All Eyes On Me

"Our game continues, dear lovely, why stop there? Your blouse and petticoats should come next."

He wanted much, much more than she ever wanted to give, quite a bit more than an innocent game should demand. Juliet set her jacket, gloves, and skirt on the indicated crates, her heart still pounding in her chest. Her stomach twisted at the thought of taking more off, and her porcelain skin got quite pale. "I." She fumbled for the words to say, wanting to do little more than writhe with mortification. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can," she told him, her voice faint. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, her eyes fluttering between his eyes and his gun. Even the thought of baring more in this dark alley made her head spin.

Now, now she pleaded. "Please. Mister du Manuc, I cannot." She folded her arms rather protectively around her midsection, hugging herself. "I beg you, for goodness' sake, please just take your money and go. I've, I've no more entertainment for you now, and I fear anything further might be too much to bear."

His smile twisted upward, the promise of pain and torment obvious in their depths. He was a sadist, there was no doubt about it, and pain was something he was hoping he would have a chance to inflict this evening. She had given him the opportunity in her defiance and now, with the moment at hand, he would deliver it.

The gun rose and fell, a heavy hand behind it, smashing into her precious, porcelain face. He struck her twice, the pistol butt leaving angry, red welts on her left cheek and forehead. He kicked her savagely in the midsection, staining her lily white corset with mud from his boots and her own blood. He longed to hear her draw ragged breath through broken lips, to watch the fire in her eyes dim out and cloud up with tears of pain. There would be no release for her torment as he knelt over her, the smooth, cold metal of the gun barrel pressed against her forehead. His voice dripped with venom, dark and threatening.

"You have much more entertainment to provide for me this evening, my little dear, and I intend to take it. You will come out of this much better if you comply. Or I'm going to end not only your life but those of your two little friends. Your little cousin, Lydia, first perhaps? I can cut her open, from liver to lights, bloody my blade on her innocence. Or maybe your sweet friend Kate? I'd love to fuck her while she squirmed with my hands around her perfect little throat. What road do you wish to embark upon, Juliet? Pain for yourself or death for all three?"

The fact that he would even strike her was stunning, but that he would do so in such a brutal manner was shocking as well. She flinched as he struck her with the butt of the pistol, then cried out as he kicked her, crumpling to the ground with a bootmark directly in the middle of her blouse. His reaction frightened her badly, and it only frightened her more when he pressed that icy metal to her forehead. It was so cold, it seemed to sear a circle of frost on her forehead.

The visions he induced of her friend, her cousin, being tormented to death were horrible. Juliet cringed and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment, trying to block out the visions of such pain from her imagination. What had they done to deserve this beast of a man in their lives? Only a night of gaity, nothing more, had brought them to this. Certainly a little bit of fun wasn't such a grievous wrong as to deserve such a punishment. But there was no use in those thoughts, not really, since he was here and he had asked her a question. A dreadful question.

"No, no, leave them alone, leave them be." She wasn't sure they would have even made it home yet, to be honest. Her shaking hands, bare and a little cold in the night air without her normal gloves, rose to the buttons of her blouse, and she tried to sit up a little. Her petticoats were stained, her blouse was muddied, and her hair had been knocked askew by his attack, wisps framing her purpling face as she hastened to remove the shred of fabric atop her corset. It joined the rest of her clothes, and then she reached for the ties that held her petticoats in place. It was with stilted gestures that she managed to peel them free, one at a time, baring herself to him by layers. Finally, she found herself in little more than hose, chemised corset, shoes and frilly drawers. Certainly nothing a stranger should see.

If the physical violence didn't break her spirits, certainly his open threats against those she loved would. Compliance was the only sane road available to her, and to his sadistic delight, she took it with alacrity. Her beautiful little fingers worked down the many pearl colored buttons of her dirty, tattered blouse, exposing more of her alabaster flesh to the open night air and his prying, hungry eyes. There would only be a few boundaries left before he could consume her wholly in his lust for the soft flesh of her body.

