Alone Ch. 05

Greg chuckled. "I believe you." He said simply. "Thing is, it's also there because when I see you wearin' that shit, my dick gets harder than a fuckin' diamond." He added bluntly.

I didn't reply. I didn't have a reply for that. It reminded me very starkly where my place was in this arrangement. I was here for his pleasure. I was here to do as he said, submit to his perverse demands, provide him with a warm, wet hole to cum in a few more times, and then die. My own pleasure wasn't even for my benefit, it was so that, once he killed me, eventually got caught, and went to jail, he had something to brag about while he was on death row for twenty years. He just wanted to be the guy who raped a female cop so hard he made her like it. That's all I was to him. I was just another addition to his body count, in both senses.

"You can lose these though." He mumbled, and I tried to stay still as he shifted under me and started taking my boots off.

It took him a minute or so to get my boots off, even with my compliance and co-operation. Once they were off, I was wearing nothing but my unbuttoned uniform shirt, a pair of stainless steel Smith and Wesson handcuffs, and a brown leather belt. He even reached up and took the hair tie out of my hair, letting it fall freely around my shoulders. He might've gotten my boots off a little faster if he hadn't been grinding and twisting his cock around inside me the whole time. When they were off though, he wanted to get back into the action immediately though, and started guiding my hips up and down. I was content just letting him do that, but he wasn't.

"I want to see those tits bouncing. Get riding, cowgirl." He snapped, stopping his own motion, after maybe a minute or so of him lifting me up and down as before.

I didn't move. If he wanted to rape me, then kill me, he'd have to be the one doing the work.

He sighed. "If you're not using your knees, then you don't need them." He said after another few moments.

The very real threat of immolation hanging over me, I started moving. Just grinding at first, but seeing the unimpressed look on his face, I started raising myself up and down, slowly riding him. As I was doing that, he started playing with my breasts, taking them in his hands, rubbing and kneading them like a kid with play-doh. For a few minutes I settled into a rhythm that wasn't too overwhelming, as he enjoyed playing with his new favorite distractions. Eventually though, he wanted more, and his hands went back to my hips. Instinctively, I started going faster, not wishing to anger him. I was having trouble balancing though. It wasn't my first time riding a guy in the front of a car, after all. My college boyfriend, after Kyle, that is, had a 2015 Challenger, and we got quite frisky one night when we were driving back from Miami. The trick was to make good use of the headrest and grab handle to steady yourself. You could use them to pull yourself up as well, which really helped save the legs. The problem with being cuffed though, was that I had to have my hands in one place, and the grab handle was taken up by the leash, which I didn't really want to touch, in case Greg thought I was trying to escape.

He seemed to notice this, but instead of uncuffing my hands, so I could get better leverage, he grabbed my hands and draped them around his own neck. I was shocked, and had to stop myself from falling forward again. In reality, I was just pressed up on the seat, but my arms were around his neck now, and we were looking at each other. Anyone watching would assume this was passionate, consensual sex, and as I continued riding him, his eyes locked on mine, and I felt that same shameful pleasure from before coming back in force. I did my best to just focus on the dark brown eyes of the demon I was fucking. His eyes too were focused on mine. I hadn't noticed myself speeding up, that is until, with a clean pop, I went too hard, too fast, and accidentally dismounted him.

***

Until that point, the sound of wet slapping, and the quiet background chatter of the radio had been the only noises I was aware of. The two of us were being exceptionally quiet, all things considered, but once I stopped and caught myself, I realized I was panting breathlessly. He noticed, and while before, he'd just been staring into my eyes, his face unreadable, now he was grinning at me eagerly. Without prompting, I lifted myself back up, slipped him back inside, and forced myself back down around him, maintaining eye contact with him as I did so. Somewhere in the back of my mind, the shame was eating away at me. I was deliberately pleasuring this man, this vile scum, who'd killed my partner, and raped me, three times now. This same man had threatened to burn me alive and use it to torment my family if I didn't do what he said. I was doing what he said. I'd come to the conclusion that there was no shame in doing what I had to, to spare myself a horrific death, and my family the torment of seeing it. The shame came from the fact that I was in fucking bliss as I was doing it.

