Sometimes rush hour is a real ordeal (stupid_girl and pantyhosethief)

[pantyhosethief]

*click* - that's it. Call ended, chance gone. I slide your head back down me, hold you there with my tip in your throat, your lips stretched around me, look down to meet your eyes, stroke your right cheek gently with my left hand. "Well, Sherri, your friend thinks you're a dirty little slut. Is she right? Are you a bit of a tart, are you enjoying this a little?"

It's an interesting feeling, being in your mouth while you try to talk. You make quite a lot of noises, but nothing very intelligible. I get the idea, though - "no".

No, you're not, I think.

"Yes, you are," I say. "You're a dirty, filthy little trollop. Look at you. Sucking me off like a whore. Don't deny it. Rhiannon's your friend, and she obviously believes it. She was a bit surprised though, wasn't she," I smile. "Nasty little Sherri. You deserve this."

I step back a couple of steps, dragging you forward with me. Then, trying to keep inside your mouth - but I almost slip out - I step slowly over you, turning as I do so; now I'm behind you, you're kneeling, painfully bent over backwards, your face upside down from my perspective. This position, your head bent awkwardly back, give me full access to your throat. It's quite painful for you, I suppose, since if I wasn't gripping your hair you would fall backwards, unable to support yourself with your bound hands in front of you.

Your breasts (quite wet with drool now) and belly look very nice from this angle. You nearly puked, earlier, didn't you? - oh yes, I noticed.

Thinking about how ashamed you seemed talking to your friend, I slam into your throat from this new angle. I can feel the top of your throat, just behind your tongue, as I thrust past it. It feels amazing as I thrust harder, dragging your head back by your hair no longer looking at your face or thinking about you now just pleasuring myself in this wet, tight, hole, oh YES, there I go, final thrust, ejaculating down your throat, way too far in for you to spit it out even given the chance.

As my climax finishes I realise you are really choking and gagging, convulsing... I pull out of your throat, back to your mouth, and you vomit copiously, puke running out around my cock, over the lower part of your face and falling onto your neck, and the floor.

Quickly I pull out, roughly flip you over and drag you forward so you are kneeling with head over the toilet basin as you continue to retch. Eventually it's all out and you kneel, drooling, shaking. The pungent smell of your stomach acids fills the little cubicle.

And the train stops. End of the line.

I turn and bend to get what remains of your blouse from the floor, to clean your face and neck.

[stupid_girl]

While the tears stream down my face from the humiliation of having to talk to Rhiannon with your cock in my mouth you tease yourself with the tip of your cock in my mouth. You know that you have me at a point now where I am probably too ashamed to even tell anyone that this has happened to me, at the fuels your desires for more. You drag me forward with your grip of my hair forcing me to semi crawl with you, your cock still between my lips. You quickly slip around me and lean me back, arching my back and forcing my head to hang back.

The only thing keeping me up is your grip in my hair now, with my hands bound in front of me I am useless to do anything to help myself. I have never been in this position but it doesn't atake long for you to show me why you have chosen the position. With a single thrust your cock presses deep into my thoat, leaving your balls resting over my nose. With that grip of my hair you begin to thrust forcefully into my throat without an ounce of mercy. You use my mouth as though it is my twat and judging by your moans you loves every second of it.

I obviously can't see myself, but I can feel the drool that has slipped out of my mouth and onto my face and chest. Something that is enough to humiliate me, and you wish I could see how I looked in this position so that I could see how much of a whore I really looked like. A thought that made your cock quiver inside my throat. As you thrust you watched as my throat expanded with each thrust, watching, able to see exactly where your cock was inside me the whole time.

Your cock erupted as you pinned my your cock to the hilt inside my mouth, your cum spilling down my throat and into my stomach. I don't even have the option of swallowing it or not, although, even if there was a choice I am sure you would find a way to make swallow your cum. With your cock locked in my throat I begin to gag and my face begins to change colours as I can not breath. You know that I can't take much more but there is not a chance in hell that you are pulling out before you have milked every last drop out.

You pull back and the second you do vomit comes up, as though it were sucked out of my stomach. You hold there for a moment until your realize that is just the beginning. You swing me around and bury my face in the bowl of the toilet. I vomit until my stomach is dry and my throat hurts. I cough heavily and cry as I pull away from the toilet, resting my ass on my knees. My face and body yet again a mess. You decide that you will clean me up again, likely so you can just make a mess of me again. This time though I simply knees there with a look of utter shame in my eyes as you use my torn blouse to clean me again.

