A Walk To School Pt. 03

The following story has themes of misogyny, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality.

"W-W-What?" I mutter as I wake up. My eyes flutter and I blink over and over as I try to force the sleep to be gone from my eyes. The daze of sleep is strong, making it feel unnatural in a way. It makes me wonder, even in my dazed state, if I passed out or was drugged or something.

As the scene in front of me becomes clearer, I sort of wish I was still asleep. My brain makes all the connections and I know where I am. More than that, I remember what happened.

I'm still in his backyard. It wasn't just a nightmare. It really happened. And it's still happening.

I'm Eva and I'm an 18 year old college student. An honor college student. Today as I was walking off to college, a very evil neighbor named "Mr. Eric" stopped me on the sidewalk. Long story short, the crazy bastard wanted to prove some sick and perverted point about me. He intimidated and scared me to the point of exposing myself there on the sidewalk. Then he made me go into his backyard.

A mix of butterflies in my stomach and humiliation crawl over my body as I recall all that he's done to me. I've been made to undress and get rid of my clothes, recorded answering horrible questions, and laughed at. Oh how he has laughed at me.

And he seems focused on my breasts, which are larger than most. He's tied them, clamped them, even added weights. He's even made me say mean things about them while laughing about it. But it's not just my breasts he's abused as he's done the same to my poor womanhood. Put clothespins all over my lips and then added weights. Or how he spanked my entire ass till all of it throbbed. Made me feel like these are cheap parts that no one will care about.

That's not even talking about how he's molested me. How he's made me have orgasm after orgasm with various sex toys. The bastard even made me pass out a few times with how intense they got.

I'm a good girl. I've never got in trouble. I don't deserve this. I know he is trying to prove some point of showing me who I really am, but this isn't me. I'm not some secret submissive freak that loves to be used, abused and humiliated. Sure, I've been made to orgasm off of what he's done, but...but...I mean...it still doesn't mean anything. Sure, it's kinks I've thought about, even researched, but this is different.

I still taste his cum in my mouth, yuck. One of the last things I remember is that he shoved his cock in my mouth and made me orally pleasure him. And he roughly used my mouth too. Used it until he came in it and made me swallow it, just to make me feel like a whore. Then he shoved a vibrator inside of me and made me orgasm till I passed out. That's the last things I remember.

Looking down at my body, I get a surprise. My breasts...are normal. I mean, he's removed the clamps and all the rope. Before I passed out they were tied up very tight, with mean clamps on the nipples plus heavy weights. But now my breasts are bare and free. My poor boobs still have the markings of where they were tied, but all of it is gone. He must have removed it when I was passed out.

Then I notice the same is true for my womanhood. There's nothing pinching, grabbing or pulling down there. Nor does it feel like anything is inside my bottom, as he had shoved a butt plug or something in me. Now it's gone. Everything is gone.

Still kept me naked, but at least none of those sick toys are on me, painfully doing their job. He even wiped the cum off my face from the blowjob, as I don't feel it slowly drying any more. I don't believe he cleaned me up. Why?

"Have a nice nap?" The evil voice of Mr. Eric asks. It seems to come from the clouds like an evil Old One, making me gasp. Hearing it sends the too familiar feeling of fear and panic over me. Not to mention makes the butterflies in my stomach flutter fast.

Turning my head, I see him. When I do, the butterflies flap even faster and a cold feeling runs over me as a hot feeling begins between my legs. The 60ish neighborhood dad-looking man is sitting in a nice looking patio chair, dressed like he is about to do yard work. I would have assumed after what he's done, he would be wearing a torn wife beater shirt and gym shorts with beer stains on them, but no. His clothes are clean, he's shaved and even combed his hair. Sure, he's sitting with a beer in his hand, but it is some imported fancy beer that I've never seen before.

"Let me go, please," I beg him soft, my body aching from being stretched out. He tied my hands over my head to an overhead branch ages ago, to which I've been on my tiptoes. It's made all of me ache as it's been so long that I've been like this.

Oddly, I notice that the nap did make me feel better. Before I felt so tired and drained from having all those orgasms, but now it feels like I have my energy back. But it also feels like my body is more alert and sensitive...and clean. Wait...I think he washed me off. Or knowing him, cleaned me with a water hose.

