tagNonConsent/ReluctanceNot So Nice to Meet You

Not So Nice to Meet You

bymanysinnz©

I didn't ask for this situation. An hour ago I was looking forward to a shower, a drink, some quality time with the dog, and getting some sleep. Now I have what can only be loosely described as a "situation." My options are delightfully broad. At times we face situations that later define us as people. This situation certainly qualified.

I walked into the back door of my darkened condo, closed the door, and was about to put down my keys (it's a huge set, since I keep forgetting to throw away the ones I don't need), when someone tried to push past me. I fuckin' freaked out, and just immediately swung with the keys. I'm not the greatest warrior of the century, but this one time they hit home and the burglar hit the floor with a somewhat sickening thud. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath and not piss on myself. I turned on the light.

It was a woman. She was small, waiflike, and young. Late teens, early 20s, wearing jeans and a tan hoodie. She had dropped MY pillowcase filled with MY CD's and other easily fenced stuff of MINE. I turned her over so I could look at her. I'd never seen her before. She had tiny features-- her nose, eyes, mouth were all minute. Her eyes had deep circles under them and wrinkles around them. It was as if I was looking at a doll that had somehow become aged. Jesus, she's a damn addict, which would explain why she broke into my place to steal my few meager possessions.. She had a cut on her head above her temple that was bleeding and swelling. Her blood dripped on my floor. It occurred to me that I really should move out of the city.

On the floor I saw a box cutter that she must have dropped. I realized that she may well be dangerous. I had played with a lover the other day and had still not unpacked my toy bag. I found some handcuffs and bound her wrists behind her back. I did the same with a set of ankle shackles. I shrugged to myself and went ahead and stuffed a ball gag in her mouth, securing it behind her head. As if I wanted to hear her hard luck story.

Now. What do I do with her? I guess I could just kick her to the sidewalk and let her rob someone else, and fumble through her worthless existence.

Or...oh, my. There are lots of things I could do to her. Hell, it's not like she could go to the police.

Part II

I just didn't think this would happen. He told me I'd be fine, and that he didn't even have to come with me, or even know who I was robbing. He was nearly crying, because he needed money so badly to get his car back from the tow company, to pay the light bill, and his insurance. He pleaded for me to get money somehow, since he can't get a job. I'm not due to be paid by my job for another week. I asked my parents, but they said no.

I'm so confused. My head hurts. I feel a cut on my head. The blood is dried on it.

I can feel that I'm in a moving car. That's all I can do now, is feel. I can't move my arms too much, nor my legs. There's something uncomfortable stuck in my mouth, and something sticky over my eyes. I'm tightly wrapped inside something—maybe it's a cover, or furniture pad. It's hard to breath. I have to point my head toward the opening so that I can breath. Do the police do such things?

I kick my legs. I can feel the sides of what must be the trunk. I kick even harder. I can pop the fucking thing open, I know I can. The effort makes me breathe heavily. I feel panic and kick again, now breathing more heavily. I can barely suck in any wind. I can't keep doing this, I'll suffocate.

I remember now who this has to be. The guy who lives in the place I robbed. I don't even remember what he looks like. I was trying to pick up stuff so fast, I didn't even look at his pictures. He's going to be in trouble for this. I know where he lives and I'll tell...

Oh no.

Part III

I only began really thinking about doing evil things after playing with Chelle. We would have these stream-of-consciousness phone sex conversations, in which we'd fantasize about what we'd do to a female prisoner if we had the chance and did not have to worry about consequences. She actually was much more cruel than I was, a fact that aroused an evil part of my personality. She told me that she was contemptuous of any female authority (including her own, I suppose—she pursued her own degradation at every opportunity). She said she scorned and loathed women who tried to be the Boss, and that she wanted to hurt them. I felt like we were both scraping the sludge of our souls up. My penis would get involuntarily hard when we'd talk like that. I knew it was wrong, but it made me twitch with lust anyway.