I look up at you while keeping my head down, as though I were almost afraid to do so. You can see the toll this taking on me and rather than feeling sorry for me you love it. The sad, helpless face of your little subway whore. "Please...please no more." I beg, my voice soft and meak, scratchy from the abuse. For a moment ou consider that maybe I have had enough until you glange into the toilet. Amidst the vomit you can see the swirls of your cum, cum that was meant to be swallowed by me.

[pantyhosethief]

There's very little noise now the train has stopped, just a few creaks and the occasional click as it shuts down. I lean back against the wall, and you kneel slumped before me, and we share a quiet moment together.

The way you glance up to make your plea I might almost think you're shy - after all we've done together! For just a moment, temporarily sated, I can think clearly; perhaps that's enough? After all, you are a person, and clearly not a very happy one, and I've had some pleasure. Thinking of you as a person, I naturally glance at your face. The misery in your eyes.

Just looking down at your face... at the back of my mind I imagine raising you to your feet.. giving you my shirt.. comforting you, taking you away from here... you'd be so grateful, wouldn't you? To be taken away from this nasty little cubicle, now befouled with your vomit... I glance at the toilet.

"Cunning little bitch. So, you don't want to swallow my semen?" I exclaim.

In puzzlement, shock, you look up, as I slap your head to one side, then, taking your hair tightly in my fist, bring your face again to the bowl. With my other hand I scoop a handful from the bowl and press the mixture of vomit, water and sperm to your lips. Frantically you shake your head - pulling your own hair in my grasp - clenching your teeth. Roughly I close my hand over your mouth and nose, until desperate for air you have to gasp and snuffle the cold, slimy mixture into your nose and mouth. Its acidity burns the inside of your nostrils.

"Swallow it you little bitch," I tell you. You won't... you just won't... you need to breathe... you gulp. "More," I say, a second handful to your lips. This time, disgustedly, helplessly, you lap it from my palm, swallow.

------------

At the other end of the carriage, the connecting door opens. The driver steps through, doing his regulation check for drunks, vagrants and general ne'er-do-wells who might be left on the train overnight. As he advances down the aisle he sniffs. Is that vomit? Not another drunk throwing up in the toilet, he sighs... he reaches the cubicle. The door is pushed shut, but shows "vacant". He pushes... there's a bit of resistance.. then it opens....

Kneeling between my legs, me standing on your ankles, holding your face to my crotch, you squirm ineffectually.

Looks like some drunken slut had a good time tonight... sick everywhere, and are these her clothes blocking the door? Ah well, the cleaning women will have a job tomorrow morning... whistling, the driver passes onto the next car.

------------

Cautiously, I open the emergency equipment cupboard door, step out; you remain within, cowed, until reaching in I grab your hair and drag you out. You start to get up but I prefer you lying down; I take a thick handful of your lovely, although rather dishevelled, black hair and stride down the aisle towards the front of the train; frantically, on your back, twisting and turning your body, you scramble along with your hands and feet, trying to avoid being dragged.

[stupid_girl]

As you shovel the first handful of the disgusting mixture to my face I squirm and twist my face in a desperate attempt to escape it. As I do I feel strands of hair snapping in your relentless grip. I want to scream from the pain of my hair tearing from my scalp but I know the second my mouth open you will force feed it to me. I fight for as long as I can before the inability to breath takes over, instinct over desire. I open my mouth and try to take a deep breath but before air I get a mouthful of the vile mixture. While most of it stays in my mouth, some of it is swallowed and some of it is pulled into my nose. As you reach for the second handful I pant heavily trying to catch my breath and before I can you have your hand pressed to my face again. I know you will not stop until you are satisfied and decide it far easier on myself just do as I am told and swallow. I swallow what you give me plus what was already in my mouth and lick your hand clean, knowing that would probably spred it all over me or inmy hair or something if I didn't.

You step back and open the door, there is now nothing but silence as even the train had completely shut down for the night. With a sudden movement your hand is back in my hair, somehow gripping tighter than before and you are pulling. I try to get to my feet but you pull me to the floor as you pull me along. As hard as I fight I can't seem to get myself to my feet and you are dragging me along through the isle behind you. I try as hard as I can but anytime I get close to being able to get back to my feet you pull me back down. I reach my hands up and grab ahold of the one that is wrapped in my black hair trying to ease the pain. The pull on y roots is still intense but it isn't as bad now.

