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[This is an adult [dark] fantasy only.

Read the other story, "Rape – His Story", and let me know what you think!

Several years ago, a casual chat friend asked me to write a Rape Story. Initially I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, and immediately gave up on the idea, frankly telling her so. Then later, thinking back to her demand, I decided to try and write a story from the perspective of the female; not to glorify rape, but maybe to show the inner strengths many women can, and do, possess.

This is the result.

The chat friend wasn’t impressed. She told me bluntly that she wanted the man to be a total shit, and to write it from the point of degrading all women. Again, I refused. Again, she persisted. Inevitably, in some silly way of hoping I could impress this lady, I, in typical (dumb) man fashion, tried. The result was “Rape – His Story”.

“Rape – His Story” is far more brutal; and I make no apologies, but do ask you to read it for the ‘complete’ story.

Truthfully, I am totally repulsed by my ‘villain’ (Peter George Herbert Walker [yes, in loving respect to our current ‘first family’, lol; as if, lol!]), but I am equally intrigued with; a) how far my own mind can think outside my ‘normal’ limits, and b) with how such criminal deviants might actually think. I have always been an avid reader, both of fiction, and non-fiction, and the following sleaze ball is an amalgamation of every degenerate low-life I have ever read about, sprinkled with lots of TV villains I have seen, melted together with my over active imagination. I hope, at the least, that I have created a realistic villain.

What started out as a challenge to provoke someone else, has now become a second challenge, to provoke myself; to see if I can actually transport myself into this evil mind. I won’t type ‘enjoy this story’ because, if I have done my job right, you should NEVER enjoy this story, but equally, if I have done my job completely right, you might actually BELIEVE this story. That is the only goal I seek.]

(Taken from a tran illegally acquired from Dr. Celeste Mills, as part of ongoing therapy sessions with Mrs. Laura Carter.)

I don’t even know where to start this.

In fact, I can’t even believe I have agreed to write about this shit. But, yes, I do trust Celeste, and she has assured me (after my pleading and begging), that no one, especially my husband Ed, will ever read this, so yes, very cautiously, I have agreed.

Initially, right after I got out of hospital, my husband suggested I try to recreate the incident on paper, to help me deal with it – to help me work my anger out. Initially, I flat out refused. Then, skeptical to say the least, I reluctantly discussed this thought with my doctor, and to my surprise, not only did she agree, she was adamant that I do it.

She explained that by recounting the full events, with all of the sordid details left intact, that I may be able to aid with my own therapy.

God, I hope she’s right!

Maybe my story might help others, maybe not. But I accept that it should be told, on paper, at least.

* * * * *

I was raped. That's the correct word. That's the only word.

I cannot use any other word. No other words can describe the invasion, humiliation and abuse I have suffered.

I was actually repeatedly raped over many days.

Who am I? I am a 47 year old woman, with a loving husband and no children. (Oh, I love children, but sometimes a woman's body just doesn't work in certain ways (neither of us regret not being able to bear children – or if we do, neither of us admits to it.))

And I am angry!

My anger isn’t just contained to the animal who violated me. My anger is also spread to the vast majority of hypocrites who say "I asked for it", and those same hypocrites don’t know jack shit.

I was raped. Repeatedly by a sick sadistic monster.

Society seems to have set up some strange rules and proprieties for women. And society seems to be controlled by men! But unless I give you the wrong impression, there are enough useless women out there, who are equally to blame for the "moral" standards we live by.

My own sister acts like a princess, walks like a princess, talks lie a princess. She takes extreme offence if I even say the word "shit" let alone words like "cock" or "fuck". She whispers about things she does in the bedroom like they are naughty, and only done to "please" her husband. Her husband acts superior and aloof (and more than once has grabbed at my tits and asked me to suck his cock!). But, my own sister sucks and fucks like a whore. I know because she has told me in all her glorious self-inflated importance. Who is she fooling?

I was raped. Repeatedly. I didn’t seek it out. I didn’t "ask" for it. I didn’t beg him to fuck me. Simply, I got lost on a long trip, broke down, and asked a stranger for help. But of course, the all-knowing, wise ones in our society said I "asked for it". How the fuck did I do that? How the fuck do they know what I did?

Yes, I was raped. But I did one thing some talk about doing, and even fewer actually do: I did NOT resist. (Oh, I did try, initially, believe me, and I never consented, ever. But I did stop fighting him, hoping he would at least be more gentle; not that he ever was!) At a certain point I knew the inevitable was going to happen, and I chose to "allow" this assault, rather than risk further hurt and humiliation! Why? Because all of those appropriate “Rape Kit” manuals tell us to. But you want to know something? The fucking rapists don’t read those nice little books, and don’t know the "rules". But I stand beside my judgement. I was fucked and violated, and I walked away, finally. If I had struggled more, I might be dead now, and this whole argument would be moot!

Ok, I got that out of the way, now what do I say?

I really don’t know what to say in this narrative. Celeste may have asked me to write this, but that was it. No instructions, no clues, no hints. How much about me should I tell? Is my “history” a necessary part of my therapy? Is it important? Should I even admit I love sex? I definitely don’t want to “justify” myself to her, or anyone else, either, but I also need her to know who I really am.

Ok, let’s see. To start, I love sex. I will always proudly admit that one statement. But . . . I am not a whore, and I am not a slut! No grandstanding, no justification, no excuses. I am a fully aware, free minded spirit, and sex is an important part of my life.

I love sex, yes I do. I won't ever deny saying that one statement either. My husband and I have, and do, frequently enjoy sex. And, our sexual unions are fulfilling for both of us. Nightly, we still fuck (and that is the word we use, sex words are a part of the fun - we are totally uninhibited). In all of the years we have been married we still fuck frequently, and thoroughly. I guess that is why some of this is so hard. If the bastard that raped me had just wanted me to fuck him, or suck him, I would have - quietly without argument. Why not? I 'm not an angel, and don't ever pretend to be. Don’t want to be, truth be told! In fact, both my husband and I are still very actively sexually, together, and even occasionally with some close friends. I am not ashamed of my lifestyle, nor do I make excuses, or ever attempt to justify myself. Our time alive is limited, so why waste a minute on false regret. I am an honest and sincere person, who also loves fucking!

I love sex. I love my husband, and his body, as he loves me and mine. I have never, nor will ever, refuse sex with him, and we have willingly and freely experimented, even (infrequently) with others. I guess that is part of my hurt, and anger. The bastard who raped me could have had me do anything, willingly, but no! The prick wanted to control, and humiliate me. He did that all right! He wanted to dominate me, and he did too! And you know what, I resent that intrusion. I would have taken his cock into all of my holes, any of my holes, eagerly, to avoid unnecessary pain. But no, he wanted to hurt and control me, for his pleasure only.

I love sex. I am not ashamed. At least my husband and I don’t live a lie. We love each other, and we love each other’s bodies. Sex is an integral part of our romance and marriage. Sex bonds us. At the end of a hard day, it is comforting (to me) to know my husband wants to hold me, and kiss me, and also fuck me.

I do not “make love” to my husband, I fuck him. In my opinion, "making love" is a banal expression more suited to pleasing the moral majority, and other weak morons. I love my husband, and as a demonstration of that love, I fuck him. I equally love my family. I do NOT fuck my family. I don't “make” love; I give and receive love; willingly, openly and unselfishly, but I fuck. Separate topic, grow up!

It is more than reassuring to know he has never lost his desire for me, and that he finds me sexy (still)! And he also finds comfort in me, he has told me, frequently. He, alone, is standing by me in this terrible time. All of my (so-called) friends (except dear Susie, and her husband Jack) are keeping their distance, but my beautiful, sweet husband has never once challenged, or doubted me. Thank god.

