Her Request

byIndustrial_Bondage©

The story that follows is based on actual events; the facts are as accurate as I can recall them, changed only by the fondness of time. The names have been changed to protect the privacy of those who I have cared about. The events depicted herein were consensual and strictly role play; this story in no way condones violence against women.

My thanks to JtoHisPB for her services as a Beta Reader!


*

I put the truck in park and let my fingers drift through her hair. Her hands were bound behind her back; there was a strip of duct tape across her mouth. She was simpering; half on the seat, half off. I brushed the side of my hand against the soft skin of her cheek and watched as the rain danced across the windshield. How in the world had I ended up here?

It started simple enough. We were in a crummy little hangout in the basement of the student union; part short order diner, part coffee shop. There was a long haired man-boy on the carpeted dais reading something he considered poetry from a ratty old journal. I'd intended to have a seat by one of the windows and enjoy the sun while I ate, then I caught sight of Mary waiving to me and calling me over. I figured lunch with her and her friends was better than lunch alone any day.

I'd had a few classes with Mary and her running mates: Angie and Jill. The three were, like me, non-traditional students; they'd lived a few years out in the real world before they went to college. Mary was the oldest of the three, but still a good five years younger than me. She was confident, smart and sexy in a way that only an intellectual challenge can be. She was slightly shorter than I, thin and athletic despite having given birth, with breasts that were neither large nor small and rode high on her chest. Her disarming smile paled only when contrasted against her rich blue eyes; a mane of raven hair tumbled down around her face. Angie was a blonde, Jill a brunette of the classic features. Both had bodies similar to Mary's, though Jill's breasts were larger and she carried a few extra pounds. Neither of the three was hard to look at.

"You'd make an excellent rapist." Mary said as I was about to sit down.

To this day those words constitute the single most confusing sentence ever spoken to me. I froze; caught in the midst of the act of sitting. The three ladies were staring at me like gunk on a microscope slide. Each wore a devilish smile conceived at my expense.

"Excuse me," I asked, still not moving and feeling amazingly awkward.

"I think you'd make an excellent rapist," Mary repeated.

I'd heard her right. I didn't understand exactly how I was supposed to take it, but I'd heard it right. I finished sitting and said as much. "I'm not sure I know how to take that."

"I'm sorry," Mary smiled a closed lip smile; her hand moved to her hair and twirled a stray strand as she watched me squirm. "We had an... interesting discussion in psychology."

"About rapists?" I ignored my lunch and looked from one of them to the next. They were enjoying my discomfort a little too much.

"Sort of," Jill leaned in and stole one of my fries.

"We were discussing fetishes and fantasies," Mary added, stealing a fry herself --apparently stolen fries are carbohydrate free- "According to the case study, there are women who have rape fantasies." She slipped the fry between her lips teasingly.

"Dr. Thompson says they're pretty common, actually," Angie decided my fries were community property.

"And..." I asked, watching as Mary caressed the purloined fry with her full, red lips. I was at a complete loss. She was flirting with me, or at least acting very sexually forward, while discussing rape; or more to the point, my suitability to be a rapist. Not what I had expected when I'd approached their table. Not even in the same galaxy as what I expected.

"And," Mary rested her elbows on the table, using her upper arms to press her breasts together, magnifying her cleavage, "I think you'd make a great fantasy rapist, is all."

"That's a... good thing?" I asked, looking to Angie and Jill with my doubts clear on my face.

They nodded.

"You'd have to trust someone, really trust someone, to let yourself go and enjoy something like that." Angie answered.

"But the guy would have to be able to really sell it. You'd have to be able to believe that he could rape you." Jill added, and then stole another fry.

"You'd have to be able to believe that he'd hurt you, and know that he wouldn't, all at the same time." Mary added, finally finishing her fry.

"He'd have to be able to manhandle you," Jill added. I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, the other girls or her own fantasy.

"He'd have to be able to overpower you," Angie piped up.

"He'd have to be able overcome any resistance you offered," Jill added.

"He'd have to be a strong, scary boy scout." Mary summed it up.

"Yeah," Angie and Jill said at the same time. They seemed to have forgotten that I was sitting there.