Anyway, I wrapped my soon-to-be victim in an old rug, packed a few essentials, and put her into the trunk of my car. I pulled out onto Fulton and drove toward Ashland and took a right. I was angry and humiliated at this dumb tramp for entering my home, going through my things, and then attacking me. I wanted to hurt her, watch her suffer, and hear an apology that was absolutely heart-felt. I wanted real, complete, and sincere repentance. I could feel my cock hardening as I thought about what her degradation would look and sound like. I stopped at a light and massaged my prick through my pants. I was going to do all kinds of things tonight. A cop pulled into the left turn lane next to me at Grand. She was a tough-looking woman. I glanced at her coolly, smiled to myself and drove on.

I pulled in to Rothchild's and bought a pint of Stoli. I pulled back onto Ashland and kept going until I got to Huron. I turned left and went to my old place. My old landlord is refurbishing his whole building, which is the reason I originally moved out. Now it's empty and I have the key. And I don't have to work tomorrow. And the basement still has furniture in it and windows that are bricked over. And I had a bag of torturous implements already packed. And I have a delicious feeling of ruthless, pitiless lust. And, there is a dumb, deserving girl tied up in my trunk. At any other time, each of these occurrences would have been irrelevant. Together, at the same time, they amount to Synchronicity.

Part IV

I tried to stop him. I did. I kicked and screamed. He didn't care, and I ran out of breath and couldn't struggle any more. I could only breath though my nose, because he had that dirty thing in my mouth. He unwrapped the rug after we got inside some cold place. I could finally breathe, but before I caught my breath he through me onto a cheap kitchen chair. I couldn't see anything. There was tape or something over each of my eyes. I felt something around my neck tighten, so I sat straight up. He tied rope around my shoulders and tits so that I was held tightly to the chair. I tied to talk, but the thing in mouth just made it sound garbled. I thrashed and kicked with my legs. I suddenly felt a hard punch in the stomach. I choked and couldn't breathe. While I tried to breathe he undid the rope of my ankles and ripped off my jeans and panties. I really, really tried to do something, but I couldn't breath, I was crying, trying to scream, and could barely move. It seemed like he instantly had my ankles pulled back and tied to something behind me. He was looking at it, I know. I couldn't stop him. Please don't hurt me. Stop looking at it. Maybe this isn't happening to me.

Part V

I sat down and poured a drink. I couldn't stop looking her over, every detail. I could see her fidgeting. I could see her chest shake with her heart pounding. Oh god, that beautiful little pussy stretched back, vulnerable, open. I liked taking my time. I finished my drink and walked over to her, watching her as she panicked at my approach and struggled pitifully. I pulled the duct tape squares off of her eyes. They were soft and brown.

I sat back down and poured another drink. She began to plead with me through the ball gag. Drool started to drip from the gag. Ugh, I couldn't abide that I walked over to her and said, "Look, Stupid. There are no windows here, nobody lives for blocks. When I take the gag out, you can scream all you want. When you're through then I'll have a bit of fun with you." Her eyes grew wide as I walked to her and took off the gag. She just gasped for air. She didn't talk. She didn't look at me.

"Don't try and shut down, or forget that you're here, Stupid. Look at me." She did nothing except breath hard and look at the floor. I took off the toy bag that I had still been absently carrying on my shoulder. I took out my heavy flogger and walked over to her with deliberate menace. She woke up and screamed before I even touched her, which made me start to laugh. I flogged her steadily, hard, in as many places as I could easily reach: Legs, breasts, pussy, belly, and a few times directly onto her face. She yelled and screamed until the first blow on the face. That one shut her up immediately. She looked at me, her lips quivering, tears seeping.

I poured myself another drink. "What's your name, Stupid?" I sipped the drink and waited. She was pathetically trying to speak, but choking on her sobs. I smiled. "Answer," I said mildly.

"Leslie," she coughed.

"Leslie what?"

"Leslie Blocke." She sniffled as she looked at me.

"You don't look like a home invader. You look more like a Walmart cashier." I paused. "With a real cute looking pussy."

Her eyes welled up again with tears.

"Do you think you have a pretty little pussy?"

She just shook her head and turned red. She began to look even more young and dumb. "Feeling sorry for yourself again, aren't you? Answer my question, Leslie. Do you think you have a pretty little pussy?" She opened her mouth, said nothing, and then just shook her head again. I finished my drink, found a stiff riding crop in my toy bag, and gave her a careful, painful beating with it. I paid special attention to her pussy, since that's what we had speaking about. She squirmed and fought against her bonds. When I spanked her cunt she squealed with humiliated rage. She finally yelled "yes!" obviously to placate me.