But the fucking hypocrites will tell you I am a "loose" woman with no morals, that deserved to be raped. BULLSHIT. Every one of the men that condemned me want their wives to be whores in the bedroom. Every one of the women that condemned me are either (secret) whores for their men, or denying their own men the one pleasure that should never be “bargained for”. I am talking about my friends, work colleagues and other acquaintances here: I know them, one and all, and know how most of them behave intimately. I have never condemned them, nor ever would, but that has never stopped them from gossiping about me!

I said it before, I love sex. And I am going to keep fucking saying it! I have absolutely no shame about that one simple statement, nor ever will! My husband and I are very sexual, and very willing to try new things. No part of consensual, mutually agreed sex is bad. We did it all, and do it all! Oral sex, anal sex, sex toys, different positions, stimulation and minor bondage, etc. We used different "dirty" words to heighten our sexual congresses. Why not?

Ok, some will argue that "cunt" isn't a word to use by a lady. What a hypocritical statement. Men want their women to be whores in the bedroom, always! How often do you hear of men wanting their female sex partners to scream things like "fuck me, oh fuck me, baby", or "Stick your huge cock in me"? All of the time! Is it so different to ask their ladies to say "fuck my hot cunt with your big cock"? Of course not. Men want that all the time. And women? I have met many women who also vulgarly vocalize, frequently, but won’t use "cunt" and condemn me for using it! Prudes one and all!

Is “cunt” a vulgar word? Isn't "fuck" equally vulgar? Or is any word truly bad, or are we just told that? Or do we now "accept" the "f" word and still not the "c" word? What a load of bullshit! I will tell you now, I would never use "vagina" in my lovemaking vocalizations – how prudish a word is that? And "pussy", my god, what a stupid, insipid word (only the Yanks could have come up with such a trite term for that holiest of places)? When I talk to my mother, or my doctor, or casual peers, yes, I do use "vagina"; but when I talk to my lover, or share secrets with my close trusted friends, I casually use "cunt" as my word of choice – my own "special" naughty word. If I offend you – then fuck off. That simple. I will not live any more of my life sucking up to hypocrites.

My husband and I are normal, for fuck sakes. We take a healthy approach to sex. We try to never allow it to become boring, and have often experimented. Nothing we have done is bad. We both agree, and discuss everything (and have even compared notes, lol). I love to suck cock. It is the one way I can, and do, prove unconditionally that I love and respect my husband. It is the one action I do unselfishly to give him joy. I do get pleasure out of doing it, yes, but I do it for his total pleasure, and his total joy! I know he loves it, and you know what, I love sucking him for that one reason alone! And yes, oh yes, I swallow, every fucking time, every glorious mouth fucking time. And he kisses my cum dripping lips in gratitude! To all of those wives who say "sucking cock is gross", I say one thing only – "grow the fuck up – you either love him, or you don’t – don’t bullshit about it – prove it!" and to all those men out there, tut-tutting my crudeness, is your cock hard yet? I bet it is, and I bet if any man ever got a chance to read this narrative, they would eagerly stick their cocks into my mouth, and demand I swallow, too. Fucking hypocrites all!

I equally love my own cunt being licked and eaten by my man. Yes I do. It is his way of proving that same trust and love to me. I will tell you truthfully, that as I lay there naked and legs open wide, I am at his total mercy. I am at my most vulnerable, totally without defense; if he should want to hurt, or shame me. I am 100% open to him, and delighted he wants my cunt. My heart swells in pride! And yes, I lick his mouth clean afterwards, and we lick each others fingers, and anything else we put up my hole (including, especially, willingly, I love to lick his wet, cunt-covered, cock). I hear so often of men that won’t eat their lady’s cunts, saying it is disgusting. To those ignorant, ill-informed, selfish fools, I give the same answer as above – "grow the fuck up – you either love her, or you don’t". It is not ever a conditional thing. If it becomes conditional, in my opinion, then one partner is trying to manipulate the other! Especially those same men who demand they get a blow job, but won’t reciprocate a cunt lick. And how many wives want their fuck hole chewed on, demand it even, but won’t give back? Grow up, one and all!

Either accept me fully, or fuck off. I like my ass played with, especially licked and fingered, and am not adverse to getting a cock up my "back door". We practice safe sex though, and we only do it if the mood strikes us. We are not animals, we are normal, healthy, sexually curious adults.

Yes we have tried a few threesomes, and once even, a foursome. Why not? Why the fuck not? They were always friends, they were always trusted friends. And yes, both my husband and I experimented with bisexual activities during these sessions. Again, why the fuck not? I love to see him suck a cock (and he swallows too, lol), and I am partial to eating and fingering a nice shaved cunt once in a while. Watching him kiss a man, or me being kissed by a woman is very sensual, to us.

I love my tits getting attention, and love his soft hands arousing my hard nipples, as I arouse his nipples too. Ok, we bite and pull and twist. What a joyous delight that gives both of us.

What wouldn’t I do? To be frank, as long as it is mutual, consensual, and health risk free, I think I would say YES to anything he asked for, and I know he would never refuse me. The petty, uneducated, inhibitions of lesser people are no longer my concern. We even tried piss games once. Neither one of us was offended, but nor were we particularly excited afterwards. His piss tasted nice and salty, but what a fucking mess we had to clean up. Another lesson learned though.

Oh yes, most men expect women to be angels in the kitchen and living room, but total sluts and whores in the bedroom! Total hypocrisy. I am me, I will always be me, and I am a lady, and (proudly) a whore (for my loving husband), too!

I am sorry, I seem to have wandered away from my story, but I did want you to understand why I use certain words as they will appear in this narrative. I also wanted to introduce myself, fully and frankly.

One thing I now fully resolve is, I will never again "justify" myself to anyone.

I said it before, either accept me or fuck off, but don't waste your time being superior, condescending, self-righteous, holier-than-thou, and fucking phony. I just want you to know I consider myself a normal, healthy, sexual woman. I know who I am without lying, or fooling myself, which is more than I can say for most people!

I just cannot get over the fact that I would have eagerly and willingly sucked the bastard's cock for hours, rather than be humiliated and hurt, if he had only asked. But he wanted to hurt me and humiliate me, not seduce me. I would never have sought him out, nor flirted with him, but when I realized the inevitability of my situation, I did not resist him, for fear of being hurt. I just let him get it over with. But he had different ideas, as you will read . . .

* * * * *

Several months ago I was asked by my boss to travel interstate for a week of training. I had done this several times before, and never had any previous problems, so I readily agreed. Nothing different was planned, and all usual arrangements were made.

When I go out of town for these training sessions I normally drive because I carry a large amount of equipment with me, and find the airport hassles so bothersome. It is easier to pack the car, head out in the early morning, pop in a CD or two, cup of coffee close at hand, and drive leisurely cross country. I have done this many times without incident, and had no reason to suspect this trip would be different. The total drive usually takes between 6 and 7 hours, depending on traffic etc, and I always plan my trips to leave home at around 7 and arrive in the mid afternoon.

What I didn't know was that there were also major freeway constructions being carried out that initially delayed, then blocked and eventually forced me to detour. And that's where my problems started.

I knew the major roads well enough, having already had several prior trips on this same highway. I had studied the maps, knew all of the major towns, and was confident of both my destination, and my time needs. However, after driving for about 4 hours, I was stopped dead in a gridlock traffic jam. I sat, and sat, along with my fellow travelers, not even knowing how long, let alone why, we were stopped.