"Where are you going to find one of those," Angie asked absently. She pouted a little, slumping in her chair.

"You never know," Mary answered. She was looking me right in the eye as she spoke. Her gaze was intense and it held mine with a demanding urgency. I lost myself in those ice blue eyes for as long as she cared to let me.

*

It was early the next week when I saw Mary next. She was sitting on a bench under a tree on the green enjoying the early spring sunlight as I crossed campus. She waived me over and I decided that lunch could wait. I slowly crossed the green and flopped down beside her. She closed her books and tucked them into her backpack as I sat.

"Hey," I smiled. She was beautiful in that 'girl next door' sort of way and I enjoyed watching the subtle ways she moved.

"Hey," she twisted in her seat, folding one shapely, bare leg underneath her so she could face me. "About the other day..." She started.

"Don't worry about it; I know you were jerking my chain." I chuckled and tried not to stare at her.

"What if I wasn't?" She asked after a pregnant pause. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. She leaned in toward me as she spoke, "What if I meant every word of it?"

I gave her a blank look that I regret to this day.

"When Dr. Thompson started talking about it, I admit, I thought it was a little strange," she squirmed slightly. "But then, well," she absently played with her hair, "Well, let's just say that the image of being violated... used..." She shuddered and blushed.

"You're serious." I watched her closely. Her breasts we rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breaths.

"Yeah," she spoke softly. "And... Well, I think you could make it happen for me," she added, looking at me from under her bangs.

I must have frowned or otherwise prodded her to explain more. I didn't say a word, but she knew I was still not getting it.

"I think it would be so... intense," she sputtered --choked- on the personal pronoun, "I trust you and I believe that you could make me feel like it was real." She watched me intently. The hope that she wouldn't have to spell it out further was clear on her face.

She didn't have to. "Wait," I finally realized, "Are you saying that you'd like me to-"

She put her index finger on my lips and nodded.

I looked at her for a long moment. The silence was heavy between us; almost too late I realized that I'd better say something before she became embarrassed and fled the situation, sweeping my chance to bed along in her wake. "Tell me what you have in mind."

"I don't want to know," she leaned in conspiratorially. "I want to believe that I've made a terrible choice; that I'm at risk of real pain, of being seriously hurt. I want all the fear and adrenaline without the down side of a real assault. I want you to ravage me."

I'd been involved in the BDSM community for a couple of years but this was different. This wasn't a woman who wanted to submit or even be dominated in the strictest sense of the word. This was a woman that wanted to be used, violated; raped... I pictured her writhing beneath me, her clothes ripped, her flesh racked by my rough grip; my cock twitched and I obeyed. "Alright, but on one condition."

"Name it," she said eagerly.

"After I do this, you spend a weekend with me," I dropped my own tone, "with me, not your rapist."

"Done," she smiled.

*

I didn't speak to her again for nearly two weeks; avoiding her as I worked out the staging of her request in a manner that she wasn't likely to expect. I was concerned that maybe I was being too detailed in my plan, but how often is one asked by a beautiful woman to be her rapist? If she could trust me with her fantasy the least I could do was make it great for her.

"Two things," I cut her off when she answered the phone. She didn't speak, just listened. "First, ever heard of a safe word?"

"No."

"No matter how many times you say 'No', 'Stop', 'Please don't', I won't stop. If it were real, your attacker wouldn't stop because you said no. If you really want it to stop you'll have to say Raven."

"Why Raven?" She asked.

"I figure your daughter's name is the last thing you're likely to cry out during sex."

"Good point."

"Second, do you know the park-and-ride south of the hospital?"

"Yeah."

"After you drop Raven with her Dad on Friday, change and be over there by 7:30. Park and wait. When I get there you'll know what to do. If you're still up for it, just play along."

*

Three days later I was sitting in my pick-up in the parking lot of a lumber yard that offered me a great view of the well lit park-and-ride. At 7:20 she pulled into the lot; early, a good sign. She found a parking spot beneath one of the lights and pulled into it. I let her sit there until the clock showed 7:30. I pulled out of the lumberyard and drove down the access road to the small lot she was sitting in. I parked in front of her and got out; walking casually up to the driver's side of her car.

I knocked on her window. She rolled it down.