My only hope is the conductor coming by on his routine inspection, only I have no idea that he has already come by. Not only has he come by but he has witnessed me being used and looked the other way thinking I was just some drunk slut. I scream wildly, crying out in pure desperation for help. My clothes are left behind in the dirty restroom as I dragged completely naked through the isle. I scream loud enough that my throat begin to hurt. My voice becomes raspy and strained. I am helplessly being dragged along behind you without a clue where I am going. Where the hell could you be bringing me?

[pantyhosethief]

As you start to scream I tense up - after so long keeping you quiet, it's shocking to hear you make such a noise. Then I remember, no-one wil hear you. I listen appreciatively as I drag you along the train. Interesting, one's first instinctive reaction to a girl screaming is to do something - go to help, run, silence her, but do something - but doing nothing, and just listening, I like this. It's such an honest noise - you're hurt, you want help, you want rescue, you don't enjoy what's happening to you. And it's because of what I'm doing to you. I enjoy your screams until your voice starts to fail. This happens surprisingly quickly, I've only dragged you three carriages, but after all you have been screaming very loudly. You've grabbed hold of my hand to ease the pain in your hair, slightly - I allow this.

As your noise falters, I stop, pull you forward until you are lying in the aisle beside me, below me, looking upwards, my hand still in your hair. Our eyes meet. "Do you want to go back to the toilet?", I ask, harshly.

You don't. Back there, there's no hope of escape. You shake your head, numbly, constrained in my grip.

God, you're so female. Just for the pleasure I bend down, dropping the bundle of my clothes on your belly, and take hold of your left breast; for a few seconds I pull hard at it, tugging it, twisting it back and forth, hurting, relishing the yielding but firm feel of it, flicking the nipple.

You endure this humiliation.

"Don't drop my clothes," I warn you, straightening up. You grab my wrist again as I begin to drag you by the hair down the aisle again, with your other hand, you clasp my clothes to your belly - best not to antagonise me. Another carriage, the floor rough on your back. Here we are. Front of the train, and the manual door that needs no power to open. I shove it open, step out onto the running board, jump down beside the track.

It's a five foot drop, can't just pull you out - likely I'd break your neck. I let go of your hair. "Jump down," I tell you. For a moment you consider fleeing back into the train, but where would you go? Reluctantly you comply, sitting on the running board then slipping down to stand beside me. The rough gravel they have around the tracks here in the train depot shed hurts the soles of your bare feet. From the sudden pain, or maybe some other reason, you drop my clothes, and stupidly, not thinking, I bend down to pick them up.

[stupid_girl]

My voice cracks sooner than it ever has before. It cracks as though I am loosing my voice and I likely will have lost it later this evening or tomorrow. It goes so quickly not because of how hard I am screaming, although that is effecting it, it's because of the trauma you have done to it. The violent throat fucking that you have forced me to endure. I don't for a second stop scream though for the benefit of my voice. My cracking voice continues while the tears fall from my eyes without an end in sight, much like the ordeal I am currently in the middle of.

When you stop in the middle of one of the cars I think that you have finally had enough. To my surprise all you want is a fondle of my tit, which you liberally take, making sure that even after you let it go I will be able to feel that you have had your hand on it. I moan and wince as you toy with me. I am starting to feel like a toy to you, and ultimately that is exactly what I have become, your toy. You drop your bundle of clothes onto me and begin dragging me again. The tearing feeling of my hair from my scalp returns as does the echoeing of my screams through the empty car.

As you jump down from the car, I become terrified that you are going to drag me out and drop me to the ground. I don't see the deliberation in your eyes and am surprised when you let my hair go and instruct me to jump down. I very cautiously roll off my back and sit up, my bare ass sitting on the ledge of the door, my legs hanging down out of the car. I clutch the bundle of your clothes in my lap. I ease myself down slowly out of the car the ground, while my body aches from head to toe. Not being a tall girl the five foot drop makes it even more difficult to get to the ground.