"Oh, it's about 1 p.m. now," Mr. Eric mentions, looking at his watch as if I asked what time it is, completely ignoring my plea. Looking up, I see the sun is overhead, meaning that he's telling the truth. It's about midday. That means I've only been asleep for maybe an hour. That not much time has passed at all.

"Please. Just let me go. You got your rocks off. You got to record me," I beg further. And record he has. Its fuzzy now, but I'm sure he told me that he was planning on selling all that he recorded doing to me. That he was going to make small clips and release them over time to make a lot of money.

Mr. Eric doesn't respond to me. Instead he takes a sip of his fancy beer while leaning his head back to look at the sky. To look at him you would think he doesn't have a care in the world, nor a naked woman tied up in his backyard. A woman he's basically keeping as a slave.

"Yep. I took my toys off of you, you know," Mr. Eric mentions causally. I look at him full on now. Since all of this started, I've found that I can't look at him in the eyes when he's looking at me. There's just something about him that doesn't let me. I've no clue what it is, but when I try, it's like I'm terrified of him. The only time I get a good look at him is when he's looking in a different direction.

"Did take some glamour shot of you like this, only because had some clients request it," He continues. I close my eyes and shudder at this, as it means he recorded me or took pictures of me while I was passed out for his fellow pervs. That again my naked body was used to make him money.

"You know the point of all this, right?" Mr. Eric asks, turning his head to look at me. Immediately I look away as his steel cold eyes look at me.

Those eyes make me shudder. They are just so intimidating. They look at you as if they know you are beneath him. But it's more than that. They are filled with such confidence and assuredness. Like whatever he says will happen for sure. It's hard not to disobey or do what those eyes want you to do.

"To...to prove I'm a pathetic coward," I say, repeating what he's told me over and over again today. In fact, that's one of the first things he said to me when he stepped in front of me on the sidewalk. Said he knew how cowardly I was because I gave in whenever my bullies came around.

"Oh, you have already made that statement true," Mr. Eric comments, taking another sip of beer. I find the way he drinks the beer sort of odd. I've seen all manner or rednecks and losers drink beer. They take long slurps of it, drinking as much as their mouth can hold in each sip. He doesn't do that. His sips are polite, short and sweet. Like he's practicing proper dinner table etiquette.

"Don't believe me? Fine," Mr. Eric says with a shrug when I don't say anything. I may not be saying anything, but I'm glaring. I'm not a coward. Yes, I may be timid at times, but I'm not the cowardly little submissive he keeps trying to make me into being.

"Shake ya tits, now," Mr. Eric demands, his voice changing to that stern, "you don't want to make me mad" tone of voice. After all that he's done to me today, I rather not have him upset with me even a little bit.

It's with this in mind that I move my right shoulder to the left and then right, making my overly large and swollen breasts jiggle and shake. This starts slow, but I put more energy into it, causing my breasts to almost violently jiggle for the old man.

"See? Didn't even threaten you," Mr. Eric he says as I am shaking my breasts for him. A cold liquid seems to move instead of blood throughout my body at the same time fire moves up to my face. I feel my face reddening as it's true. All he said was to do it, not that he was going to hurt me. Being how I am, I didn't need a threat or anything. Just did as he said because I made the consequences to be worse than what they really are in my head.

What makes this realization even worse, is that I find that I'm still shaking my breasts as if waiting for him to tell me to stop. Once I notice this, I do finally stop. But even when I do, I still feel the sting of humiliation and embarrassment as I can't believe I just did that.

"Please, just let me go," I beg again, feeling somewhat ashamed of myself. Then again, after what he's done to me, would anyone blame me? Would anyone not be messed up?

"The point is, Eva, or should I call you Bigger-Than-My-Head-Tits, is that you want this. You like being treated like this," Mr. Eric tells me as if dropping some great truth on me. Hearing this I snap my head at him, fury in my eyes. I actually growl at him for a brief moment before stopping. I'm still not able to look him directly in the eyes, but I am able to look just below his eyes.

