She never invited conversation, and if they spoke to her, she shut it down. When she masturbated, it was never her writhing under black or white thugs, but the worn out, ruined girls who rode the skytrain. If you can track me down, you can rape me, blow your load, whatever. Once or twice, Lynsey thought someone might be following her. Still, the feeling would leave her drenched, cunt clenching, just aching to masturbate to an increasingly intense orgasm, fantasizing that she really was followed and what they had planned to do to her. She'd wear any kind of shit in front of the computer screen, but she was a lot more careful out of doors. They weren't uncomfortable or outrageous, especially around the apartment. But if Mike was there, he would probably be pissy about her signing off. There would probably be someone to play with her.... She might turn a few heads, but she didn't look like a whore. Still, she could feel male gazes like pinpricks that gave her goosebumps, caught glances sliding off her like oil. * * * * * * * * * * * She passed by Jack close enough that he could have reached out and squeezed her nipples. Quickly, with badly shaking hands, Lynsey tore at her jacket top. Hey, you know what gets me hot, seeing a slut bite and suck her nipples. She did as she was told, her teeth tearing into her sensitive flesh. They jammed around her knees, and she had to bend even lower to let them slide past her calves. Finally freed, she reached the street and searched her purse for change and money to call a cab. Now, I want you to take your shoes off, I want you barefoot. He chuckled, imagining the look on her face when she saw his basement. Finding an already hard nipple, he twisted it savagely, stopping her whining and causing her to draw a terrified breath. All the way over here, you could have screamed, and you didn't. He pushed her slacks down to her ankles and caressed the smooth flesh of her thighs, probed the wet folds of her cunt. Fortunately or unfortunately for Lynsey, their agreement meant that he couldn't take her completely apart, the way he did with some of his victims. Well then, just relax, we're going to have a lot of fun. Mike was impressed, at points, she actually managed to lift her torso up completely off the bed, her body straining.But she loved their sidelong glimpses and the thought of men like these putting their hard meat to the degenerate skanks. Girls who dressed to be fucked (and she'd never dress like that) deserved to be fucked, needed that fucking. On the internet, she one day, discovered skank sites and slut sites, places where worn out whores gained a few dollars selling their pictures. * * * * * * * * * * Which garter belt are you wearing, Mike typed. Lynsey really did have garter belts now, and she was wearing one to command. No one would look twice at her if she happened to be wearing her black bolero jacket. Someone who was outside somewhere and might somehow, possibly, maybe glimpse her in it. It wasn't that she really thought they'd spot her, she just didn't like looking too much like a slut. Deep down, beneath all her clues and fantasies, he knew she was chickenshit. It wasn't nearly as slutty as she had been expecting, or hoping. I want you walking around shopping in this, he said, red dress and fishnets, like a whore taking time off. High heels, for shopping, was waiting for her, those ankle boots. But if she stayed on the net all day, she wouldn't get any shopping done. The stiletto ankle boots she wore outdoors half the time anyway. It made her nipples hard, it made her pleasantly wet down there. So she drifted through, window shopping here and there, and letting herself be window shopped. He could barely restrain himself from glancing into her cleavage. Unable to manipulate a button, she simply tore it off, opening the jacket and then undoing the blouse with hasty motions. A cold breeze slid around her thighs as she realized that she was bottomless, she had exposed herself for them, without even a trace of resistance. But her purse was only full of cheap make up, some scattered ID, and condoms both new and used. He pulled in, waited for the door to shut, and then cut the engine. Cuffed at wrists and ankles, she had no choice but to take it, to accept the indignities he inflicted upon her. For others, it was the rape, the conquest, the degradation, the punishment. Hell, if you keep the rule in mind, you'll even enjoy some of it... Her struggles to free herself only humped her ass up against his hands again and again.
When Lynsey got home, she couldn't wait to masturbate, bring herself to a rich satisfying orgasm. But this one got more exciting each time she played. Lynsey crouched down, unwilling to fully prostrate herself. Finger yourself, he whispered, and watched as one of her hands slid under the wasteband of her sweat pants.
There must be 50,000 girls in Vancouver with her height and build and hair colour, and there was no way that any contact would be anything but totally accidental. She kept thinking back to that internet chat, to the game, and she'd find herself getting wet. Mike was there, revelling in the game, she flirted and dropped a few more clues. * * * * * * * * * * Most internet games wore off, their themes tired, and Lynsey got bored. She wasn't looking at him, so Jack allowed himself a gloating smirk. You're so fucking hot, he whispered, putting his hand on her shoulder and keeping pressure there. Her mouth opened, and she took his hard rod between her wet lips.