After about 20 minutes, the traffic slowly took off at a snail's pace, and we crept car-length by car-length forward. Stopping and starting repeatedly. After about an hour of this, I came to a detour sign, and like everyone else, I took it.

I was familiar enough with the general area not to be concerned, but I quickly realized that the detour was moving further and further away from the due west route I had planned. I was now traveling along a thin two-lane road, still busy, but moving more south than west.

I needed to move west, so at the next intersection, I turned right, onto a road that I hoped would return me to my intended direction. I was wrong.

I didn’t know I was wrong immediately. You never do. It took me about half an hour to realize I was still heading in the wrong direction (now going nearly north again – almost back towards where I had come from), and worse, I was now alone. When I turned off I left the main traffic behind, and slowly but surely all the other cars still on the road had pulled off to their intended destinations, leaving me very alone. There was one car on the road, about three quarters of a mile ahead, and in the distant view of my rear mirror there was no others. Shit!

My car is a new Ford with all the bells and whistles (including a built-in compass) – an SUV, strongly built, and I had sufficient fuel for at least another hour before panicking, so I wasn’t worried. But the day was getting long, and I was driving around lost.

Yes, I was lost. I admit it. Ok, why didn’t I just pull over and look on the map? Want the truth? I was scared to stop on this lonely road. I thought my earlier turn would correct my direction, and now the road was not pleasant looking, very dark, with lots of curves and trees. I decided to keep driving, using the rational that there had to be a town up ahead soon.

I wasn’t applying (silly) male logic, I was genuinely worried, and didn’t think it safe, or sensible, to just pull off the road, without knowing where I was. I continued driving, and after another 35 minutes I was beginning to panic. It was now close to 2 in the afternoon. I had been driving for well over six hours, my fuel was getting extremely low, and I was lost. Fuck!

Then the inevitable happened. It always does. Miles from nowhere, lost and alone, and frightened, I got a fucking flat tire. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I wasn’t surprised. I was pissed off, though. What else could fuck up my day? I know, let’s test the cell phone out, call a garage? No way, José! I was out of range, out of fucking range. Fuck!

I pulled over into a small driveway, and parked my car as far off the road as safely possible. I didn’t want some local yokel screaming around the bend, crashing into me. Looking around though, I couldn’t find a suitable place to jack up the car to change the tire. I was sitting in a lot of loose soil, and even I knew that would be dangerous. The jack could slip too easily.

What to do? I didn’t know where I was, and I guessed I was probably at least 100 miles further north than I should have been, in country I didn’t know anything about. [As it turned out I was actually about 5 miles south of the highway I turned off from, but I didn’t know that at the time.]

I chose the path of least resistance. I started walking up the path to see who, or what, was up there. The path snaked through the dense growth, and within seconds I lost sight of my car, and the road. Fuck! I also needed to pee so badly, and wasn’t about to flash my cunt to the world either.

I choose to wear sensible driving clothes for my out of town driving trips, knowing I would check into my hotel prior to visiting the office, and I planned to shower and change before going to the office. I was wearing a comfortable halter top, and a loose pair of shorts. I had casual leather sandals on my feet. My body isn’t brilliant, nor is it bad. I am 47, as I said earlier, and I look well for my age. I am proportional for my height, weight ratio (only about 10 pounds overweight), apart from my tits – which are big, 38DD. I am proud of those tits though. No false tits – what you see is all me – my nipples are large, and dark, still perky, and sit high, my tits don’t sag too much, and I have a huge cleavage. Yes, I love my tits (and admit to sucking my own nipples any chance I get; that drives my husband wild, lol).

I have one vice though. I hate underwear. I don’t wear underwear. I never wear a bra, and that makes my tits even more special. They have never sagged much in spite of their lack of restraint, and I hate the "tightness" and sweatiness of panties on my cunt.

Depending on my moods, I will, and do, shave my cunt. Truthfully, my husband actually does the shaving as I sit back like a whore (loving every sordid moment). But lately I have wanted to see how hairy it could get, so we both agreed to let it grow out. My cunt hair is now long – well over three inches, and very thick (I guess shaving it regularly causes it to grow back thicker?). With my growing cunt hair panties now make me sweat all the quicker, and I cannot stand it. So I was "sans" panties and bra, wearing a halter top, my tits jiggling, and I needed to piss badly.

I kept walking, looking for any signs of life, and a discreet place to pee. Finally, I spotted a large tree, and ran to it. I looked around and couldn’t see anyone. So I stripped my shorts off, and squatted. Ahh. The instant relieve. Damn, I had no paper. My cunt lips were dripping and I had nothing to use. I looked around and saw some leaves. Ah well, beggars can’t be choosers, I thought, and wiped my cunt with some soft leaves. I redressed and continued up the path.

I was cursing my own stupidity, and stubbornness when I came to a clearing. On the opposite side of the clearing stood a neat little house. I was instantly cautious, and frightened. I know I took the path to find someone, but now that I had, I was beginning to regret my foolishness.

Suddenly, the door opened and a man came out. He wasn’t seven feet tall and four hundred pounds like you have nightmares about. In fact he was quite small, probably 5’ 7" and off average build. He seemed harmless enough, as he made his way towards me.

"Hello," he said. "Can I help you? Are you lost?"

"Hi," I replied politely. "I’m sorry to disturb you, but I got a flat tire down on the road, and my cell phone won’t work. Do you have a phone so I can get some help, please?"

"Maybe I can help," he offered. "I am quite good around cars."

"No thanks," I said, still wary. "I think I need to get a tow truck. The car is sitting on a lot of soft soil, and I don’t think it would be safe to try and jack it up there."

I had no reason to suspect anything. He was charming, and soft spoken, and appeared very calm and friendly.

"If I could just use your phone, then I’ll return to my car," I said cautiously.

"Oh, ok," he answered with a smile. "Come in."

I followed him into his house. The inside was as charming and neat as the outside. He indicated me to follow him through the living room and then kitchen, into another room, where I assumed the phone was. But when I got into the other room, he turned and hit me.

He hit me hard. He punched me. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t knock me out, and I didn’t fall to the ground either. But I was shocked and momentarily stunned. Before I could react he hit me again. This time a huge swinging fist connected to my cheek. I went down . . . and out!

When I awoke I was in a room without any windows. The walls were rough hewn from soil, and supported by several beams. Was this a room of a basement, dug into the soil, or a room dug outside in the ground? There was a large light bulb burning in a socket, and I was naked. I was also tied to a big steel bed. My arms above my head, and my legs spread eagle.

I felt sick, and my whole head ached. I used my tongue to feel my lips, and was very surprised that I didn’t have at least a split lip. But my jaw ached something hellish. My tits also hurt, and I looked down and saw several red welts. What the fuck? A hand, A belt? What had happened?

Christ, my cunt was hurting too. What the fuck had that little bastard done to me? I couldn’t see, nor could I even isolate the pain I felt, but I knew he had been "down there" too.

The room, and the house was in total silence. I couldn’t hear a damn thing.

I knew immediately I was in serious trouble. No one, and I mean no one, knew where I was. I was probably 50 or more miles from my intended route. I was in an isolated part of the country. I was shit scared. I felt my bowels start to loosen, and was desperate not to soil myself.

I lay there sobbing quietly, wondering what was going to happen. The bastard. The weak bastard. The fucking weak little bastard. I was starting to get angry, despite my panic.

I lay there for what seemed forever, but must have only been a short time. I don’t recall passing out again, and I don’t think I hallucinated or anything like that. I knew there was no point yelling out,. Fuck, I was at least a half mile from the road, or further. I knew the whole area around the house was totally dense with trees. Why waste my energy? I would need all of my inner strengths for later on.