He smiled at her softly, a mockery of affection, as he circled her, like a pack of wolves smelling the scent of wounded pray. He enjoyed watching the goosebumps form on her exposed skin, the nervous, fearful darting of her malachite eyes, the angry, crimson welts that were rising on her cheek from where he had struck her with his pistol. Yes, this was the prize worth the conquest. He would enjoy shedding her innocence completely, plainly in the sight of those who might pass by. She would appear as nothing more than a common street whore to them, perhaps, enjoying her work for a coin or a warm bed. Such sights were common in the city.

As he stood behind her, he raised his pistol once more and savagely struck her between the shoulder blades, forcing her to her knees. He moved to be in front of her, the gun once again pointed at her forehead, hovering there like the Reaper.

He used his other hand to unbutton his trousers and pull out his semi hard member, a thick specimen that promised to hurt if it ever entered her most intimate of places. He waved it lewdly in front of her face, pressing it against her lips.

"Put it in your mouth and suck it, you little bitch."

Green eyes trying to follow him as he circled him, while she ducked her head slightly. The strike on her back pulled a sharp cry from her lips, and she managed to keep her balance for a moment before tumbling to her knees. The hard stones bruised her knees, and she winced. The mouth of the gun was a constant, always returning to her, always on the edge of her sights and the back of her mind. Juliet quivered a little.

When confronted with the, the fleshy appendage that he waved at her, Juliet's face turned scarlet and she looked up at him from her knees to see if he was serious. She caught sight of the look on his face, glinting like the edge of a knife, dangerous and determined. Her hands fluttered in front of her, and she threw a longing glance at the pile of her clothing, sitting off to the side and just waiting for her to pull them on and flee homeward. Alas.

Despite the varied thoughts running through her fevered mind, it was only a moment after his request that she leaned forward, squeezing her eyes closed as she placed soft lips timidly on the- on that. She saw no other way; he had given her no other. Her fingers laced tightly in her lap as she timidly mouthed at him, all the while trying not to see or smell or hear or taste him.

He didn't give her the luxury of not tasting him however, as his hardened member entered the tight, pouty confines of her mouth. He tasted of sweat and salt, musk and aggression. The warm invitation of her lips and tongue greeted him timidly, a denial of pleasure that he was not going to allow. He struck her hard across the face with his free hand, cocking the revolver's heavy hammer back and again, making sure that she understood the danger that she was facing.

"Open your eyes. Use your hands to cup my balls and to stroke it. I want you to look up at me with those pretty little eyes of yours and let me know how much you hate it." A shudder went through her as he cocked the pistol. Tears that had collected at the corners of her eyes spilled down her cheeks in little rivulets, nearly invisible in the lamplight. Her eyes were damp, however, as she opened them and looked up at him, disgust swimming in them. Her hands came up, both of them, and though the naive woman didn't quite comprehend his order, she ran her palms desperately along the length of flesh still protruding from her lips. Her fingers fluttered along the top, and her tongue danced almost daintily over the tip. She didn't dare pull her mouth free long enough to ask him for elaboration; instead, she did what she thought he wanted and prayed it was enough. Her eyes squeezed closed again for a moment, displacing more tears down her cheeks. She didn't keep them closed for long, though. She did not dare not to look at him, though she wished she could close them again.

Even as she was half naked, on her knees in front of him, she still had her little rebellions. She would not look up at him as he had ordered and it drove his rage over the edge. Her timid, unskilled mouthing of his cock was enough to make him spasm a bit under her warm lips and cold hands but she was doing a half hearted attempt in his eyes. He inserted his free hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a straight razor, like the one her father might have used to trim away the whiskers on his face. No, this one was going to be used for much darker purposes. He pulled his cock from her grasp and forced her to stand once more, the blade raised.

His hand was swift and steady as he unfolded the shiny, sharp blade and slashed across the ties of her corset. He cut the remnants of the garment, forever ruined, and tore it from her shivering, trembling body. The blade sung as it slashed through the straps of her chemise, shredding the delicate lace into useless strips of cloth. The razor kissed her pale skin, just above her naked breasts and drew a shallow cut, her blood welling up to the surface. He paused, holding the blade before her panic stricken eyes.

"The next cut goes for your throat if you don't do what I say and do it with effort. Now, get your boots and underthings off. Leave your hose on, though. It really helps your legs look worth the effort."