Once in a while, she thought of breast implants, but never too seriously. Sex, like the rest of her life, had come easily and well lubricated, easy penetrations by lithe young boys, never wild or out of control. A terrycloth bathrobe and bunny slippers, she typed. Perhaps they would spot her in that article of clothing? The idea that she might be under surveillance, might be stalked, that any minute some rough man might grab her and drag her into an alley, made her stomach flutter and her nipples hard. He typed into a very select chatroom, to a very select group of friends. The Lynsey project united them, it galvanized them, giving them a sense of purpose. And there is an Italian restaurant three blocks away from her bullshit location. Humming, brimming with excitement, almost floating with sexual tension, she left the apartment. I dunno, fucking her mouth I suppose, probably tighter than her pussy. She was shocked into stillness when Ian simply upended the contents of her purse out onto the filthy ashpalt. She lost muscle control, collapsing on the filthy garbage strewn alley. Beaten, without a shred of hope or resistance in her. When she reached him, she looked up a final time, hoping for a shred of compassion. She stuck her tongue out and ran it along the leather toe of his boot... She lapped at the boot, her tongue working away the grit, smoothing the leather. Jack watched her face contort, almost able to read her thoughts as she worked her way through it all. He pulled out, his semen dripping from her lip, her expression dazed, confused and needy. You're going to walk out of here with your pussy throbbing, and all those ideas I put in your head rolling around, and you won't know if you're coming or going, you won't know up or down, you're just going to be so confused you'll swallow every bit of bullshit because I've tied your head all up in knots and your pussy is throbbing. Instead he helped the now helplessly docile Lynsey up, escorted her to his car. She built an island of stability for herself around that point. After a few nights, she had recovered herself enough to return to some of her comforting rituals, her life settling back into her old groove.
Perhaps, it was because her life had been so smooth that she harboured a secret little hunger. Yeah, Mike challenged, what are you wearing right now? Once or twice, in the middle of the day, she even had to sneak in to some bathroom and quickly masturbate. They were the Linsey project, and there were six of them. After all, guys with identical interests, the same sorts of nasty, misogynous tastes in women, it was nice to go to a strip club, tip a beer and fuck with some desperate stripper. A black steelworker, a computer nerd, a mechanic and so on.... Mike had introduced some real time friends to the chatroom. Hmmm, Zacc said, we should put that one in the maybe category. They had, by this time, a very detailed description of her appearance, not quite enough for a police sketch artist, but getting better all the time. * * * * * * * * * Ian had been sitting at the skytrain gate to Metrotown reading the same damned newspaper for four hours. All the things he could be doing today, instead, he was here wasting his time on the off chance that some blonde bitch might be passing by. A tall blonde, maybe 5'7" without her heels, paused on the platform. Her gaze swept over him, indifferent, didn't linger. Keep fucking dancing you stupid cunt, Peter yelled. Over her, she heard Peter and Ian chuckling and felt shame. He reached down and loosed a stream of pure urine that landed mere inches from her face. It was dirty, she could feel the dirt, the grit on her tongue. She wanted to vomit, but instead, she obediently licked away, sticking her tongue out and giving the filthy boots long wet licks. She studied his face, searching for any hint of deception. He shifted in his chair, his cock rigid again, as an iron bar. He had the stupid bitch just about convinced that it wasn't rape at all, that it was her fault. Her face was ashen, but she nodded, barely registering him. He had her lie with her face in his lap, another deliberate humiliation, explaining that he didn't want her to see his neighborhood... He let her out on the busy street, and then, just as she took too steps away, he called her back, to demand a kiss. She didn't masturbate, of course, she didn't dare confront that.