What could I do?

Suddenly the door opened and he walked in. He was naked and erect. Although small of stature, he possessed a huge cock. Easily 8 inches and thick. He was very erect.

He also carried a belt, and some fluid in a glass.

"Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck do you think you are doing?" I screamed at him.

At that he put the glass down, and raised the belt. The first stinging slap across my tits forced the breath out of my mouth.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," he snarled. "You’re Peter’s bitch now, and Peter says what goes. Got it?" he said as he whipped me a second time. My whole body ached, and I cried out in terror and pain.

He then walked over to me and pulled hard on my left nipple. He pulled the damned nipple so hard I screamed. His hand inched down over my belly to my cunt, and he grabbed a handful of my thick bush and yanked.

"Listen, bitch, Peter is gonna do you all and any way Peter wants, as often as Peter wants. Don’t even think bout anything else but Peter. Got it?" he snarled again as he slapped my spread eagle cunt hard.

He then started to jerk his cock off, and very quickly shot his seed all over my face. I closed my eyes and cried. But he wasn’t through with me yet. I felt his rough hands again and leant up to see him nuzzle into my cunt. I felt his hot breath on my cunt as he spat and licked and bit at me.

"Ah," he said. "Peter sure do like to suck a wet cunt. Mmm you smell nice. Later Peter is gonna fuck you raw. You’ll love Peter and Peter’s cock. Now shut the fuck up, bitch, or Peter’ll rip your fucking tits off and make you eat them."

And he was gone. But before he locked the door, he turned off the light. I was now lying in total darkness.

My tits ached. My cunt ached. My whole body screamed in pain. I felt his cum drip down across my face and try as much as I could, I couldn’t prevent most of it slipping into my mouth. I thought I would vomit, but I resolved not to, and simply licked up as much as possible. Hell, I had drunk enough cum to know it wasn't going to hurt me (too much, I hoped).

What could I do?

Minutes later (I am sure it was only a few minutes, I am) he returned. Still carrying the belt, still naked, his cock still offensively erect. His knob was purple and every vein in his cock was bulging. He turned on the light and came straight to me. This time I was smart enough not to challenge him. I would try my hardest to be as acquiescent as possible. I didn’t know how, but I was determined to be docile at all costs.

He reached out with a surprisingly soft hand and stroked my left tit. He was very gentle, and I was relieved. But instantly he slapped my tit hard and it stung. He then slapped my open cunt again, and I cried out. As soon as I cried out he punched me hard in the stomach. This time I did vomit. Only flem, but I couldn’t stop it.

"You little bitch whore," he said. "Peter will teach you." Then he brought the strap down across my tits hard again. I felt the welts rise. My tits were screaming in agony, and I vomited again. Still only flem.

His hands alternated from being soft and gentle to stinging tools of pain.

I felt his hand reach below my waist again and this time he roughly stuck two or three fingers into me. Oh my god, I wanted to scream, but I was too frightened too. He stood there fingering my dry cunt hard. I was absolutely in agony in every part of my body. He kept finger fucking me and started stroking his cock at the same time. My cunt screamed each time his fingers went in, and he pushed harder each time. I was on fire.

"Listen up, you little slut. The rules are simple. Peter is gonna cum in a few seconds. Into your open, waiting, cunt of a mouth, or Peter is gonna hurt you so badly, you will pray for death. Do you understand?"

Oh god, yes I understood. I wasn’t about to let him hurt me unnecessarily, and was resolved to do as he asked. I managed to nod my head once, before he jerked twice and aimed his hot seed at my mouth. I did manage to open my mouth and get most of it, but obviously I didn’t get enough because he slapped my face hard, and then he slapped my tits again.

"You cunt!" he screamed. "You filthy fucking cunt! Peter said all of it. Peter meant all of it." And he proceeded to use his fingers to push the cum from my face into my mouth. Roughly. "Suck Peter’s cock seed now you bitch," he screamed. Then he slapped me several times again, then turned, switched the light off, and was gone.

Oh my god. What on earth could I do? Nothing! I was already thinking whether I should resist him or not. My mind was reeling, and my body was in total pain.

No sooner had I settled than he was back again. This time he just pushed open the door, spat at me and left.

I slept. I know I slept. When I awoke whatever cum was still on my face had crusted. How long I slept I didn’t know. There were no windows in the room. I couldn’t tell night from day. I hurt everywhere.

My tits hurt, my cunt hurt. My face hurt. My whole fucking body was in agony.

He came back again. Suddenly the lights went on, with a sharp pain in my eyes. I couldn’t shield my eyes from the harsh light. And this time he mounted me. He walked around to the bottom of the bed, and got on, pushing my legs further apart. Oh god, no, I silently prayed.

He got into position, and I felt his cock at my cunt lips. He just pushed and pushed until he was in, and he lay on top of me. I could smell his fetid breath, I could feel his breath. He grunted and started fucking me. Hard. All the while cursing me and yelling obscenities at me.

He was fucking me so hard I thought he might tear me. He stopped only occasionally to slap my tits or pull my nipples. I wondered how long he would keep fucking me. He was hurting me. Love making is supposed to be fun. This was sheer torture.

Finally, he came, and I felt his warm seed explode inside me. I cried in relief, and shame.

He grunted as he got off me and came around to my head.

"Listen closely, bitch," he snarled. "You are gonna suck Peter’s cock clean right now. And Peter warns you. Don’t even think bout trying to bite Peter’s cock off, because if you even nick Peter’s cock with your teeth, you won’t have any teeth left, and Peter will stick each tooth up your cunt with his fingers – one by one."

He then pushed his cunt covered cock into my mouth. I wanted to vomit again, but knew there was nothing left to even dry-reach up. I sucked at his cock, and gagged, and sucked more, and gagged more, but kept sucking. He finally withdrew and I watched his cock shrink. In, I don’t know how many hours, this was the first time I had seen him flaccid.

What he did next was beyond intrusive. It was beyond offensive. What he did next was humiliating and totally uncalled for. He pissed in my mouth! He aimed his cock and let off a stream of hot, yellow, salty piss. He stopped and started pissing each time my mouth filled, and he didn’t even need to speak. I knew I was supposed to drink it. And I did. I hadn't surrendered completely, yet, but I was already past fighting.

He turned, left again, and of course, switched off the light before closing the door.

My cunt was on fire, my tits in agony, and now he had violated me.

This was just not happening to me. It couldn’t be.

I had read enough to guess he was systematically torturing me. And that he was trying to wear me down at the same time. My arms were starting to hurt with the lack of circulation. My fingers tingled.

And there was nothing I could do about it, I was sure, except remain alert, and try to prevent him hurting me too much.

I cried and cried, and finally, I guess, I slept.

He awoke me. I didn’t hear the door open, I didn’t even feel the burning of the light in my eyes until he woke me.

"Here, bitch," he growled, "eat." And he passed me some bread. I was starving and ate eagerly. I nearly vomited, and all he did was laugh. He was still naked, but not erect. And as he stood watching me eat (he had to, he was holding the food), he stroked his flaccid cock. As I finished eating he finally picked up the glass he had carried in, god knows how many hours earlier, and made me drink. Water! What a relief. I was beginning to think all sorts of thoughts.

He sat beside me on the bed and started to stroke my tits again. There was no rest for this animal. "If you are a good bitch, Peter might like you," he said. "Peter likes playing with you."

"Peter . . . " I started quietly, slowly. "Peter . . . you know you can untie me." I said.