As my feet absorb the my weight and press hard in to the stone gravel I wince and shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other. As I shift my weight from my right foot to my left a feel a stabbing sensation and let out a yelp. I don't know it yet but a piece of glass has embedded itself in my heel. The sudden rush of pain cause me to forget about the task I have been given and the bundle of your clothes falls from my clutches onto the dark, charcoal stone. I stand back up not even realizing what I have done. You bend down to pick up your bundle and then slowly stand back up. I look at you and finally realize what I have done. I see the look and your eyes and know you are kind of wishing you had just pulled me out of the car and let me fall out. But you have ideas for me and will make me pay for my mistake. It is something you will take pleasure in.

I look around the rail yard and I can't see anyone, it's as though the place is completely deserted and I wonder if there is anyone there that will hear my screams if I cry out for help. I have no clue what else you could possibly want with me and why you idn't just leave me there alone in the stall and go about your way. There must be more you want from me and I am scared now that I have upset you more than I can find words for.

[pantyhosethief]

Even as I bend down I realise this is your first good opportunity to escape, but you don't run; nor do you seize the opportunity to attack me. I straighen up, and examine you afresh. So vulnerable, naked and exposed here in the cold night air. Nipples so pert. Your hair is a mess, half covering your face, tangled, absently I stroke it smooth.

Why didn't you run, I wonder. Perhaps, I think, you don't want this to end yet. Perhaps you've discovered you like it, a little; like me, a little. Why else wouldn't you resist, I muse? No other reason occurs to me. For a moment I think how nice it might be, the two of us, friends, lovers, you needing harsh treatment and me needing to give it to you.

Then I remember the exquisite look of horror and pain on your face before, and I realise I need to see it again. I know you'll never look like that if you secretly enjoy, or even just need, what's being done to you; no, I'll have to be even crueller. Find your limits. And break them.

I smile at the thought, not noticing how you shudder to see it.

"Stupid girl, stupid Sherri!", I exclaim, throwing the bundle back to you. "Don't dare to drop these again... now walk to the office over there." Roughly I turn you in the right direction, shove you forwards, you stumbling, the rough stones agony on your soles, you go ahead of me towards the doors at the side of the shed, me following, admiring your bottom. I shove you again, and you fall forward, hurting your palms as you catch yourself. "Don't get up.. crawl.." I tell you. Clutching the bundle with one arm, you awkwardly crawl ahead of me, a delicious sight. As we near the door I think about what I will do next... what's that Spanish punishment... I look speculatively at the now dirty soles of your little feet

What's that you're bleeding!

"Stop," I tell you. I crouch down, examine your injury - it's a shard of green glass, embedded in your heel. "Hold still," I tell you, grasping your ankle with one hand, and with the other pulling the glass out. You squeal. The blood flows more freely now, this needs attention, it might get infected. I tell you to stand up, then sweeping you up into my arms I carry you into the office, sit you in the chair. Good - there's a first aid kit on the wall. Opening it I take out the iodine, some wipes, a plaster. Kneeling down before you I take your foot. "This'll sting", I warn you. Carefully, I pour some iodine onto the wound, swab it clean, pour on some more, dry it, plaster it. Brave girl - you didn't even flinch.

For a moment, you're grateful to me.

Then I take the roll of bandage out of the first aid kit and tie your left ankle to the chair leg and then your right ankle and you aren't grateful any more

As I stand up you try and stand as well, but I shove your face forcing you back onto the chair. Moving swiftly behind you, I gather your hair, pulling it back tightly into a pony tail, which I twist round several times, painfully tighening the pull on your scalp. You can feel me yanking your head back with it against the chair back, but can't really know what I'm doing. A last tug and I step around in front of you. Again you try to rise, but you can now only move a few inches - your eyes widen as you realise I have tied your hair to the back of the chair.

You must know it's pointless but you start begging again. I don't want to hear it. Putting all my weight behind the blow I slap you across the face rocking you backwards. "SHUT - " a second blow " - UP", and the chair goes over, knocking the breath out of you as you crash down, the chair now lying on its back, you still bound to it. Now what was I thinking a moment ago?

Ah yes. Going to the desk, I rummage around, finding an old-fashioned wooden ruler. Perfect. I address myself to the task of punishing the soles of your feet for a bit...

[stupid_girl]

For what amounts to a about ten minutes I am completely lost, confused and totally nsure of what is going on. Just seconds after pushing me to the ground you have swooped me into his arms and you are carrying me. You aren't making walk on the stones barefoot. You aren't making me crawl either. You have me in your arms and you ares paring me the pain that you had origianlly planned for me. We enter the office and you gently put me down and begin tending to cut. I am blown away and I have no idea what to do with it.