"Like hell I want this, you old motherfucking asshole pervert creep!" I say in a shrill, high pitched tone. The words come out fast too, so fast that they sort of run together. This happens because my heart starts to pound and my anger spikes like it never has.

How dare he say something like that. How dare he try and say that I like this. Who in the world would like what he's done to me? It's sick. It's evil. And it makes me want to stomp on his face.

"Ohhhhh, I see I hit a nerve," Mr. Eric says leaning forward and then laughs his evil sounding laugh as he looks at me. He keeps laughing as he leans back and takes another polite sip of his beer. As he does this, I glare at him, all of my hate directed right at him.

"Let. Me. Go," I demand now, my anger still high. I state this as a demand, not as a request or a plea. It's a demand that I expect to be followed.

Mr. Eric keeps laughing that evil laugh, but it slowly fades. He then looks at me with a really confused expression. An expression that seems to say he doesn't understand me at all. The faintest of laughs is still on his face as he looks directly at me.

"You keep saying that..." Mr. Eric says, shaking his head in disbelief. He takes another sip of beer and leans his head back to show how much he likes the taste. Then he crosses one leg over another and looks back at me.

"...but you aren't tied up," he reveals. It's my turn to look at him confused. Of course I'm tied up. He tied me up a long time ago. Tied my wrists with rope and hung the rope from one of the branches in this tree. How else could he do his sick games on me?

I look up as my hands are still very much over my head. When I see them, I get a shock. A huge shock. It makes all the anger I just had disappear like water down the drain. In its place is that cold and hot realization.

I'm not tied up. My hands are holding onto a branch overhead. I remember grabbing onto it earlier when the pain got bad. Holding it to sort of help deal with the pain. He had tied my wrists to a higher branch, but I was able to grab the branch right above me. And now, both of my hands are still holding it tight, but there's no rope anywhere.

"I actually tried to pull your hands off, so I could let you lay down or rest in a chair, but couldn't peel your hands off that branch," Mr. Eric calmly reveals. The way he says this hurts bad. He says it like I'm just a dumb girl who he is letting be dumb.

Feeling very stupid, I lower my hands, where I rub my wrists and finally move off my tiptoes. My face reddens harder as I realize I had been standing on my tiptoes for no reason...stretching my body out, for no reason. I honestly can't believe I was keeping myself strung up like that. How long would I have done it if he didn't say anything?

Unable to look in his direction, I look down. But then I see my bare breasts, complete with markings with remind me of how I just jiggled them, so I look to the side. Heat stays on my face as he made his point very clearly. Made it to the point that there's no way to deny it.

I do want this. At least some part of me does. How else can you explain it? I was keeping myself strung up because I liked it, instead of recognizing I was free and run off. That in the deepest part of my soul, or brain or whatever, I wanted to be strung up and humiliated...because I liked it.

Oh...how messed up am I?

"Now, what do we say?" Mr. Eric states in a fatherly tone. It's the sort of tone a father says to a child when they need to apologize. Except when he says it to me, it makes butterflies go off in my stomach again as well as heat between my legs. It makes that feeling of being dominated and humiliation return in that strange arousing way. I recognize now that in part it happens because of how old he is. That it wouldn't be the same if some twenty or thirty year old was doing this to me.

"S-S-Sorry," I apologize as I rub my wrists while looking away. Oddly, I'm not sure why I'm apologizing. Is it for accusing him of keeping me tied up, or for admitting that I love what he's done to me? I really don't know. But again, it really doesn't matter, does it?

"Now, allow me to tell you what is going to happen," Mr. Eric says firmly, holding his beer at me, using it to point. Again, he is as calm as can be in father mode, despite the fact I could literally run away. Sure, I'm naked, but I can outrun him. I can be free.

"First, go ahead and put your hands behind your head again. You looked nice and stupid when you did that," he orders as an aside.

My brow furrows at this. I know I need to make a choice. A real choice.

I'm free. I can run or walk right past him and out of here. Hell, I can probably find something to wear in his backyard to cover myself when on the street. I could go home and never think of this place again. To never even go on this street. If I wanted, I could even call the cops on him and send him to jail for a long time.