"That's not good enough Leslie. You're not trying at all, which is disappointing to me. Tell me you have a pretty little pussy. Now."

Without hesitation, she said "I have a pretty pussy."

"Good." I took a handkerchief and wiped her nose and mouth, which were covered with tears, snot, and saliva. "Leslie, why did you decide to start a crime career?"

"I needed money."

"No kidding," I said dryly. I began to lewdly look her over again, my cock hardening even more. "For what did you need money? Drugs?"

She gave me a quizzical, naive look, an odd expression for a girl who's tied up with her legs forced open. "No, I don't, like, know anything about drugs. I needed to pay bills."

"You can't get a job?" I ran my fingers along her inner thighs. As she spoke, her voice shook.

"I have one. My...my boyfriend doesn't have one." I moved my hand past her pussy and lazily moved it across her little tits. She flinched as I did so.

"Why doesn't he have a job?"

"No. Please don't do that, please. No, he doesn't. He can't get one."

"I'll do what I want to you, Leslie. Stop trying to preserve your dignity. I'm going to do what I want to you, end of story. Why can't he get a job?"

"He's tired all of the time. He can't seem to wake up. He has a bad back."

I nodded and said to her, "Leslie, I'm going to release you for a little while and walk you around the room. You're a dumb, pretty bitch and you need to be walked around like one." She had no visible reaction to that statement, and she seemed to be thinking over its implications. She didn't notice the knife I opened.

I walked to her and scraped the knife across her little breasts and nipples. I used the point to poke them slightly, stinging her and making her cry out in fright. She flinched and I could see panic rising in her again. I sat on her lap and did what I hoped would be the most humiliated thing yet to her. I grabbed the back of her hair tightly, pulled her head back a bit, placed the knife against her throat, and gave her a long, deep kiss. She recoiled violently, trying to shake her head. The knife was sharp, though, By moving her head like that, she had cut her skin. I bent to her neck and sucked at the blood, nibbling on her neck. I kept kissing her mouth and out of seeming desperation, she yielded. We pretended to kiss like lovers for a minute or two. Then, I got up, and began the careful process of releasing her. I wanted her to believe that it was almost over.

Part VII

I kept the noose around her neck and walked her about the room on all fours. I reminded her that she was a little doggie and she had to follow me around. I could see a blush of humiliation that stretched all the way from her neck to her ass. I halted her next to a short picnic bench, the type used as an outdoor end table. I noticed earlier that there was a radiator pipe nearby.

"Lay on your stomach on that bench, Cunt." She was compliant. She did what she was told without protest. I crouched in front of her and cuffed her hands to the radiator pipe. She seemed beaten down, defeated, which annoyed and irritated me. She should be fighting more, given what I knew I was going to do to her.

Part VIII

The kiss changed things. I didn't know what to do. It was so unexpected.

"get out of my mouth!" I wanted to say. But then, what would he have done to me? I assumed I was going to be dead that night. I was hoping he'd do it in some way that wasn't too painful. When he untied me I figured he was gonna let me go. He led me around like doggy. I was crying to whole time, but I crooked my head so that he wouldn't see. He led me to an old shower down there and told me to pee if I had to. I couldn't. He was looking right at me! The thing was, I felt comfortable like this. He wasn't trying to live off of me. He was just using me. I knew that's what I was here for. I should be hurt a lot worse. I'm bad—worthless. And, he knows it.

I let him cuff me. I pulled against the radiator he cuffed me to, but it wasn't going anywhere. He was talking to me. I didn't understand what he said. Something about society getting better because the weakest were thrown away. He was weird. And very mean.

He spanked me with some whip—hard. He made me tell him I was a bitch. I didn't care that he did that. I am a bitch... a dog...a female one. I know I liked to be fucked hard. He wouldn't hurt me too much more if I did what He wanted. I thought.