"Nah," was all he said. No beating. No abuse, but he grew quiet, and his eyes started to dart around the room. Oh, fuck!

I tried again. "Peter . . . I promise I won’t run away. My arms are sore. Please undo my arms. Please."

At that he slapped my face, and laughed. Then he stood, and hit me again. This time a slap to my tits. Oh my god, I couldn’t stand it. But he was going to hurt me, I just knew it. He then slapped at my cunt. The way he had me tied I couldn’t close my legs, and I was eternally spread-eagled for him. My cunt was fully open, and unprotected. He slapped that special place of mine again, and I felt the vomit rise, but managed to control it.

"Peter no like you now," he said. "Peter was gonna let you be his toy, but Peter think he just eat you up, like the others." And he stood and was gone again.

Oh my god! I screamed. Eat me? As in food?? Like the others??? What others???? I screamed, and screamed, and just kept screaming.

I know I should have read more books, and maybe then I might know more about what he was doing to me, but I do recall that lot’s of people have talked about how hostages are treated. I just couldn’t remember. Fuck, I could not remember.

The door re-opened, and he stood there. He looked at me for a few minutes, and closed the door. Leaving me alone again.

I felt my arms hurt more, and knew eventually that I would be in trouble from lack of circulation. I had to get him to release my arms, I had to.

Again the door opened, and again he just stood there. I couldn’t hide my nudity, I couldn’t protect my naked body from him. I wasn’t ashamed of my body, but I was vulnerable. He just stood, staring. He started to masturbate his cock into life, and I wondered how often he could come in one day. Most men can get an erection easily enough, but few can ejaculate repeatedly, on command, so to speak.

As his cock sprang back to life, he walked towards me. He was licking his lips, and looking at me as he walked over to the bed.

He got to the foot of the bed and lowered his head, and started to lick me. He was fucking licking me, and I was repulsed. Slowly he licked up my left leg, until just short of my cunt, then he licked my right leg. Then he walked to the head of the bed and licked my right arm down to my armpit, and then leant over and licked my left arm in a similar way. He then leant to my belly and started to lick circles around my belly, going up to, but stopping at, my breasts, and down to, but also stopping at, my pubic hair.

He was stroking himself the whole time, but although his cock was no longer small, he could not get a full erection. Finally, he spat at me and walked out.

I was trembling, and absolutely terrified.

He returned almost immediately holding the belt. Oh no, I thought, and closed my eyes in fear.

The first stinging hit was across my upper legs, and the second across my arms. He then struck my breasts fully several times, and each time I screamed louder. He stopped, and I opened my eyes to see his cock fully erect again. Oh no, he needed my pain to get erect.

He then went to the bottom of the bed again, and started to stroke my hairy pubes. He lowered his head and started to bite and nibble at my cunt lips, and started pressing his fingers into my hole again. I couldn’t help it, I was getting wet. He was stimulating me. Nothing I could do, including fear, would prevent nature from taking it’s course. The more he bit, and licked, and fingered me, the quicker my natural juices flowed.

Then as he was violently fingering me he stopped, and I felt him part my ass cheeks. I screamed, but he didn’t stop. I felt him push two cunt soaked fingers into my butt. He had finally violated all three of my holes, and he was just beginning. He roughly, and quickly started fingering my asshole, and his cock was getting harder. He took his two fingers out of my ass, and sucked them. Oh no, I was nearly sick just watching. He saw me wince, and put his fingers back into my ass. He fucked me again, and took his fingers out, and walked towards me.

I knew what he was going to do. I just new. I also knew I wouldn’t, couldn’t, but I also knew I had too. He pushed his two ass-covered fingers into my mouth and, without saying a word, watched me suck his fingers. I vomited, again. This time food came up, and I cried.

He slapped my face hard, and laughed, and left.

Now my ass was stinging too.

He returned immediately, and without a word, or any preamble, he went straight to the end of the bed. He climbed onto the bed, and forced my ass up into the air, and forced my legs apart further. He stabbed at me a couple of times with his cock, but eventually he found his mark. He was fucking my ass. He must have gone out to get some lubricant, or something, because his cock slid in with little resistance, and he was now fucking my ass. I was screaming and crying, but he was laughing and fucking me harder and harder.

As he fucked my ass, his hands were pawing over my entire body, pulling and clawing at my tits, groping at my pubic hair, inserting into my cunt. And like the last fuck he suddenly stopped and got off he bed.

I knew what was going to happen, I knew the minute he fucked my ass. I knew without fail that he was going to cum in my mouth, again, and I knew I could not stop him. Yes, that’s what he did.

He pushed his cock into my mouth, and I started to suck him, and lick his cock. I was beyond caring. I knew there was probably pieces of shit on his cock, and fuck knows how many other germs, but I knew he would hurt me badly if I refused, or tried to hurt him, so I let him fuck my mouth. He was fucking my mouth with his (ass covered) cock, and I was trying as hard as possible not to get hurt any further.

I felt him shudder, and his hot seed hit the roof of my mouth. He kept his cock in my mouth and I continued sucking him. I tasted his seed, and anything else on his cock, and I swallowed it all.

Even when he went flaccid, he kept his cock in my mouth, and simulated fucking me. Then, predictably, he pissed in my mouth. I nearly gagged, but he stopped and started again, and again, I swallowed most of it. I no longer cared. Let him use me as a toilet, I didn’t care. Fuck, let him shit on me – why not? I was beyond caring. As long as I could walk away from this eventually, then I could put up with anything he did!

When he finally finished pissing he stood and staggered away from me. I closed my eyes and sobbed. I 'felt' him watching me, and slowly I stopped sobbing. I opened my eyes to see him standing there, stroking his cock, and pulling his own nipples.

"Peter likes you," he said, as he turned and left, leaving the door open.

I howled. I needed to piss now, and more. I was so ashamed. If I soiled myself what would he do, and I knew I couldn’t hold it in indefinitely. My mouth tasted like a sewer. My hair was matted from his cum, and piss. My pubic area stung, and was matted and dried juices were caked over my cunt and ass. My whole body screamed in agony, especially my tits.

He came back in immediately, carrying a cardboard box. What now, I silently shrieked. He put the box on the bed between my open legs, so I couldn’t see what was in it. He took two plastic clothes pegs from the box, and quickly and painfully clipped one to each of my nipples. More pain, and I couldn’t help screaming. They weren’t normal plastic clothes pegs, but smaller, with tighter springs, and I could feel them bite into my nipples..

Then he removed a large dildo, at least 10 inches long and over 2 inches thick. I just groaned, and closed my eyes for the assault that I knew was imminent. He placed the dildo between my legs, knob facing my cunt, and went back to his box. He took out a large knife. Oh Fuck, I screamed again, and he put that on the bed next to the dildo. Next out of the box was a tube of lubricant. Then more small clothes pegs, some tape, and . . .

Finally he took out a large "unity type" candle, easily three inches across, and he looked at me calmly.

I screamed, and then fainted!

* * * * *

The last thing I remembered before the water hit me was the 3 inch unity candle.

Did I fall faint again? What happened? I didn’t have time to think. The water jolted me awake!

I got soaked head to foot with a powerful jet of freezing cold water. My face, my hair, my body, my cunt, everything was soaked! I started screaming all over again, and now I was lying on a wet mattress.

I was freezing cold, and in total pain. The water had stung at the welts on my body caused by the belt, and his hands. My face and neck were stinging, and my body wanted to revolt. My hands were still tied tightly, and I pulled and pulled to get some sort of release.

Nothing I did seemed to work, but wait . . . I thought I felt some ‘give’ in my restraints?