If I was being honest with myself, at that point, I wanted it. I knew it was sick, I knew it was wrong, but the first three rapes had been vile, while this... this was paradise in comparison. I'd almost forgotten the fact that I was handcuffed and tied to the ceiling as Greg and I rutted like rabbits. Once we started again, there wasn't any distinction as to who was doing what. His hands and my legs worked together to our mutual ecstasy. While before, we'd been reasonably quiet, this time, those restraints had gone out the window. He was grunting and moaning like an animal, just as he had when he raped me the last three times. This time though, I was grunting and moaning right alongside him.

I'd let myself go. I'd disgraced and debased myself to the point where I was taking an active, willing, and enthusiastic role in my own rape. That fact was plain as day in my mind as we screwed each other's brains out, yet I ignored it, and continued, pushing those shameful facts aside. He just felt so damn good, and those extra few inches he'd gained from getting out of the cold meant he was able to claim parts of me that no man had ever managed to come close to before. As I continued lifting myself up, and he continued slamming me back down, and we gasped and groaned like a pair of college lovebirds, I felt it approaching, and the shame finally cut through to me.

"Stop!" I got out through gasps, as, despite what was coming, I couldn't stop my legs from keeping the rhythm going. "We've gotta stop, I can't do this." I begged him, all the while I kept going.

He laughed, and wrapped both hands around my waist, only increasing the pace.

"No! No no no no no, we can't do this!" I implored, as I felt it rapidly approaching.

Again, he laughed. "There's no we, sweetheart." He got out. "There's me, and then there's you. You don't get a vote."

"Please!" I begged him, still unable to stop my body from continuing to ride him.

Though at that point it wouldn't have mattered if I did manage to stop, as he'd taken firm control of the pace by then, his hands on my waist slammed me up and down as he watched my breasts bounce in front of his face. I was resigned to the pleasure and my shame, as a vicious orgasm ripped though me. I felt euphoria coursing through my entire body, and I felt myself spasm tightly around his invading member. A moment after that, I went near-limp, my legs giving out. Though he was distracted by my breasts, the feeling of my vagina clenching him so tightly elicited a satisfied grunt from him, after which he quickly slowed to a stop and looked up at my face. I was crying again. How couldn't I be? I'd just been driven to climax during my own rape. What greater shame, what greater disgrace was there? I was a vile, sick whore, who just came around the cock of the man who murdered my partner.

"No way did you just come." Greg said after a moment, still catching his breath, that same look of wonder and amazement back on his face.

I didn't reply, instead, just looked away from him in shame.

"Nah nah nah, look at me." He snapped, irritable again suddenly.

I didn't move, and so a hand came from my waist and up to my face, where he forced my neck around to face him.

"Holy shit, you did." He said after a moment, laughing slightly.

That just made more tears fall down my face. I had to get off him. This was done, I couldn't take any more. If he was going to kill me, then he was going to kill me. I couldn't live with the shame of it. I withdrew my hands from behind his neck, started lifting myself up and tried to pull him out of me, my hands shaking as I tried to dislodge him from me, but he stopped me, pulling me right back down again. I sobbed loudly as he did so. He just went back to staring at my tits.

"Let me go, please." I got out, as he started slowly building up a rhythm again.

"No." He replied bluntly.

"Let me live. Just... Let me live then, please." I continued desperately.

He grunted, stopping for a moment as he looked back up at my teary-eyed face.

"Make me cum, and I'll think about it." He said after a moment, letting his hands off my waist and resting them off to the sides.