I couldn't breath. Then, he pushed that thick, dirty cock inside me. That was terrible. . But GOD, he was thick and so hard. He split me in half, spreading my ass really wide with his hands. He spanked me with his hand, as if I had done something wrong.. He told me he wanted "all of me." He pulled a big, plastic bag over my head and fucked me even faster. He was trying to kill me. I couldn't pull the bag off, but he kept fucking me faster and harder. I saw sparkles and light flashing. I screamed for him to stop, as I came so hard on that thick, nasty thing. He pulled the bag tighter. I couldn't draw any breath. He totally controlled me. I hate you! I hate you! STOP! Please!...Pl...p...

Part IX

I knew I couldn't kill her. I was playing games with her that I had played with my playmates, including the thing with the bag. But I was playing with her much more intensely. I could feel the bloodlust, and it was driving me to fuck her harder than I've ever fucked anyone. I felt her pussy clench my cock as she came, which made me even crazier with lust. Hearing her orgasm muffled by the bag brought me to my senses, though. I knew I couldn't live with killing her. I took off the bag quickly, but kept slowly fucking her. She coughed a bit and was shaking. Each time I pushed my cock inside her, she would still scream slightly. I stroked her back. She cried a bit as she regained her breath. I teased and opened her ass a bit. I pushed my cock into that adorable, tiny pussy.

I grabbed her hair and pulled her toward me. I kissed her cheek, and nibbled her ear a bit.

"You're my gorgeous bitch, aren't you?"

She sniffled slightly, nodded, and whispered "Yes." I pushed my cock into her hard, making her scream. I reached between her legs and opened the lips of her pussy as I fucked her, feeling the tiny clit standing straight out like a cock. I fucked her quickly again, wanting to hear that scream at full volume. It started to build as I teased her clit and pushed myself as deeply as I could into her. Her scream took on a different tone—as if my prick were almost killing her. When she finally came, she screamed at me "hurt me, PLEASE! HARD! HARD!" I spanked her as hard as I could, creating even more intense screams, screams that sounded almost terrifying coming from someone so little. Her hunger for more intensity pushed me over the edge, practically pulling my cum out of me.

I kept my cock inside her as it shrank. I gently grabbed her hair and pulled her toward me again, stroking her cheek She began to shake all over. The experience was overwhelming her. I pulled out and found a blanket. I wrapped her in it. I poured myself a vodka and poured her one also. I thought to myself as I watched her regain her senses.

Epilogue:

The night actually got more bizarre. When I was hurting her, feeling like I could kill her, I was a different person. I didn't know that guy before, and I was frightened of him once I did meet him. I now recognize he's the one always whispering in my ear when I'm in the middle of a dirty scene with a pretty girl. Luckily for all those concerned, he hasn't since been released from the squalid little place in my head where he belongs.

I picked her up and laid her on an old mattress in the basement. I went down on her pussy, licking and feeling her clit harden in my mouth again. Her pussy was still clenching in spastically, eliciting slight moans out of her as I excited her. She pushed her cunt onto my mouth and began a buildup to a large orgasm, one which made her push her hips off of the mattress. I followed her hips and placed my hands under her ass, pushing her even more deeply into my mouth. My cock was hard again and got on top of her. We kissed, bit, and wildly, frantically fucked for another hour.

I dressed her. We didn't talk. She was slowly coming out of her daze. I properly nursed the cut on her scalp, finally, using an old medical kit I found. I told her to gather everything up and put it in the bag. I stopped the videotape I had been shooting. I put the tape into my pocket. "Go out and wait by the car," I told her. I took the bag and the rug with me, locking the door. She waited patiently by the car as I put the rug and toy bag into the trunk. I opened the door for her.

We drove in silence. She reached for and held my hand. She kissed it teasingly, the way a woman does when she wants to remind you that she would love to suck on your cock.

It was late, maybe 4 or 4:30. I stopped at an ATM and we drove on. I finally got to her apartment. I handed her $300. "I think this was what you were looking for earlier tonight." She nodded, unwilling to talk. I held up her license. "I want you to leave that loser. I'm going to stop by sometime. Make sure you're gone."

She nodded and said, "Yes Sir." We kissed hard, and she left.

I never saw her again. I watch the video over and over, starting always after the point after I take the bag off of her head. It's nice to see old acquaintances again, except for the guy who almost killed that pretty girl.

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