"Slow down," I said to myself. "Don’t get excited. It might be your mind playing tricks." But try as I might, I couldn’t get over the idea that I might have loosened the bindings. Somehow?

I lay back in the total darkness, shivering uncontrollably, as the cold water, and the cold mattress seeped into my body. "Take you time," I heard myself say, out loud this time, the fucker could hear me all he wanted too, I decided.

I pulled my hands again. YES, YES, OH YES, sweet Jesus, yes, I felt the binds definitely start to slip. I wasn’t imagining it, this time. I now had nearly 6 inches more movement, in my right arm. How? Why?

The water? Did the water jet somehow loosen the binds? I never did look at how, or what, bound my hands. I never gave it any thought, and now I was silently cursing myself for not taking notice. I knew there was only one way to get out of this mess, and I knew exactly who was gonna help me. ME. There was no one else around, and if I didn’t gather my inner strength, then I was going to end up like the . . . “others”.

I tried to keep my mind from thinking about the “others”, but my mind was running on stress. Did he have others? How many? What happened to them? Did he really kill, maim, or both?

I took a deep breath. My ribs hurt, but I ignored it. I tried the ropes again. Yes, they slackened more. Why? I don’t know, and frankly my dear, as someone once said, I didn’t give a damn. I was more worried the prick might come back, and I was equally worried how much of the ropes I could undo, before he came back. I knew it was inevitable that he would come back, but when.

I didn’t have a clue how long I had been in this room, and I didn’t know what time it was, but I knew from my stomach pains, that I was desperately hungry, so I was figuring at least 10 hours or so. That meant it was now around, or after, midnight. Had he left me and gone to bed? Was he listening at the door?

Was it just my imagination, or were the ropes loosening? I tried my left arm, and yes, it also gave more slack. Did the water have anything to do with this? I didn’t care, and in total darkness, concentrated more on trying to release myself, than worrying about why it was possible.

A noise! What was that? Oh fuck. I sat holding my breath for what seemed like hours, listening to my heart bang away. Nothing, I let out my breath. Phew.

Back to the ropes. Were the ropes slipping in their knots? Did the water have something to do with this? "Come on," I told myself, "Stop worrying and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth."

I kept manipulating the ropes, and finally I had over 12 inches of slack in my right arm, and nearly as much with my left arm. I could actually touch my head. Thank you God, I sincerely said, for the first time in many a year.

Another noise, and I started to cry. No, no, no. Oh god, no, please. I am so close. But I couldn’t hear anymore.

"Stop!" I told myself firmly. "Girl, you aren’t going anywhere unless you stop panicking."

Was I actually talking to myself out loud? For all I knew I was. The room was so deathly silent, that I didn’t know if I was listening to my mind, or my voice. If it was my voice, it sounded different, but if it was my mind, did I really know how the ‘voice’ in my mind sounded?

If I could just get the ropes looser by another 6 inches each, I might be able to work on the knots with my fingers. Slowly, ever so slowly, I kept pulling, but it was no use. Whatever had caused the ropes to slacken had stopped. Or had it?

I paused for another breath, and tried to think hard. If I knew why the ropes slackened off, I would be half way to solving the dilemma, but I was in total darkness, and unless I could get my hands to touch each ropes, it wouldn’t matter.

What a minute! I already had over 12, maybe even 15 inches of slack, in both arms. What if I tried my legs, what if the ropes holding my legs gave me some slack too, and then if I could scoot my butt up the bed, and get my hands closer to the top ropes? Why didn’t I think of that earlier?

I must have been at the ropes for hours, and the prick hadn’t returned. Was he asleep for the night? Since I had been here, he seemed to have come to me frequently, and it must have been at least two hours since he last came, if not more. Maybe he was asleep for the night. I remembered the isolation of his house. Was I in some sort of room in the basement, and he knew I couldn’t get out, and that no one could find me, would he be so relaxed as to leave me overnight?

I started to move my legs, and immediately I did, my cunt ached.

[Yes I told you, I call it my cunt. My word. Ok, yes he called me a cunt too, but he also called me a lot worse too. If he chooses to use that word as an offensive insult, then let him. To me, my cunt is, and always will be, my prized possession. Just because some jerk abuses the use of my special word, I can’t stop him, nor care to either.]

I stopped, breathed deep, and tried again. I pulled slowly on my left leg, feeling every muscle scream at me. Yes, I felt some give. Oh fuck, yes. Slowly, I pulled my leg some more, ignoring all of the screaming aches coming straight up my legs.

The rope did give, maybe 3 or 4 inches, but it did give. I pulled again, this time on my right leg. Yes, I felt some give there too. Slowly, now, I told myself, don’t rush.

In the total darkness, it felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, before I was able to swing both legs across an arc of at least 12 inches. I cried in relief. I sobbed and cried for many minutes.

I was exhausted. I ached all over my body. My throat hurt every time I swallowed (like I had sandpaper instead of skin down there), and my head was banging, but I didn’t give up.

I stopped crying finally, and then took my time, but did manage to finally move my ass up the soaking wet, freezing cold, mattress. I maybe managed to move it 8 or 10 inches, but as I stretched my fingers, I knew it was enough. I could touch my left hand, and the ropes there, with my right. Fucking hell, I laughed.

The hard part was next. In the total darkness, frightened to death that the asshole would return any time now, using my right hand, I started feeling for the knots on my left wrist. I found them, oh god, I found them.

Would I be able to undo one of them? That was the ask!

My arms were like bricks, and my total body was screaming at me, but my life depended on this next maneuver, I knew that!

I had read of how some mothers found superhuman strength, if their offspring were threatened. Could I hope for that sort of self-effort now?

I was free! Yes, I actually got the knot undone within minutes. It appeared (in the darkness, by touch only) to be a simple sort of slipknot. Was that why I was able to undo it, had the water somehow provided some slipping to the knots?

I started crying all over again.

Finally, I used my left hand to release my right, and for the first time in hours I was able to lower my arms. They were worse than lead weights. Every muscle screamed at me. I couldn’t stop crying, though.

My legs, I had to undo my legs. That took longer. I just couldn’t lift my body up. I was in too much pain. I struggled and struggled, but it was no use. I ended up laying there, for god alone knows how long, until I felt some circulation return to my upper body, then I tried again.

Yes, I got the ropes around my legs undone, and I swung my legs around of the bed. I was now sitting on the edge of the bed. Every part of me cried out in pain, and the tears wouldn’t stop flowing, but I was free!

No I wasn’t!

Fuck him. I was in total darkness, devoid of any knowledge of what was on the other side of the door, totally unknowing if, in fact, he was on the other side listening to me, waiting till I was free, before rushing back in to retie me up. Fuck.

Ok, I said to myself. What now? Yes, you’re free of the ropes, but still trapped. What is plan B?

As I was sitting up I felt around the bed. Oh fuck, yes the ‘toys’ he had brought in. The knife! I cautiously picked up the knife, and felt it’s edge. Very sharp.

Then I remembered the clothes pegs, and felt my tits. Fucking hell, the pegs were still clipped onto my nipples. No wonder my nipples were aching so much. I went to pull the pegs off . . . and stopped.

My survival, and eventual freedom, from this hellhole was the only thing on my mind. If I had to apply some trickery, or undergo some additional pain (on my terms) to deceive him into submission, then so be it. I had had the fucking tit clamps on for many hours already, and any pain I now felt was minor to all of my other aches. I just left them there.

