loving the look, but she didn't want to linger. She rushed through to the living room, knowing he'd be there waiting. She hurried to his feet, and knelt at them, thighs spread, palms up, head bowed. "Thank you Sir", she could barely say it, through her emotions, but it was the most thankful she had ever been. She waited in that position, for him, wanting to show him how ready she was for her life as his. And at that moment, she knew she belonged.