Misty's Secret Diary

The following is a FORCEfantasies2 Adventure tail!

My latest "victim" shares her diary entry with me; and now I share it with you.

Dear Diary:

Ok, I never meet guys from online. Never. Never ever. But this guy, after a few E-mails, pretty clearly had my deepest, darkest, most secret fantasies figured out to a "T". He was quite perceptive.

Rather than insist that I meet him, he just told me where he was gonna be hanging out a few times, and if I wanted to see him, I could just drop in to this bar or that one, etc. ---or send a friend to check him out, or whatever. Very non-pushy.

One night, I did poke my head in a bar, just to see if he'd be there like he said he would, and he was. And he was hanging out and chatting with friends, and he looked pretty much like he said he looked. I watched him for a while, and then left without even introducing myself. I e-mailed him when I got home and told him I'd "spied" on him. Other than seeming a little bummed that I didn't introduce myself, he was cool.

I pretty much decided then that I was gonna have him help me act out a long-held fantasy...and so we talked by phone, where I gave him a few details about what would turn me on.

I told him that I used to hitchhike quite a bit when I was young and foolish, but that of course I don't any more. And that whenever a lone guy---especially in a van---would pick me up, if he were even remotely cute, I'd fantasized right then and there that he would pull over on a deserted road and "have his way with me". I'd of course heard all the horror stories, but not once did anything remotely like this ever happen while I was hitchhiking.

And it just so happened, he drove a van. A black one, with deep tinted windows. So it was supposed to go down something like this:

I'd park my car at a nearby car-pool site near the expressway by my house, and pretend that I'd run out of gas. I'd start walking down the road (not the expressway, but the less-traveled road intersecting it.)

He'd pull up, and like a good Samaritan, offer me a lift. We'd make small talk, and he might say a few things to make me nervous: "You sure are pretty....I sure am lonely....etc."

Suddenly, he'd pull off the road to a farmer's cornfield access trail, grab me, and restrain me. If it was raining, or cold out, he'd "take me" in the back of his van....but if it was a nice night, he'd pull me into the field, in a clearing amid the tall corn, and stake me out on the ground and rip my clothes off (I'd be wearing "expendable", easy to tear garments.)

I authorized him to use whatever force was necessary, but I have a few rules, and so did he.

1. No biting, hitting, or kicking.

2. No blood. If either of us caused a drop of bloodshed, the game was over.

3. a "safe word" or signal. If I said "shucks" (get it?) or made the Vulcan greeting with either hand (You know, what Spock used to do when he said "live long and prosper"....not many people can make their hand do that, but I can.) EITHER of those things meant we were done.

4. This was to be a one-time thing, he still didn't know my full name, my address, my phone number, where I worked, nothing.

But I knew most of those things about him. And if anything got out of hand, it was all on a 'puter disc, tucked into the envelope which holds my last will and testament.

But no need for all these precautions, really. Everything was going very smooth. I "ran out of gas", he picked me up, right on schedule. He remembered to say a few things to "make me nervous", then whipped the van into the cornfield.

It was a beautiful, moonlit night. He dragged me away from the van to a clearing in the tall corn, and wrestled me to the ground. He flicked open a knife---nice touch, a little scary for a second, since we hadn't discussed any weapon. But he just used it to cut four lengths of clothesline from a roll he had stuffed in his pocket.

He tied my hands securely (the wrists would be bruised tomorrow, especially if I struggled much) to the base of a lone tree, amid the corn, which I assume was why there was a clearing there, since the farmer had to work around it. Then he tied my left foot to a damn cornstalk! He pulled my skirt off the other leg, and then my pantyhose, before tying it to another stalk of corn, too far for comfort from the other foot where my clothing stayed tangled. He'd left my black heels on. (Mandatory footwear for damsels in distress in a cornfield, right?)