But, just seconds later you pull away the illusion and everything settles back into place. My ankle is quickly wrapped to the leg of the chair quickly followed by my other. I know what is happening and I begin to beg you again, for mercy. I beg for you to let me go, and I beg for you not to do anything to me. I should have known though that there wasn't a chance that you would listen to me or I wouldn't be in the position I am right now. I feel so stupid for letting my gaurd down thinking you might actually have some compassin for me. My hair tied to the chair, making sure that every time I move it hurts me to do so. You've had enough of my whining and slap me hard, and then slap me hard a second time. The second one bringing me to the floor with a solid thud.

I am tied to the chair, laying on my back. I watch as you go over to the desk and wonder what the hell could be in the desk that you could want. I see the wooden ruler in your hand as you come back and I come to the quick conclusion that I am about to be punished for dropping your clothes before. You stand near my feet and look into my eyes before shifting your gaze to my feet. My chin begns to quiver, "Please, please don't do this." You shake your head and lift your arm. A loud smack fills the room followed my a loud scream. The sting is intense and gets worse as you land a second swat of the ruler on the same foot.

You use the ruler to repeatedly slap the battered soles of my feet, each one of them illiciting a pained scream from me each time. Tears stream down my face while my chin quivers endlessly. I try to beg you to stop while my free arms flail somehow trying to escape the pain. The pain doesn't go way and there is nothing I can do to get away from it. It is overwhelming and my entire body begins to tremble as the sting from each slap ripples through me ike electricity.

[pantyhosethief]

I watch your face with some satisfaction as I beat you, at the same time relishing the feel of the blows through the ruler, and your pleading, continually interrupted by your screams. That's the look I want - helpless, desperate, hurting. So fitting on you.

Bastinado, I remember it's called. A common punishment in less civilised places and times for criminals, female students, naughty children. And stupid girls such as you, of course. I take my time, punishing the balls of your feet, your insteps and heels at random, at first with a regular rhythmn. Soon you're trembling and shaking uncontrollably, and I derive extra amusement from varying the stroke, sometimes just a soft touch, sometimes a double blow, sometimes the swish of the ruler without making contact - but you scream and jerk anyway, in anticipation.

Eventually I stop. You won't be walking very fast or very far for a while. I'm afraid the plaster on your sole is damaged - I replace it, pressing the adhesive tape firmly onto the bruised skin around the wound, making you moan.

"I enjoyed that," I inform you cheerfully. I gather, from your noises, and some weak swearing, that you didn't. "I wonder what else we can do?", I speculate. Leaving you on the floor I wander into the next room, a workshop, thoughtfully select a few items from the toolbenches and cupboards, bring them back into the office. As I lay them out on the floor nearby you forget about swearing and start to plead again. So far, you haven't really suffered any permanent (physical) damage, but you don't like the look of this.

I wonder whether I would really go through with using some of these things, and if I'd enjoy it? I don't think I'd like it afterwards. Happily, I don't have to find out, because you are now attempting to bargain. You suggest a couple of things you'd do for me, but, as I point out, I can just do them anyway. "Sorry, Sherri, that's not good enough. You'll have to think of something better than that. You're not so stupid you can't come up with something dirty, degrading and humiliating... or else...," meaningfully, I pick up the pliers and click them together...

[stupid_girl]

I can't really see anything that you have pulled out of the workshop, but I can see the item you have picked up. I have no idea whether or not the other things you have grabbed are better or worse than what you show me but I am not willing to take that chance. I focus in on the pliers in your hand and the clicking sound the metal makes as it closes shut. I don't have to be grabbed by the tool to know that the pain will be excruciating and that I will be brought to tears again. Not to mention that I don't know where you might want to use them on me. Before this evening I was niave enough to think that the worst I might ever get from something like this is a pinch on the finger. But, having seen what you seem to enjoy I could be punished with something like pliers to the nipples or even worse to the clit.

The idea of begging you to do something to me that I would know would be so degrading and humiliating almost makes me sick. I feel my stomach turning knowing that to avoid the wicked pain I will volunteer myself to something I would never consider. I have to let the terrible and horrific images of things you might want to do to me run through my mind trying to think of something that will be good enough for you. I know that my imagination, even through the fear, isn't likely to produce exactly what you are looking for but I know it is my only chance to avoid what might be permanent physical scarring.