Juliet yelped as he pulled himself from her hands and mouth, flinching as he yanked her to her feet. Terrified, she was sure that he was going to kill her. When she discovered him holding a blade, she shuddered and held up her hands in front of her. That didn't save her, of course, from the ravages of the blade on her clothing. Her milky skin stood out against the pink nipples on her breasts, the pert mounds hardly needing the support of a corset. In point of fact, her waist was not entirely much thicker, and the appearance of her hips diminished only by a little with the removal of the garment.

She brought her arms up and hunched her shoulders, trying to cover her nakedness and sobbing openly now. She felt a smattering of glances from passersby, but they certainly did not stop to help her. A strand or two of hair clung to her damp forehead by the perspiration there, and she shivered in the cool air, having little to help her guard against it. With shaky hands, she stripped off both boots and drawers, shedding the last strips of her chemise with the motion, exposing her pleasantly plump thighs and the golden nest of curls just below her navel. "Please," she sobbed, "I'm sorry, please don't hurt me."

he vulnerability he had inflicted upon her made his blood sing. His smile was nothing short of brilliant, that damning mockery of affection, as he forced her against one of the brick walls of the alley way. He was behind her, his fleshy penis pressed up against her backside as he shoved her legs apart with the flat of the straight razor. His other hand had returned the gun to his coat pocket, content to work with blade and brawn, a far more intimate threat than the cold, surgical practice of putting a bullet in someone's head. It felt more personal when he brought blade to bear on her pale, sobbing body and he indulged it a few more times, drawing straight lines down the middle of her shoulder blades, causing little nicks, angry and red, to appear in the wake of the razor. He loved hearing her sobs, her little sharp intakes of breath as he pierced her skin, the shudder of relief the moment the blade stopped kissing her flesh like an obsessive, angry lover.

His cock throbbed as he completed his craft and he forced it between her legs, one heavy hand reaching around the front of her and starting to massage her clit in slow, delicate circles while his dick probed for entrance.

"Spread your fucking legs wide, because I'm going to fuck you, right here, while everyone watches."

Each time the blade bit into her skin, she let out a soft cry and her body twitched a little. The rough brick felt horrible against her front, and she felt the awful swell of his sex against her buttocks. She could feel warm little lines of blood dripping their way slowly down her back, and she could feel the itch of another drop from the cut below her collarbone. He was crazed; she knew that now. He was crazed but he seemed to have her directly where he wanted her.

She yelped when his fingers found her clit, and she sobbed harder when he ordered her legs apart. She should be fighting him more, she should be struggling harder, but she was frightened. People would say that she had wanted it, that she hadn't fought him because she was secretly longing for his brutal affection, but she was truly just terribly frightened. Still sobbing, she pushed her legs apart, and in her mind a whole crowd of onlookers had gathered at the mouth of the alley. This was not the case, of course, but it still felt that way in her mind. She yelped again when she felt him probing at her entrance, crying too hard for anything but incoherent pleas, now.

Her crying was certainly the main source of his excitement, the holding of her life in his callous hands. She had shed every last part of her dignity, much of it cast about in the shredded remnants of her clothing or the tears that fell from her lovely green eyes. There was no fighting fate as his cock was shoved unceremoniously between her legs, the tip of it entering her sex and breaking through the slightly damp folds, to brush against her inner most passage. He was not some generous, caring lover though and soon, his entire length, thick and girthy, was between her legs, his hot breathing coming in grunts against her bare neck. His cold fingers worked up and down her clit, rubbing and molesting her body into compliance.

He would fuck her up against that wall while people trickled by, some casting weary glances of disapproval while others couldn't bring themselves to look at all. They heard their rutting though and it caused their cheeks to turn crimson, either out of a secret lust or more likely, a feeling of disgust at such a public display. One women even paused at the entrance of the alley way, her eyes watching and peering. One hand brushed against her crotch, hidden away in so many layers like Juliet had been. Her husband was quick to tug her along, away from such "filth".