I had no reason to believe him. I had no reason whatsoever to believe that he would let me live. He was a murderer, and a rapist, and he had no qualms about killing me in a horrific manner, just to be cruel. Still though, despite how sensitive I was down there, I continued riding him, building back up that rhythm from before. I just wanted him to come, the sooner the better. Why, though? Once he came in me again, he'd either just get ready for the next round, or he'd start devising how to get rid of me. What's more, he never said he'd let me go. He only said he might let me live. I had a sudden, horrifying vision of me, lying naked on a dirty mattress in a cold, dark basement, bruises littering my body, my hair long and matted, and tally marks going back months scratched into the walls. If that was the only scenario where I lived, I'd just as soon choose death. He made me look at him as I rode him to competition, and I saw the funny look he made as he was getting close. I would've preferred he just get it over with, but evidently that wasn't how he wanted to finish.

His face suddenly changed, and like a wild animal, he pushed me back yet again. I tried to steady myself, but I had nothing to grab onto, and again, fell against the leash. Looking back at him, he wrapped my legs around his waist, before pulling my waist back towards him, impaling me right to the core. I grunted as the tip of his member pushed all the way into me, battering my cervix. I wanted to push him off, but the pressure on my neck was starting to hurt, so instead, my hands were being employed to hold on to the grab handle, where the leash was secured. I held myself up, releasing the pressure from my neck, and looked across at him furiously. He grinned wickedly at me. I'd done what he asked, I'd done everything he asked, and disgraced myself in the process. Despite all of that, he still just wanted nothing more than to hurt me.

What followed was a return to normality. He raped me, and I stayed still and endured. Indifferent to the difficulty I was having keeping the pressure off my neck as I hung from the grab handle, he continued fucking me, viciously and vigorously. It might have been tolerable, had I been able to lock my arms, but the length of my arms was just a little bit longer than the length of the leash's slack, which meant I had to be in a sort of perpetual halfway-pullup, all the while, an eleven inch barbarian was exploring my depths, over and over. Eventually, I felt him speed up, grunting rapidly, staring at my breasts and belly as he approached his fourth climax. This increase in speed was too much for me though, and my elbows on fire, they gave out, and my arms locked out and slipped. Now the only thing holding me up was the leash. Immediately I began choking, and tried to raise my hands back up to grab a hold of the leash, but even when I got a grip, I couldn't hold my weight up.

Panic soon set in as I scrambled to find something to grab a hold of, all the while, I was struggling to breathe. In vain, I tried reaching out towards Greg, tapping and scratching at his hands as he continued dragging me back and forth along his length. He simply slapped my hands away and increased his speed. Desperately, I persisted, but all that achieved was that he grabbed my cuffs by the chain, and used that as another leverage point with which to increase the speed and ferocity of my violation. Every thrust swung me back and forth, and the belt rode higher and higher, digging into my neck. What's more, this time, the buckle didn't move from the back of my neck, despite my attempts to dislodge it, so there was even pressure all across the front of my neck. Eventually, I started choking, unable to get any air in at all. All the while, he continued mercilessly raping me.

"Oh... fuck yeah." Greg let out, picking up the pace as my walls contracted forcefully around his thick cock.

I was starting to pass out, I could feel it. The lack of blood and air going to my head was making me light-headed, and my muscles were starting to spasm involuntarily. That's what he was feeling when he sped up. It had done the trick though, as that finally drove him over the edge, and groaning loudly, he pulled me back towards him by the leash, where I collapsed against his chest, gasping for breath. That sudden rush of blood back to my head was overwhelming, and as I felt his hot, thick seed fill me up, I lost control of my bladder. At first he didn't seem to notice, just sighing contentedly as he held me tightly in place, draining his balls inside me. When he did though, he was confused, and at first, he thought I'd squirted on him. He pulled me away from his shoulder and looked me in the eyes.

"Did you just fucking cum again?" He asked in amazement, laughing sadistically.

I didn't have the energy to answer him, still trying to catch my breath. It didn't matter though, as he soon realized what was actually trickling down his leg and pooling around his thighs. When he did, he was furious.

"DID YOU JUST PISS ON ME?" He roared.

I still couldn't talk, but if I had, I'd have argued that I didn't mean to, that he'd choked me, or that it wasn't my fault. But it didn't matter. None of those answers would've gotten me anywhere anyway. I'd pissed him off, no pun intended, and now I'd pay.