The candle. My hand brushed against the fucking huge candle. At three inches or more across, what exactly did he plan to do with that, I wondered, and then shuddered? There was no way that that candle would fit up inside my cunt, or was my pain no consequence to him? Did he plan to drip candle wax all over me? The dildo, as my hands brushed over that, I understood all too clearly, and shuddered anew.

Ok, what was my plan of attack to be?

Simply, I had to retie myself up, and pretend I was still bound, then wait for the right opportunity to make my move. Sounded good, lol.

But in fact, I thought it was a great plan, or rather, I knew it was my only plan. The element of surprise was my only ally. If he thought I was as he had left me, and he was casual, or (better yet) careless, then I stood a good chance, a better than good chance, of escaping. And I had a few surprises I could use. He had offhandedly thrown the knife on the bed, near my legs. Had he done that to frighten me? Was he planning to use the knife immediately he returned? I didn’t think so. I was sure he planned to use me for as long as possible, using the knife only as a means to an end. I trembled . . . my end?

Ok, fucker, I though. When you return to the room, I am gonna be ready for you. My legs and hands ‘tied’ as you left me, the clothes pegs still in place (despite my pain), and the dildo pointing straight at my snatch, as placed by you. The candle will be indifferently left, where you dropped it, between my legs. If you notice the knife missing, I’ll take my chances. I don’t think you will, you dumb fuck. And where will the knife actually be? It will be under my head, hidden by my hair, just waiting. A good plan.

Ok, plan B is now in place. What now? I didn’t relish the notion of retying myself (however much of a trick it was) for a great length of time, if I could avoid it. It must be the middle of the night now, at least. Was he asleep? And if he was, how long would I need to lie there, in unnecessary pain, to carry out my plan? ALL FUCKING NIGHT IF FUCKING NECESSARY! I immediately told myself. Stop winging!

Ok, I heard myself. I knew a hot bath, or several, were a small price to pay for my life, but I delayed as long as I felt safe to do so.

How to retie myself? I knew I had to completely retie my legs, and accepted that. I had to, in case the ‘false’ knots slipped free. It was my hands I needed more, and I knew how to do them too. I would loop the ropes around my wrists, and ‘hold’ the ends of the ropes in my hands. In all the times he had been at me, he had never once checked the ropes, and I doubted he would now. This also meant I had nearly instant access to both hands when the time came.

I had just finished my legs, and left hand, and was now ‘securing’ my right hand when the light suddenly went on. Fuck, oh fuck. I was gonna get caught. But the door never opened? And I heard a phone ring!

A phone? I knew I had to get out of here.

I just managed to get my hands in place, and had only got my head lying back down, when he walked in. Instinctively, I started blinking my eyes, and turned my head slightly away from the light. If he thought the light was hurting my eyes (which it was), he might not look any closer.

"Hello bitch," He said, with a stupid look on his face, "Sleep well? Wanna play with Peter?"

To keep the allusion going, I blinked my eyes some more, feigning drowsiness, but said nothing to him.

He walked to my legs. Was he checking out his ‘toys’ from last night? As soon as he got there he started slapping me, and laughing stupidly. Then he climbed on the bed, and went straight to my cunt. He picked up the dildo, looked at it, then threw it back on the bed.

Then he stuck his cock into me. No warning, no preparation. Geez, that fucking hurt. He was pushing and pushing, but this time my cunt was dried up. He was obviously getting frustrated, but instead of venting his rage, he simply lowered his head and started spitting and nibbling on me


I slipped my hands out, and grabbed for the knife. Working with all of my remaining strength, I raised my upper body and started blindly stabbing at his head and back. I felt the blade hit something, and without waiting for results I withdrew and replunged the blade, over and over.

As he started to stagger, I slashed the ropes around my legs, lifted them and pushed his whole body off the bed.

I saw him land in a crumpled heap, and still didn’t stop. Then with a lung-filled scream, I used my last remaining strength to jump off the bed, onto him, and still I kept using the knife.

He finally went totally quiet. Was he pretending? Was he dead? Frankly, I didn’t care.

I slipped off him, and sank to the floor beside him. I was crying and screaming.

My plan actually worked, or did it? Fuck, I had to be sure. I knew I could rest later, and I knew if I was careless now, I wouldn’t have to worry about later. I crawled over to him, and checked him. I pushed the point of the knife at his cock, and then his balls. I pushed again to be sure. If he was pretending, I knew he couldn’t ignore that. Nothing. No movement.

But still I couldn’t rest. I staggered to my feet, and walked out of the door. I was in another small room, leading out to a basement. I saw the sink, and washed my face, and took a long drink. Then I looked around a bit more. This room, or rooms actually, appeared to be built off the basement, and then hidden behind some sort of fancy door.

I took another drink, and wet my face again. My whole body ached, and I finally pulled the damned pegs off my tits. Shit, they screamed at me when I released them. I threw the damned things back into the dungeon room I had just left. Then I saw some more rope, and grabbed it, and returned to my tormentor.

I had to make sure he couldn’t wake and hurt me, and I had to make sure he couldn’t use his male strength to deceive me. The only way I could think to do that, was to tie HIM to the bed. It took me several agonizing minutes, but I finally got him onto the bed.

He was heavy, and I know I popped some muscles, but I got him there. Now what? I grabbed the rope I brought in, looked closely at it, then proceeded to tie him up, very securely. No slipknots from me, I made sure I double, and even triple knotted, every strand.

I gave his body a quick look over, and he seemed to have about 15 stab wounds, all around his head and shoulders, apart from one in the top of his leg. Fuck him, let him bleed to death, as long as I had him securely tied, I didn’t care.

When I knew he was secure, and definitely not going anywhere, I slumped to the floor. What now? I supposed I should get dressed, but didn’t even know where my clothes were, and I guessed I should ring the cops, but in all truthfulness I didn’t even know where I was, let alone give them directions to find me.

As far as getting dressed, I decided that wasn’t my immediate worry. The fucker had seen all there was to see several times over, now wasn’t the time to worry about my vanity.

Food, water, and help were my main priorities, then clothes, when time permitted.

I left him tied up, bleeding slowly, and went out to the basement, after locking the room door. Yes, I was in a dungeon type room off from the basement, and it seemed like quite an elaborate setup.

I climbed the stairs to the main house slowly, feeling all my aches and pains. Once on the main floor, I slowly, but systematically started searching the whole house. I came across his bedroom almost immediately, and rummaged through his clothes drawers. I found a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, which I took with me.

Then I made my way to the kitchen, and started looking in the drawers, and fridge. I took some cold meat from the fridge, smelled it, then put it back. I wasn’t thinking about humans, but I wasn’t sure how fresh anything was, and decided only to eat packaged food. I found an unopened packet of crackers and devoured them all, standing naked in his kitchen. After eating I searched his house more.

I found the bathroom. Did I dare have a shower, I asked myself? Yes, was the cacophonous reply from my mind, and I stepped into the shower, and stood under the steaming water. That felt good, and I stood silently, unmoving for almost 20 minutes. Finally, as the water started getting cold, I got out, dried, and put on the clothes I had taken.

That felt better, the t-shirt was loose enough not to hurt the welts I had all over my body, and it also provided enough decency for me for now. The shorts were a good fit, surprisingly, but I didn’t give it any further thought.

I covered the whole house, and found nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, the house was spotless clean, and fresh.

Walking around, I felt my body respond, and I was slowly working the kinks out. I was always reasonably fit, and despite being tied up for at least a day, I was coping well. The clock on the wall said 3:12. I had been a prisoner for over 24 hours.

The phone, where was the phone? I looked around everywhere, but could not find a phone. Fuck! He had a phone, or he said he did. It had to be here somewhere? No matter how hard I searched, I still couldn’t see a phone, or even a wall plug, that a phone might plug into.