For the first time since I saw the pliers, my gaze shifts away from them to your face. A nervous and already humiliated look is worn heavy on my face. "Do...do you still have my phone?" You look at me quizically, wondering what the hell that might have to do with anything. It takes a moment before you respond and when you do all it is, is a simple nod of your head. "What, what if I get...on all fours and let you...have me in a way..." You can see the tears in my eyes forming just before they begin to fall and you can hear the shame in my voice. You know now where I am going with this but still don't understand the phone. "My...behind..." I pause, "has never been used" You can't help but laugh at the innocence of my comment.

The tears that had formed now fall from my eyes, no make-up being drawn with them now as you have cleaned my face up. "The phone...has a video camera built into it. You can keep the phone and make a video for yourself." The idea begins to sound more intrigueing to you as you think about having a video to keep of you taking my anal virginity. "I...will also say in the video that this was all my idea...all me...so I can't come after you later." You raise your eyebrows now as you learn that I will do something that will infact protect you and make me look like a filthy whore, and nothing more.

You nod again reaching for the phone that is in the pocket of the pants you have on one of the desks. You pull it out instructing me to set it up. "All I ask...is...is that when you are finished...you leave me alone...no more." You look for a minute as though you are genuinely considering that aspect of my proposal. You finaly agree as you hand me the phone even though you know that you'll do whatever you want after you have finished with my ass and have me on video telling anyone who watches it that I am the whore, the slut, the cheap piece of trash who wanted this from you.

[pantyhosethief]

"You dirty little tart", I exclaim, sounding disgusted. "OK, if that's what you want, that's what you'll get." I hand you your phone. "Set it up." You start to fiddle with the phone, still lying on your back, while I cut the bonds on your ankles. I then grab your hair where it is tied to the chair and pull you back up to a sitting position. I can't untie your hair, it's knotted too tightly. "Stay still," I tell you, picking up the hammer I collected; you are very careful not to move as I smash at either side of your shoulders, breaking the back of the chair apart, and leaving you free of it except for the foot-long length of wood still bound in your hair.

You then continue to work on the phone, fiddling with the settings and

*SLAP* you're off the broken chair, on the floor, head ringing, phone dropped. I pick it up, cancel the text message you were in the middle of composing. -Hlp hes rapmg me call - "Stupid girl. You still think there's a chance of being helped?" Dazed, you get your hands under you, start to rise. I put a foot high on your back, between your shoulder blades, push you down again, squashing your breasts onto the floor beneath you, keeping my foot there, enjoying the feeling of your body under my foot. "Stay there." I toss your phone down in front of you. Resignedly, you pick it up, and aware I am closely watching what you do, access the camera function, go to video mode. "It's - it's ready," you say.

"Good. Record yourself describing the situation," I tell you. You press record then hold the phone in front of your face, camera towards you. "I... I've been, been raped. I ... I wanted him to do it. I asked him," you begin, hesitantly. You wish you hadn't suggested this. "Tell them who you are," I instruct you. "I.. I'm Sherri," you tell the camera. "No. Full name, and address," I instruct. "I'm Sherri G---", you say. You give an address.

I remind you, forcefully, that I now possess your driver's license. You then give your true address, in all detail. With some encouragement you then explain that, quite voluntarily, you wish to be harshly fucked up the arse.

"Are you sure, Sherri?", I ask, concerned. "It might hurt, you know." You explain that you need it, however much it hurts. "Why?" I ask.

Pause.

"Because I'm a, a whore. A slut. A cheap piece of trash. There - are you satisfied?" you exclaim.

I laugh, bend down, take the camera from you. "Show me where you want me to go," I tell you. I swivel round, still keeping my foot on your back, and point the camera at your derriere. Reluctantly, you put your hands back, grasp your buttocks, and open them to expose your anus. Oh dear. I guess you weren't expecting to show it to anyone today, but I have to say (and I do say, for the camera) you didn't wipe very thoroughly. Still, your little puckered brown hole is very appealing. I stroke it with my forefinger, poke at it, and involuntarily you tighten up, but you can't stop me shoving my finger in a good two inches. You squirm as I feel around inside you. Very warm. Tight. Quite soft inside. Greasy, anyway, you may be glad of that. I crouch down, hold the camera to your face, put my finger to your mouth. "Suck it clean," I tell you, and you do, tasting your own wastes on it. "Say mmmmm", I tell you, and you do, pretending (not very convincingly) to like the taste.