Or...I can stay and put my hands behind my head as he wants. If I stay, I'll be admitting that I've enjoyed what he's done to me. That I like being cowardly and pathetic so others will do as they want with me. That pain, abuse and humiliation in all its forms make me aroused like nothing else can.

In short, if I stay, I'm not the smart, good-two-shoes 18 year old that will dominate the world. The smartest girl in the room that everyone is jealous of. The one that outshines everyone and is respected for it. Instead I'll be the girl that loves to be humiliated and used, even by old men. A sexual being that loves to be bullied and made fun of. That only feels alive when being taken advantage of.

Tears fall down my face as I tell my feet to move. To start walking. I'm leaving. I refuse to sink into whatever he's trying to make me into. I might be missing out on living my life to the extremes, but at least I'll be the good girl everyone thinks I am.

Only my feet don't move. Instead they stay planted where they are, refusing to leave this weird, pervy paradise. Refusing to leave where I'm naked in front of an old man that has abused and used me while laughing at me.

I try hard to make my bare feet move too. I demand my body to start moving. To get away. To leave before this old man says something. I even tell myself to drop to my knees because I can crawl away. But my body doesn't move. My dark desire for what he's opened seems to be too strong to do anything about. That emotional part of me overrides everything, refusing to let my rational brain take over.

So, with tears streaming down my face, I lift both of my hands. I move them behind my head and interlock the fingers tight. Once they are there, I do like I did before, and arch my back so my comically large breasts stick out towards him. Then to complete my humiliation, I complete the pose he had me in earlier without being told, by spreading my legs wide so he can see my womanhood perfectly.

"Where was I?" Mr. Eric says as he lost his train of thought, not mentioning what I just did. He just accepts that I really am cowardly and pathetic. That he knew without a doubt I would do it.

"Oh yes. What I am going to do with you," he says, getting his thought back. To this he stands up and stretches, making it seem like he had been sitting for a while waiting for me to wake up. I on the other hand stay in this painful pose. It occurs to me he might be taking his time to make me stay this way. To drive in how pathetic and cowardly I am as I basically present my breasts to him.

"First, I think tying your hands behind you is needed. That way you can't cover yourself. For someone like you, I know you'll try to hide your body in reaction, so we need to nip that in the bud," Mr. Eric states after his stretching. He then takes another sip of his beer and begins to walk closer towards me.

"You don't deserve to hide your body. Everyone should see your clown tits and pathetic pussy, not to mention that flat ass," Mr. Eric adds on, making my face flush with humiliation as he mocks my body. And as I feel the humiliation wash over me, I feel the butterflies in my stomach getting stronger, as well as the heat between my legs growing. Feeling all this makes me want to cry, scream and beg for someone to fuck me all at the same time. I'm just so confused on how or why I could like such horrible treatment.

"After your hands are taken care of, well, as I said earlier today, I'm going to take you out on the street and tie you to a stop sign," Mr. Eric reveals with a shrug, making it seem like not a big thing cause he said it already.

I stare at him, not believing what he just said. He did say that earlier, but it was a threat. It wasn't a real thing. Just something to scare me with. No way he could be serious.

"And once you are tied to the stop sign, like I told you before you passed out...I mean took your nap...I'm going to fuck you. Fuck you in every possible way I can think of where everyone can see," Mr. Eric continues, as I stare at him in disbelief.

I haven't moved at all since getting in this position. My hands are still behind my head and my breasts are still pushed out as he gets closer. Me not moving makes what he said seem like I'm ok with it and that it should happen. But I'm not ok with it. No way I can do that. No way I can let him do that to me.

"N-No, you can't," I tell him with concern, no, fear in my voice. I look at him pleadingly, wanting him to know that he can't do that. I'm so terrified by what he is proposing that I even look him in the eyes.

To do something like that would ruin my life. It would straight up ruin me. And I'm not even talking about going to jail. I'm talking about everyone would know what I did. There would be pictures. Videos. Hell, it would end up on Facebook. Screw Facebook, it would be on every porn site ever. Then no matter what, when someone googled my name, they would find out about it. I wouldn't be able to get any work outside of porn. It would ruin my life.