"Having car trouble?" I asked.

She looked at me, confused for a moment, then her face changed. "Yeah, it won't start."

"Not a great place to be sitting alone this time of night." I looked around the lot then back at her. "Can I give you a lift someplace?"

"I don't know," she replied, "I really shouldn't."

"You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have offered." I apologized, right in character. "Can I call someone for you?"

"No... Damn it," she smacked the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. "My folks are out of town and my ex wouldn't lift a finger to help me."

"I would take a look at it, but I need to get to work." I sugared the moment, "Are you sure I can't drop you somewhere? I hate to leave you out here."

She made a face as if she were thinking it over, "Sure. One of my girlfriends lives pretty close. You can drop me off there; if you don't mind?"

"Not a problem," I backed away from her door, "Make sure you lock it up, if you want your stereo to be there when you come back."

I went around my truck and got into the passenger side, unlocking the door for her as she approached. She slid into the car and I dropped it in gear as she was fumbling with her seat belt.

"Where to?" I asked as we rolled into the dark end of the park-and-ride.

"Make a right out of the lot and-," she started. I cut her off by driving my elbow sharply into the bridge of her nose. She was dazed, too shocked by the violence of the moment to even cry out. Her hands lingered at her sides and her eyelids fluttered against the brilliant white light I knew was blinding her. I hit the brakes hard and she learned the importance of seat belts as she slammed into the dashboard of the Dodge.

She was dazed, on her knees in the floorboard; thrown from the seat by the sudden stop. I snatched her by the hair and drug her partially back onto the seat. She choked on a shocked gasp at the pain. More than a little concerned about how this would look if a police officer should happen along; I pulled the zip tie out from behind the sun visor and grabbed her wrists, binding them together. Rougher than necessary, I pushed her back into the passenger side floorboard; her legs bent sharply under her, her knees pressed into the clutter of ice scrapers and hand tools that always seemed to roll around there.

Knotting my fist in her hair I lifted her face to me; I mashed the strip of duct tape I'd left hanging from the dash board over her mouth. Her hair still tight in my grasp I pulled her head into my lap; she crept onto the seat, half on, half off, laying flat beside me. She whimpered pitifully as I leaned in close to her ear. "Do you remember how to make it stop?"

She nodded her head, almost imperceptively.

"We're going to have some fun," I whispered to her, satisfied, "If you want to live, be quiet."

She nodded, moving her head ever so slightly. I never took my hand from her hair as I took my foot off the brake pedal and we pulled out of the parking lot; headed north, out toward the lake.

My uncle had a small cabin that he used for weekend getaways. It was far from the road set back in a thick patch stretch of woods on the river. A little white lie about the stress of Finals Week scored me the keys and a promise of a weekend to myself to decompress. It was the perfect place to play out the scene Mary wanted. The little shack sat well back from the shoreline and there was a small outbuilding and a dock where my uncle tied up his boat when he had it in the water.

I pulled into the clearing at the side of the cabin. Mary simpered softly, shifting awkwardly on her perch. It had started raining about thirty minutes into the trip and the heavy cloud cover choked out even the moonlight. I let her hair sift through my fingers like sand then brushed the calloused side of my hand against her cheek before I got a new, tighter grip on her hair. Switching the engine off, I opened the door and slid out of the truck. My hand in her hair I drug her after me. She screamed behind the duct tape; it was a muffled cry of pain as I yanked hard at the roots of her hair and the reality of the situation hit her.

"Move your ass, bitch," I growled, thrusting her in front of me. I tucked her purse under my arm and kicked the truck door closed and pressed her toward the outbuilding.

She stumbled on the rocky ground, tripping and almost going to the ground. I yanked against her hair, hauling her to her feet as she cried, sobbed, against the pain. She fought to keep her footing as I relentlessly pushed her forward. I felt her shoulders shake through a series of heavy sobs as I opened the padlock on the outbuilding and then shoved her through the open door.

Inside I threw her violently to the dirty wooden floor; she cried out again as she hit hard. Her purse landed a few feet from her. I closed the door behind us and felt around for the lantern, fumbling in the dark for my lighter and finally getting the wick lit. The warm yellow light filled the little building to bursting. She looked up at me from the floor, her makeup was smeared and her eyes were red. She'd been crying since I hit her and I was afraid I'd hit her too hard.