In case you had any more ideas about escape, I now take your wrists up behind your head and, with the bandages previously used on your ankles, tie your wrists to the piece of wood already attached to your hair.

I hold the camera close as I position myself over you and introduce my cock into your rear hole. I can't really blame you for involuntarily tightening up, and it doesn't make much difference, as I force your sphincter to open. Then there's a long slide in and I'm fully ensconced in your rectum. So snug. I hold the camera to your face; you're crying now. It feels very heavy and stretched within you. Slowly I pull out, then ram in again. Alternating between your face and your bottom with your camera, I speed up and ram in, out, in, out, for about 10 minutes. Half-way through there's a sudden slackening, and looking down I notice you've started to bleed down there. At around the same time you start to scream, for a bit, but grabbing your hair I force your face down into the floor and hold it there, until you subside into moans and sobs.

At the brink I pause. "Do you want me to come into you, Sherri?" I ask. You're still sobbing but I gather the answer is negative. I put the camera to your face. "Well?", I demand. "P-p-please, come inside me," you beg, as you know I want. At this point I suppose you just want it to be over. And it soon is, as I finish inside you and pull out, admiring the way your anus doesn't close up, immediately, but gapes open, ravaged.

After a minute I ask, pointing the camera at your face again, "Aren't you going to thank me?". "Tha--- thank you, sir," you gasp, still trying to come to terms with the throbbing pain you now feel in your insides.

For a minute you dare to hope that it is done, I've got what I wanted, you can go. Then I take the pliers and squeeze and scar your left breast and it looks as if I'm going to use them on your face next and you realise it was all for nothing and you start to scream again

[stupid_girl]

In the moment your finger begins to slide into my ass I begin regretting every one of my choices to this point. Most notably the choice to 'allow' you to use my ass. I grimace as you sink your finger into me a good two inches. You pull it out and force meto take it into my mouth. The biter taste of my ass is overwhelming and the thought makes me gag. But, I do as I am told, telling you that I like it, telling you that it tastes good. I am no longer trying to get away or stop what you do to me, all I am trying to do now is make the ordeal as easy as I can.

I know the camera is on me the entire time changing from my face to my ass as you press the head of your cock into my ass. I don't want to tighten, I know that it will make it more painful for me but my instincts try to protect me and I clench down. This intensifies the pain and I feel as though I am being torn open. While I am being violently stretched, I am not being torn, yet. You thrust, with an increasingly hard, and fast pace. The camera still going from my face to my stretched asshole. You record the violation and the look of pure pain, mixed with humiliation.

Your thrusts bring waves of pain with each humiliating penetration. Tears form in my eyes and I moan in pain. I wonder for a brief moment between waves of pain whether you like the moans of pain, or if you are pretening that they are moans of pleasure. Suddenly, a shot of pain rips through me and the moans turn to screams in a heartbeat. I have no idea what just happened but the pain is blinding and totally overwhelming. The tears that had formed in the corners of my eyes fall and streak my face.

You continue until you are ready to cum. You again leave to belive that I have some kind of choice and ask me if I want you to cum inside my ass. I don't, not even a little, but I don't want you to be fucking me, touching me or even looking at me. I want this over so I tell you that I do want you to cum in my ass. You do, and you empty your cum into my bowels. You pull your cock out of my damaged ass which stays wide open as you vacate it, admiring the beating you have just put on it.

I stay on my knees, with my chest on the floor, tits pressed underneath me and my hands tied to the wood still in my hair. My ass full of your cum and high in the air for your filming desires. Before I can pull myself together I feel the shearing pain of the of the pliers on my tits and then displayed infront of my face. I look at them closely and then I look at you and the look in your eyes. The look is menacing and I am terrified of what you have hidden behind them. Feeling broken I roll to my side and curl into a tight ball, holding the fetal position as though I can hide from you like this. I can feel the fresh cum trickling out of my destroyed asshole. It runs over my ass cheek and pools on the floor.