He pushed my blouse up, over my head and up my arms, onto the wrist ligatures. My black bra snapped in back, and I wasn't about to roll to make it easy for him to get to. I had a slight advantage here, since I could now use his own ropes for leverage to stay flat on my back. But he didn't even try. He just opened his knife again, slid it between my breasts, and pulled upward and the bra gave way. Same thing on the shoulder straps, then he pulled the remains from under me, and forced it into my mouth! Wrapping it with the rest of the clothesline and tying it in a bow (a bow!) completed a remarkably effective gag. So much for "shucks"....I looked up to make sure my hands were still visible. They weren't! My blouse was covering them! He looked up there right then, too, presumably to make sure I wasn't giving the "safe signal". He moved the blouse a little, so he could see. And although this was a slight break of character, I needed a little reassurance right then; I was starting to get just a little scared. But when he did that, I knew everything was still cool. Very cool.

He dropped his pants to his ankles, and took me. Roughly. And it lasted a long time. And I knew that I'd be sore the next day. And I knew, really knew, why women always have and always will buy the romance novels with the chesty, hunky guy on the cover making the helpless woman swoon.

Finally, I was ready for it to be over, and finally, it was.

And he lay on me for a full minute, and then looked into my eyes. Lovingly. And I DON'T need THAT. "Oh, shucks" I thought, but didn't try to say. I looked away. And he got off me, and pulled his pants up.

"FREEZE. Michigan State Police!" Commanded an authoritative but female voice. I turned toward the voice. She was in heels, and a skirt. But holding a fucking GUN, a big black flashlight, and still managing to call attention to a badge clipped to the beltline of her skirt.

His pants, yet unfastened, fell back around his feet. "DON'T reach for anything. Put these on. Normally, I'd do it for you, but I suspect you know how." She lowered the light, but not the gun, and tossed hancuffs to the ground in front of him.

"This is all a misunderstanding." he pleaded.

"I don't think so. Now put them on, and be quiet. No, BEHIND..." but he'd already clicked them onto his wrists, in front.

"Miss, I'm terribly sorry, but I don't have a partner with me. I have to secure the prisoner back at my car, and call and wait for backup. I can't untie you right now, do you understand? I'm all alone here, and as long as you're not in immediate danger right now, my priority has to be to take him into custody, do you understand?"

I shook my head "NO"! But she said, "It'll only be about ten more minutes, just try to relax, OK?"

"Officer, this is all just a big misunderstanding! I can explain right now, if you let me!"

"Shut up! Shut UP! When I see stuff like this, I get so tired of hearing about how you scum are 'just misunderstood'. Oh, poor you. I'm sure you had a troubled childhood. You'll have a chance to tell the judge your side. But for now, you have the right to remain silent, among some other rights that I'll read you in a few minutes. But for now, I insist that you exercise your right to remain silent. Now walk in front of me.

He could only take mini-steps with his pants at his shoes, but that seemed to suit the trooper just fine. In a moment, they were out of sight, past a row of corn. GOD, this is so stupid. What have we gotten into? Cops are going to come and see me naked. And they're going to yell at me when the find out what it's all about. And I'm going to cry. And I'm never, never ever going to do anything like this again. And the trooper, the female trooper, is going to look at me and shake her head, embarrassed for both of us....

BANG!

Oh my god. Oh my god. She shot him. She murdered him. Oh my god. Or, or, he wrestled the gun away and shot her. (I couldn't see, just hear.) Either way, this was no longer just an embarrassing little incident. I was gonna make the front page of the Saginaw News tomorrow. Oh my god, my dad reads that newspaper....

But no one had been shot. The gun had went off while they wrestled, and now he was dragging the trooper back to our clearing. The gun was gone. Her flashlight was gone. And they were now wrestling for her keyring, which she had looped around one of her fingers. He'd slipped out of one side of the handcuffs, and managed to slap it on her wrist, and they were cuffed together. But she had the keys. He forced her to the ground beside me, and pried her fingers open, finding the handcuff key and releasing himself. Then he ran the cuff chain beneath my arm, and clicked it to her other wrist so she was cuffed to my arm. Then he tossed the keys aside, and tripped backward over my body, landing on his ass.