I knelt beside her, grabbed her by the hair and lifted her face to me. With a sudden snatch I ripped the duct tape from her lips. She cried out. There was a trickle of blood from her lip where the tape had torn it.

"Please," she said, her voice horse from crying, "don't hurt me."

"Please don't hurt me," I mocked her, roughly undoing her belt with my free hand.

She squirmed against me, kicked out with both feet. I straddled her legs at the knees to keep her in control; my hand still in her hair. She continued to thrash beneath me as I tried to undo her belt.

"Lay still," I barked and then slapped her across the face. She shook beneath me then went rigid. I opened her belt and then her jeans.

"We're going to have us a little party," I smiled down at her and then ripped her blouse open; the buttons popping loose and bouncing around the tight confines.

Her tight stomach rose and fell as she panted. I traced the rough tips of my fingers along her ribs and then under the wire rim of her bra. Slowly I lifted the bra and pushed it up, her left breast falling free and exposed. Her nipple was hard, the areola tight.

"Please..." she choked out.

I let go of her hair and let her fall back against her arms, still bound at the wrist behind her. Hooking my fingers in the top of her jeans I yanked and tugged them over her hips. She bit her lip and cried. The tuft of her well trimmed muff peaked above the edge of her panties, drug down over her hips along with her jeans and I shifted my weight to roll her over beneath me. When she was on her stomach, one side of her face pressed into the plywood floor, I leaned in against her, biting her on the cheek.

I sat back on my heels and pulled her jeans and panties to her knees, exposing her round ass to me. The scent of her heat rose in the little building. My cock twitched. I couldn't wait to be inside her. I rubbed her ass with one hand and opened her purse with the other. Anxious myself I up ended her purse and racked my hand through the contents until I found what I was looking for; the small round package of birth control pills I'd hoped would be in it. I turned it to catch the light and checked the dates. She was up to date on her prescription; the condom would stay in my wallet.

I tossed the packet of birth control pills aside and took both her ass cheeks in my hands. I gripped them tightly, kneading them and pressing my fingers into her flesh. She whimpered in pain until I let go. Her breath caught in her throat at the sound of my zipper opening. I opened my own jeans; going commando made it easy to free my turgid cock. I stroked it a few times, my free hand dipping between her legs to little stroke the opening of her sex.

"No," she moaned.

I slipped a finger into her sex. She moaned again, barely masking the lust.

I grabbed her hips again and pulled her back toward me, onto her knees. She twisted to put her weight on her shoulder instead of her face. I gripped her hips tightly and pressed my cock against the warmth of her slit. She groaned at the touch of my cock to her hot, red flesh. I felt my own throat tighten as I pressed my naked cock into her. She melted into it as I settled into her then she went stiff and bucked against me.

"Oh, God!" she thrashed about, fighting against my grip," Oh, God, please use a condom. Don't fuck me without a condom. I don't want to get pregnant."

"Shut up," I growled, grabbing a hand full of her hair and pull her back. She pressed tighter against my cock and I felt the tip brush against her cervix. "You're killing the fucking mode with all this damn bitching."

I shoved her forward and she fell onto her face. She cried out and then sobbed as I took her hips in my hands and started thrusting into her.

"Please, no, don't do this," she bawled. Her cunt was slick and it held my cock tighter than most I'd known. She pushed back into my every thrust, twisting her hips slightly as I fucked her.

I hammered against her so hard that it hurt; the bone slamming against bone where our pelvises met, my cock deep in her intense heat. I felt my nuts go tight, my cock swelled inside her.

"Please..." she blubbered, her eyes wet with tears, her cunt wet with her lust. "Please, pull out when you shoot."

"No way, bitch," I laughed, "This is the tightest cunt I've had in years. I'm riding it to the end." I grunted past the jarring motion of each thrust.

She squirmed and tried to pull away. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back against me. My thrusts became quick and desperate as her cunt clung to me. I felt myself falling over the edge and I pushed harder toward it.

"No," she almost whispered, her voice broken by the heat of our rhythm, "please, no..."

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