[pantyhosethief]

Like the wounded animal you are you roll over and curl up to protect your breasts, but of course, this only exposes your nether holes again. I see that your anus still gapes open, leaking my sperm, mixed with blood. I consider what sort of damage would be necessary to cause you to rectally prolapse. Your anal sphincter is already torn, it wouldn't take much. And you moaned so prettily when I was using you there; perhaps, I think, you'd enjoy it.

When I ask you what you think about this, you don't even understand what I'm asking at first. Then you give me to understand you wouldn't enjoy it. I slap you into silence again (well, despairing sobs). Experimentally I slide a couple of fingers into your bottom, crook the fingers and try and grip your inner walls and pull your rectum down and out. You're quite slippy in there anyway now, but it seems you aren't damaged enough yet.

For a moment I pause and consider you. Such smooth, pristine skin, so soft but firm underneath; one breast with an angry red mark on it, well I say "mark" but "dint" would be more accurate, it'll never be completely smooth again, but apart from that such rounded, pretty shapes; your lovely bared legs, leading to your bleeding, gaping hole, and, beneath, demurely closed at the moment, your inner place.

Rolling you over I expose your breasts again; with the pliers, I grip at various points on your left breast, hard, crushing the flesh, making more marks that will heal in time, but never completely; there'll always be a certain roughness to the skin here. You try and endure this.

Then I move to your face, clamping your nose gently in the teeth of the pliers. You are going to be publicly disfigured.

You beg me to stop. Up to here it's all been hidden, but if I continue you will be ugly in public. Scarred. Pitied to your face, laughed at behind your back.

I tighten the grip, and, inevitably, you plead.

Very well. I free your hands from the wood bound into your hair, give you the pliers. "Damage yourself," I tell you. You know if you aren't satisfactory, I will ruin your face.

I sit back against a filing cabinet, rubbing myself idly.

[stupid_girl]

Tears stream down my face. There are tears from the pain of what you have done to me. Pain all over my tits, deep within the bowels of my rectum and my nose. My chin quivers wildly as you hand me the pliers and take a step back, looking at me with obvious expectations. The tears were not only from the pain though. Now, the threat, the thought of hurting myself was terrifying. I know that it is better that I do it to myself because it will spare me the torture to my face, and I will be able to control it. But I don't believe that I am strong enough to do this to myself.

I sit up spread my legs a little, before placing the soles of my feet together with my knees now spread wide apart. I can feel the cum leaking from my ass now flowing and pooling right underneath where I sit. I look down between my legs and see the fluid mixture on the floor between my legs. My eyes then move to my breasts and I can clearly see multiple red marks from the pliers. I look back up to you, looking right into your eyes as you slowly begin to rub your cock again. It isn't hard yet, but that is only a matter of time.

My eyes now plead with you. I look back down and place the teeth of the pliers on the soft, sensitive skin on the inside of my thighs and begin to squeeze. I do it slowly and the sting builds with each tiny increase in pressure. Finally I break down into a sobbing mess. With tears flowing from my eyes like water from a tap I plead with you, "Please, please don't make me do this. Please. I can't do it. I can't. I have done everything else. You have used me and hurt me...please not this...pleease!!!"

[pantyhosethief]

You sit very prettily and inspect yourself, then, shuddering slightly, you select a place on your inner thigh. Interesting, I think, that you choose such a vulnerable and appropriate place instead of, say, your arms or flanks. For a second I wonder if it's a trick, to put me off guard, but no, I think - you must have almost reached the point of complete acceptance now. Bravely, slowly, you bear down on the pliers, watching me with silent desperation as you force yourself to go through with it.

Suddenly you're sobbing, pleading, shaking helplessly. You can't go on... you cringe back in terror as I approach, stroke your cheek. Don't worry, I won't damge your face, I can tell you're really trying... you need just a little bit of help to make that final step. "It's OK, Sherri, shhhh... it's OK, I'll help," I tell you. Kneeling behind you I reach over your shoulder and put my hand over yours, hugging you reassuringly with my other arm. You continue to plead, I think still afraid you won't be able to do it, but I continue to reassure you, moving your hand holding the pliers back to your chosen spot. I push your hand, the pliers, forward, to grasp a fold of already reddened skin. "Now, just squeeze," I tell you, tightening my grip on your hand encouragingly.

I kiss your hair gently as I lean over you, my erection rubbing the small of your back, watching your hand, feeling you tense as you gather your strength.