Later, I thought, I’ll look again later. I had more searching to do. I went out the door, and stood in the same place I had stood the day before. Everything looked so peaceful and tranquil, not real.

Where was my car? Ah yes, down by the road. But no, I had a feeling he would have brought it up here, away from prying eyes. I saw the barn/shed, and went to look there. The door was unlocked, and I went in.

No car. The only thing in the garage was a small truck, attached to a trailer, and a motor cycle.

Where had he put my car?

I went back into the house, and started looking for a phone again. Nope. I went through every room, on my hands and knees, moving every piece of furniture, but no phone. He had to have a phone, every one did. I heard it ringing, didn’t I?

I went back down the stairs to the basement, unlocked the door, and I stepped in.

He was awake, and blubbering like a baby.

"Peter sorry if Peter hurt cun . . . uh, pretty lady. Peter no do it anymore, honest." He looked pathetic.

I walked over to him, and slapped him across the face. He yelped.

"Listen up, fucker," I said, "I couldn’t care less how . . . Peter feels. I feel violated, and I won’t take any more shit from you. Got it?" I said, as I slapped him again.

He blubbered more, and started sobbing.

"Where’s the phone?" I asked firmly.

Still sobbing, he looked up at me and said nothing. If he was trying to be defiant, or strong, thinking I didn’t have it in me to be as cruel as he, then he was sorely wrong.

He was worse than pathetic. I hit him again, and he cringed away from me.

"I won’t ask again, you little turd. Tell me now where I can find the phone, or I’ll really hurt you."

Still he said nothing. I waited patiently until he stopped sobbing, and was composed, then I asked him again. "Where have you hidden the phone. I know you have one, I heard it, and you will tell me. Or I will hurt you very badly."

No words, but this time he did look up defiantly. "Fuck you," He finally said.

His cock had withered away to nearly nothing, and looked funny all shriveled up. I looked into his eyes, and then spat on his cock.

I really don’t know when the idea came into my head, honest, but I decided I wanted some payback.

"I told you I would hurt you. I gave you your chance, shitter, which is better than you gave me. Too late now. Prepare to feel pain, fuckwit," I said with venom rising in my words.

I looked around, and found the clothes pegs where I had thrown them. Why not have a little bit of fun, I thought sadistically, and picked up the pegs. I roughly clamped one, then the other, to his own nipples, and he let out a yelp of sheer pain. I laughed.

"Don’t bother speaking, asshole, I’m not gonna listen to anything you say," I said. "I’m gonna be too busy hurting you to listen now. You had your chance," and I spat on him again, this time his face. I had great satisfaction watching my spittle slide down his nose towards his mouth.

Then without warning, or alert, I slapped his cock. That got a response, he buckled up, and over (as much as the restraints permitted), and I saw real tears flood his eyes, as they nearly bulged out of his head. [Once, many years ago (I must have only been about 14), I was walking through a major store, swinging my arms, like a good marching girl, when I accidentally ‘clipped’ a young guy, walking behind me, right in the balls. He went down immediately, and lay there sobbing, clutching his balls, for over five minutes. I must have hit him in the balls just right, and it was the first time I really knew how delicate men’s balls were, lol.]

"Are you having fun yet, shit-for-brains?" I taunted him.

Without waiting for any answer, nor caring if he did answer, I punched the little fucker directly in the balls, and he screamed. Revenge is sweet (but revenge served cold is sweeter still). I hit him again, and then once more, and his face started to turn purple. I hoped he was in agony. I looked closely, and his balls seemed swollen. I picked up his cock, out of the way, and gave him one more mighty punch, straight to his balls. This time he passed out on me, lol. And this time his balls were definitely swollen.

I went and got some water (not using the hose. If that was how my bonds became loose, I wasn’t about to perpetuate stupidity), and I threw it over his face. He revived, and started sobbing all over again.

I lifted my hand to hit his cock, and balls, and his eyes bulged. Good. He was a quick learner. Instead, I turned and pulled hard on the ‘make shift’ tit clamps. I pulled both clamps at the same time, and he howled anew. I was enjoying this, and was going to give better than I received, if he didn’t tell me where the phone was.

I had left the knife in the small room, and went to retrieve it. I came back in holding the knife menacingly near his cock, and said, "Last chance, asshole. No more warnings. No answer, you lose your cock!"

Was I serious? Yes, I was very willing to castrate him, if I needed to; but I needed the phone first, so I knew (but hoped he didn’t) that I wouldn’t do that (yet).

I stood back, looking down on his scrawny body, shriveled cock, and swollen balls. His own nipples had started to bleed, and I knew he was hurting. The question was (well two questions actually), was I strong enough to really hurt him as I threatened, and conversely, how stupid was he willing to be to, to resist me?

Still nothing from him, so I took the knife, and picked up his cock in my hand. As I held his cock, I started stroking it, pulling my hand up and down the entire shaft, and like all dumb men, he started getting erect. I stroked his cock more, then lent forward and dripped some spittle on it, and he hardened more. I kept stroking him until he was fully erect, and I kept jerking his cock for a few minutes more, as he obviously was getting very excited.. When his cock was fully erect, I took the knife, without saying a word, or looking at him, and starting to slice slowly into his cock, about an inch above his shaved base. He bled like a stuffed pig, and screamed over and over. I sliced some more, and the blade was probably about an eighth of an inch in, when he yelled, "Laundry, you cunt. Look in the laundry, you fucking slut cunt. Behind the clothes hamper, you whore cunt." And then he passed out.

I didn’t look back. I ran up the stairs, energy renewed, straight to the laundry, and pulled the clothes hamper away from the wall. He was a crafty little shit. There in the wall was a small door, and as I opened the door, the phone.

I grabbed the phone, listened for a dial tone, and rang the police emergency number.

They listened in incredulous silence, as I briefly relayed my dilemma. No, I told them, I didn’t know where I was. Yes, I told them, a prisoner, Yes, tortured. Yes, I escaped, tied him up, and then used a knife to get the phone. Yes, Yes, Yes.

After what seemed an eternity, they told me to sit there, don’t hang up, in the house, and they would be there immediately.

I dropped the phone without hanging up, and started crying. Then I remembered my cold revenge notion. Right fucker, time for dessert!

* * * * *

I raced back down the stairs, knife still in hand, and he was lying there, looking at me.

I didn’t waste time, I didn’t dither. My aim was true, and my goal unswerving. I grabbed his still semi-erect cock, and . . .

I sliced the fucking thing off. I didn’t care about his shrieks. I tuned out to his howls. I ignored the spouting blood. I took his cock, and went to his head. Slowly, in front of his eyes (and he did watch my every move in total disbelief), I threw his cock straight at his mouth, laughing as I did. Let him think about that for a little while, I thought in calm disgust.

I turned and walked out. Glad it was all over.

anonymous readerReport

2011-11-28 02:35:08
Hah! Finally a story where the woman escapes and gets the police. This was frickin awesome. She showed that filthy pig - he deserved to have his dick cut off.

anonymous readerReport

2011-11-28 02:34:52
Hah! Finally a story where the woman escapes and gets the police. This was frickin awesome. She showed that filthy pig - he deserved to have his dick cut off.

Anonymous readerReport

2009-01-10 04:08:55
Finally a good ending, good job Lol

Anonymous readerReport

2008-11-03 19:52:20
The woman deserves to die for slicing another man's dick off!


2008-06-11 05:00:06
wow, id hate to have my cock sliced off, that part was fucked up!!!!

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