And if once in a while, when her dildo was deep inside, and the vibrator on her clit, if it was her face and body in skank outfits, bent over and on all fours to some gangbanger... She was far too fastidious to do these things, or even to contemplate doing these things. From there, she discovered story sites, which fed her wicked fantasies. So, one night, Lynsey was in an internet chatroom, masturbating slowly, playing with the men. Watch for clues, put them together, find me and..... The game, of course, had evolved, as games always do. It upped the risk level just a tiny bit, and the effect on her was orgasmic, paralyzing, thrilling. And so, the requests, finding compliance, became a little bolder. Why not, she thought, trying one on, it made her ass look good. She might say or do anything on line, and he mostly believed her when she told them about her lingerie. No, she might be pushed a little there, but not too far, not yet. The red knit dress was a party dress, it looked good on her, clinging to the curves of her body, showing cleavage, but not too much, moderately short, but not as short as her miniskirts. It was the sort of dress a woman wore to show she was fire in bed, though not necessarily for anyone. The idea sent shivers up her spine and thrills down her cunt. He could tell she noticed his quickly averted look, he caught her half smile, watched as she forgot about him almost instantly. A flicker of terrifying irritation showed on his face. It was an hour and a half of walking, and one tortuous hitchike before she finally made it home. Alone, she could deal with it, but she couldn't deal with what they might think of her. Then, he stepped out, straightened his jacket, and walked with deceptive calmness to the passenger side back door. He'd seen her naked in photographs, watched her shower and masturbate on computer cam, he'd even fondled and posed her semi-conscious body. Finally, he had her in his unfettered, unlimited possession. He opened the door and pulled her out, gratified by the way she struggled forward, as if to help him. She could only precariously try to keep her balance. More than any of the others, Jack was a genuine sadist. He stepped around her, enjoying the way she dangled from the hook. Mike enjoyed her thrashings, letting her play herself out like a fish on a line.
There were other women there, but Lynsey was never sure if they were real women. When the intensity had lagged, although never by much, with clues, it had gained a little more edge with suggestions. Buy a particular brand of moist, wet looking lipstick. Of course, she never took a real chance, if she was shopping an item to order, she always made sure to go to some out of the way place and never went there twice. Mike thought a second, I want you to wear this to go shopping today. Not that she'd do it, but she could actually visualize herself doing it. His heart pounding, his cock pushing against his pants, he turned away. She drew a hot bath and crawled in, soothing her aching body, gently washing the grit from her knees and palms. She couldn't believe how easily it had happened, how easily she'd been lead to it, how little resistance she had offered. Finally, he uncuffed her ankles, allowing her to walk. She followed willingly, he was amused that he didn't even have to drag her. It was just slightly too high, leaving her perpetually wobbling on tip toes. Finally, she collapsed in exhausted passivity, panting fiercely, her body drenched in her own sweat. Lynsey's eyes opened wide when she heard the sound of a vibrator being switched on.Every now and then, some weary slut would finish the night too dragged out to wipe, and Lynsey would catch the pearly gleam of semen on a thigh or a blouse. They even knew several areas where she occasionally went to shop or relax. Sometimes, when one of them had a day off, he'd spend it hanging out, frequenting some area where they believed she hung out. It was a Saturday morning, she was within her patterns. She was mostly just window shopping, she didn't need to buy anything in particular. His grip on her hair was tight and painful, the odour of his crotch filled her nostrils, and his hard rod stabbed and tore at the back of her throat. She'd become one of those worn slags that she used to watch. Lynsey's face was pressed into the harsh artificial carpet in the passenger wells. Get stopped by the cops, and the whole thing would be up. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally arrived at his house. Her body goes into fight or flight mode, all the blood goes to the limbs, she's pumping out adrenalin. So, in a real rape, a woman is incapable of orgasm, hell, she can't feel anything down there hardly. Well, I shouldn't say a lot, but you know, a definite percentage, a minority... Find out if she was confessing to some sexual stimulation, have a nurse go off and check if they're wet. He really does believe that I was totally into it, that I was into everything he did... His last sight was Lynsey stumbling home in a daze, her nipple rings poking through the thin cotton of the dirty T-shirt, the crotch of her absorbent sweat pants slightly but visibly darkened with moisture. After that, she stumbled around the apartment, bathing, laying down, cooking and doing dishes automatically, trying to make sense of her experiences. The memories and incidents were fresh and graphic, but so were her physical reactions. The hooker thing, that was just an abberation, another fluke. She had know way to know it, but her explosive waking was the effect of a methamphetamine suppository countering the narcotic drugs in her system. Her mouth was constricted by some sort of gag, it pushed her jaws open and leather straps pulled tight against her cheek. In her confused, disoriented state she could not even put together the thoughts