Yet no one came to help her. No one cared. Juliet sobbed aloud as he speared her with his flesh, crying out in pain and anguish. He seemed to fill her impossibly full, and then some, making her feel as if he'd split her in two with just a few thrusts. Didn't anyone care that she was obviously crying as he took her? No. She hid her face, humiliated, trying to keep any passersby from recognizing her. She didn't dare call out for help, not even a little. Instead, she simply stood there, trying not to cry out too loudly, her whole body shaking. She swore that at one point she felt a pinch on her rear, or possibly it was a grope. She tried to ignore it, or to tell herself that it was her attacker; she couldn't bear the thought of onlookers feeling so welcome as to take part.

Her whole body tingled from the strokes of his fingers on her clit. She could feel his fingers pressing her toward a swell of unwanted pleasure, and that disgusted her, too. Her whimpers took on an erotic tone slowly but surely, until her body was on fire and her sex was throbbing with each thrust. She was beyond begging, beyond asking him to stop or to have mercy. All she could do was try to endure it, and to try to resist the devilish climax that loomed within her flesh.

Pain. Anguish. Like an incubus, he feed off those emotions and it thrilled him to no end. The sins and pleasures of the flesh paled to the all consuming lust and sick, twisted gratification that came from watching his victims break upon his will. His dick throbbed in her tight little cunt, stealing away what was left of her perceived innocence with each violent thrust. His razor trailed over her lower back, the flat of the blade resting just above her ass. He twisted his wrist and the edge snaked out again, kissing her flesh and drawing another fine, thin line across the canvas of her body. He bent down to lick the blood that welled up, a sinister gleam in his eyes.

He then turned his free hand's attention to her small, perky tits, cupping each one before assaulting them with a steely grasp. His balls tightened as he worked himself towards orgasm, teetering on the edge and trying to force her to experience what might have been her very first, robbed of its meaning and pleasure by his raping of her body and mind.

She let out another whimper at his cut, then shuddered when she felt his tongue on her back. She moans softly in fear and unwanted arousal, glad only for the small mercy that she could not see his face, and he could not see hers. She panted softly against the brick wall, gasping, her fine hair clinging to her forehead as her body clenched and shuddered and twitched and squeezed around him. She felt the physical pleasure wash through her, and it ripped through her mind like an accusation.

Loose.

Trollop.

Whore.

All of these things she called herself in her mind while small puffs of her hot breath steamed against the cold mortar. The tears had dried up a little, her eyes sore and swollen and red from crying. Her lashes stuck together, creating wet little arrows in the corners of her vision. Still, she all but held her breath in an effort to keep quiet, trying to will herself invisible, unnoticable, beneath recognition.

As her sobbing abated, to be replaced by the soft sounds of her moaning, he thrust his hardened length inside of her violently. The razor was quickly becoming a second extension of his rape of her; drawing up and down the ivory flesh of her back, leaving bloody trails in its wake. They were but shallow cuts, scratches but his tongue flickered across them, spreading the severed flesh open in an effort to maximize the pain she was feeling from them. He wanted nothing more than to flay her alive while he fucked her but he refrained, for such an act even in this closeted society, in public view, would garner some sort of unwanted attention.

The prying eyes of said society were enjoying the show however. Her cries and his grunts had capture the imagination of several folks, who stood in the mouth of the alleyway, watching and whispering the scandalous act to one and other like it was some sort of fevered dream they were experiencing and not watching.

Alexander's tormenting of her breasts started anew and as he glanced over to see the people staring, he shifted her away from the wall and forced her on all four, pointing her face towards the crowd while continuing to fuck her.

"Look up and see your audience, little trollop."

As the tremors in her body subsided, she heard his order to raise her head. But what could he do to her if she didn't? Kill her? She hardly was worried about that now; she might die of shame anyway. The stripes of pain down her back and across her breasts reminded her that this was not a dream, not some horrible vision that she had managed to dream up while asleep. She felt the hard stones scrape her knees and the palms of her hands as he forced her down like an animal, still rutting behind her. She started to sob again, raising her eyes miserably and scanning the ... 'audience'. She only raised her head for a moment, however, before she lowered her gaze to the ground again, her breasts dangling from her body, quivering with each thrust.