"Shit!" He swore. "God damn, shit hell, SON of a BITCH!...." While he ranted loudly, she whispered "Don't worry, I can still protect you. I won't let him touch you again. Don't worry."

"You've got me as a hostage! You can let her go."

"Hostage? HOSTAGE? I don't want a fucking hostage, I just don't want to be arrested! I just want to explain."

"Fine, let her go, and I'll listen to anything you have to say."

"Let her go? Let her go! She WANTED this to happen, don't you get that! She wanted it!"

"Yes, I can see by her heels, and what's left of her blouse that she was clearly dressed very provocatively. She was clearly asking for it, and I'm sure the jury will take that into consideration. It wasn't your fault, not at all. Now you just need to give me those keys, and turn yourself in. Do you understand?"

He opened his knife. I knew it was to cut me loose, but the trooper freaked out. "No! Put that away. Look, you can do whatever you want to me, but don't hurt her anymore!"

"I can do whatever I want to you?"

"Yes. Yes. If you put the knife away, you can, uh, have your way with me, OK?"

"Really? You mean, you're consenting to sex?"

"Yes. But only if put the knife down, and you untie her first. Then I'm all yours, baby."

"How about anal sex?"

"What?"

"You know, 'up the butt'?"

"Uh, yes, sure. I'll let you do it that way, if you want." He'd already folded up the knife, and was moving behind her. "But you've got to let her go first."

"I can't." he replied. "Her being tied up is the only thing holding YOU in place. But if you consent to this sex act, I'll give you my word that I’ll let you both go as soon as I finish.”

“Do you believe him?” she whispered to me. I answered the best I could, gagged and stunned. “Yes”, I nodded. She looked into my eyes, trying to tell me with her eyes that everything would be OK. But I was fine. SHE was the one who needed solace. Her skirt came down, and her pantyhose. And I could read on her face the exact moment his cock touched her ass.

He thought her “consent” would pardon him. But I didn’t think so. I did think he would probably get away with it, though. As long as he kept his promise to let us go, she would probably keep her mouth shut. Or I could probably convince her that I wanted her to, for my sake. But of course, now, I knew this was no longer a game, that it was as serious as, well, as serious as rape. It was a rape. He was a rapist. And he was about to rape someone, right in front of me. For real.

Her breathing became heavy and erratic. “Can’t he see it’s too tight? Can’t he see he’s too big? Can’t he understand that it won’t fit without any lube? Can’t he tell I’m a virgin back there?” Either she whispered those things, or I read them on her face, I can’t remember clearly. But suddenly, her eyes bulged, and her hands gripped my arm, tightly. Her anal rape was underway.

It lasted longer than my “pretend” rape. And the trooper was in constant agony throughout. As she looked into my eyes, I seen a tear run down her cheek, and felt a matching tear run down mine. After he withdrew, he untied my legs, but left my gag in place. Then he untied my arms, retying the rope around the troopers handcuffs, and leaving her there as he gathered my clothes and pulled me by the arm back to his van.

While he was un-gagging me (god, my mouth was sore, I realized for the first time), the trooper staggered from the field holding her flashlight, her handcuffs, and the gun, walking right up to us. She stepped right up to us, and raised the gun....HANDED it to him, along with the handcuffs----and said “here.”

“Misty, tonight, the part of the Michigan State Trooper was played by my friend Tammy.” And they hugged. And I, I was the one who broke our “no hitting” pledge---punching him hard, but he just laughed.

Afterwards, we all went to the Texan for breakfast, and he picked up the check. “Didn’t it hurt? When he, you know, put it in you “back there”? I mean, I seen you shed a tear, and that looked very real.” I asked Trooper Tammy (who is actually studying to be a cop).

“Hell yeah it hurt! The tear WAS real. But that, you see, was MY fantasy....”

“Sometimes”, said Mr. FORCEfantasies2, “my work schedule is kind of tight....and I have to squeeze in two of these in one night.....