to wonder why or how she was trussed in this position.To say this turned her on wasn't quite right, rather, it heated her, raised her temperature, fascinated her with its consequences and implications. She caught herself, but I don't want to make it easy, so if you want me, you have to work for it. There was a slim chance she might be passing through on that day. Find a traffic point where everyone had to pass through, find someplace comfortable and wait and watch. Always a little short, a little tall, a little heavy, the earings not quite as described, an article of clothing close but not quite. Fifteen minutes later, she came and as usual, signed off the net. There were six of them to stake out the four areas. If she wore even part of the outfit, hell, even if she didn't wear, there was still a chance they might spot her.... She smiled to herself, her outfit attracted a lot of attention, she was very conscious of being window shopped herself. Lynsey smiled, working the skirt down over her hips. Not looking at them was easier, she clutched her breasts and stared at the brick wall. Hook your thumbs into those panties, it ordered, roll it down really slow. As she performed, Peter asked Ian, So, how you want to do it? Between them, Lynsey gagged, her body heaving, but she was trapped and helpless. They forced another orgasm from her body before Peter came. Her expensive, conservative skirt and blouse and jacket was now smeared with dirt, torn, soiled with urine. Passengers got on and off, she came to her stop, but when she tried to get up, Ian shook his head. Now, put the other pair of cuffs around your wrists. She was almost completely compliant, with only bare hesitations. All that subliminal training in obedience on the net? He activated the door opener for the attached garage. The only thing that mattered, as she was going to find out, was what he wanted. It's like the opposite of a big meal, you know, all the blood goes to internal organs for digestion, your arms and legs feel tired. They were what we'd call rape after the fact.' Some girl does it with her boyfriend and you know, stuff happens, she freaks out that she might be pregnant, she gets an attack of the guilts, he turns out to be a jerk, she gets caught by her daddy or husband... He paused and looked expectancy at Lynsey, putting her on the spot. That's what the physical exam is really for by the way, to see if there's sexual arousal, or if its really rape. * * * * * * * * Lynsey returned home to an angry message on her answering machine from her employer, asking about her whereabouts and why she hadn't shown up for work. The next couple of days she stayed home as well, calling in sick, and ignoring the increasingly frustrated messages left by her office. But now, she looked at her bodies reactions, and could not be sure that they had really happened the way she though they had. She found it difficult to work through, difficult to think. Shame on her for dressing like a hooker, she'd deserved it. The two combined to leave her jangling and disoriented. Lynsey was only aware of her bondage in the center of her own home, and her weak pointless thrashings to free herself. Up to the moment that the strange hands took possession of her, it had not even occurred to her, in her drug and fatigue addled state, to even suspect that she might not be alone.She didn't go to specific lingerie shops for specific items. Digital cameras circulated around the table as they compared their shots. You can't go anywhere, bitch, he laughed, and amused himself slapping her body, provoking squeals and whimpers. But he was going in without a rubber, and this bitch was so tight and cherry, he didn't want to tear the skin off his cock. They'd determined that in their nocturnal examinations of her drugged body. They had all agreed that Mike's reward, his gift, their token of appreciation to him for putting all this together, was that they would save that luscious tight ass just for him. He could almost imagine the cold horror creeping through her body, the sudden poisoning of her arousal, the swift temporary clarity and the fear and panic it inspired. For a second, he considered waiting it out, letting her exhaust herself into helplessness again. Why not just take her in the middle of her struggles, at the height of her strength.She never got her nipples pierced, despite numerous demands, and numerous assents. There were 122 shots that had Lynsey in them, another 40 that were spoiled, and a precious minute of videotape. Then he reached down to the hem of her skirt, grasped firmly and pulled. That bastard, he told me he was going to go for it this week, I figured I'd be in first! Through the previous rapes, they had carefully saved that rosebud for his deflowering. He straddled her ass now, pressing his cock between her cheeks. He whispered it over and over until he got her attention. He straddled her bouncing ass, positioning his cock at her sphinter. Lynsey was terrified, in full panic mode, her mind seized with unreasoning fear.Lynsey was a pretty ordinary young woman, in her twenties. A natural blonde, she had long legs and a round ass that had become J Lo fashionable just as it was developing. Sometimes I'll answer questions, sometimes I'll give you things, but I won't make it too easy. But with each, there was the sense of giving away a little piece of herself, there was a little revelation, a surrender that might somehow be her undoing. It was a nasty, vile, vicious game, and she loved it. Lynsey could only mew as his fingers painfully manipulated her towards orgasm. Please what, Peter asked, pushing his fingers hard against her clit. He patiently allowed her to suck his cock for ten minutes, watching as her hips began to rock of their own accord, as her arousal, born out of confusion and surrender built.