Rape Stories

Warning!

Teach Me (Mf, MFf, MFm, Fm)

I was sitting at the bar in the Rathscaller, drinking a double Bushmills, neat, and waiting for my entree. It's a nice place, on the college strip. About half their menue is Vegitarian, so it tends to collect the helth nuts, lesbians, and so forth. It's a great place to cruise, because of the clientelle, and the layout.I knew what I was looking for, after a bit of experience, it's not hard to spot the signs. Of course, nowadays, it's getting harder from the whole Goth thing, kids are starting to affect the look to be cool, but I can usually spot the poseurs.

"Good hunting tonight?" a girl's voice comes to my attention. Though it's not loud in here, she'd spoken right in my ear. Turning, I realised she was a stranger. She didn't have the look, either, if anything, it was the opposite.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, and sized her up. I like them a taller, and her tits where a bit big for my taste. She'd had to stretch to reach my ear, so about 5'4", and from her stocky build, I'd say over 150lbs. Sitting in the bar stool may've thrown off my initial estimate. She wasn't fat, by any stretch of the immagination, nor unnattractive. The body would've been harder to make out through the loose hanging collar shirt, and baggy dockers if it hadn't been so large. Her young face was hard, and angular, not a sign of the roundness that comes with fat. She climbed onto the stool next to me, "Sure, have it your way." she shrugged, and the tender came by to drop a napkin onto the counter in front of her. "Bourbon," she didn't even look at him, just held up two fingers together to make it a double.

I usually look for the born victims, casualties of the social programming that says what's ladylike, and what's manly. This woman apparently didn't subscribe to that theory. She was sugar, and spice, and puppy dog tails, a mis-match of effeminate beauty, and masculine confidence. Though young enough to be a girl, she wasn't, she was a guy who just happened to be female. Oddly enough, she didn't even give a blip on my Gaydar. I couldn't say with any surity that she was straight, or lesbian.

"Can I help you?" I asked. She shrugged, "You could try," she didn't elabourate. Her drink showed up, she finally looks over at the barman, "Did I ask for ice?" she pushes the cordial glass back. My food showed up, too. The "Wizard's Choice", London broil in bearnase with beefsteak mushrooms. Unlike most places with a vegitarian menu, they knew what to do with meat. I relocated to a booth, and she followed without invitation. The cowed bartender rounded out the entourage, he presented her with a highball glass with a few ounces of Jack. This was starting to get annoying, "What do you want?" I demand dismissively. She shruggs nonchalantly, "Lots of things," she evades, "Some can't be discussed publicly."

"I don't have any drugs," I supplied, and wondered what led her to that assumption. I don't look like a dealer, or anything else for that matter. Thirtyish, I could pass for anywhere in that decade, maybe a little younger. I typicly wore khakis, dark shirts, plain jackets in winter, and ballcaps when neccisary. It was summer, so I'd shaved my usual Van Dyke back to a neat mustache. It finally struck me as odd that she was wearing long sleeves in the heat, that usually ment they where covering up self mutilation marks, but with her self esteem, it was more likely Heroin tracks."

She shook her head, and chuckled, "I don't want any," she intimated, "I know what you do, and I'm interested." I doubted it, she thought she knew, but had no idea if she was asking for it. Some girls do, by thier manner, and the risks they take, but not her. "What's that, exactly?" She looked around, leaned in to whisper, "Rape," her eyes flashed in excitement. Ah, I thought, blackmail. That I'd believe of her. "You're a cop." I had to admit, they where starting to zero in on me, it was getting towards time to move on. She stood up slightly in the booth, leaned in farther, and pulled open the neck of her tank top. "See?" she offered, "No wire."

I got to see a health dose of her chest, saw no listening devices, nor a bra for that matter. "That doesn't answer my question," I noted, "Are you working for, or with any agency of law enforcement?" She sat down, and released her shirt front, "No, I am not a police officer, informant, or judicial witness." I'd finished up my meal, threw the money, plus twenty percent, rounded up to the nearest $5.00 incriment on the table. "You're right," I got up, "This is no place to discuss these things." I left without another word, and she followed. "What've you got?" I mused. She shrugged again, "Nothing that'll hold up in court," she admitted, "I've watched you work, seen the condition of your dates afterwards. They'd obviously been raped, but they damn sure won't admit it." "How much?" I mentally calculated, "I'm not made of money." She turned down Pogue street, I was forced to follow, "I don't want it," she laughed, "I've been having these fantasies for a while, and finally decided to do something about them." "Most girls have rape fantsies," I informed her, "They usually change thier minds when they're confronted by the reality of it." She laughed again, "Oh, I've been raped," she admitted, "Didn't care too much for it. What I want from you is for you to teach me." She led me down Hillsborough St, left up Home, and back to Clark Ave. Her house was a little one beroom on a 30'x30' slab that would've been an apartment iwhere it not free standing.

I couldn't've picked a better place, it was cosy, compact, controllable. There was only a living room, kitchen, bath, and bedroom all tucked into a small square in the middle of a decent sized lot. The patio out back was screened by Privet trees, and the front windows where draped with moving blankets tacked up by Simplex nails. Light nightlife traffic on Clark, and sorrounding streets where the summer revelers from State, and thier friends. They'd cover most noises. Just to ice it, she picked up a remote, and turned on the stereo. This was simply a Marshal Stack with a yard sale reciever, and CD changer. WKNC came on at a slightly less than deafening level, and she motioned me back to her room where it was quiet enough to talk. "Barrel of a Gun" by depeche mode started up, and I marveled at the selection. I noticed she had a four poster bed with the canopy removed so it wouldn't obstruct the view of a decent sized mirror on the ceiling. She turned to me, "We can talk safely in here," she conspired, "Nobody would think to bug me." Well, now, I wouldn't say that... I struck her, open handed, but right across the cheek bone with the ball of my hand where a slap can knock a girl out. She spun down onto the bed, and I dove in to take the opportunity she'd presented. She fought, rather well, I'll admit. She was suprizingly strong, even more so than some of the guys I've had to wrestle with. I was forced to rip off her clothes rather than take them off more gently. First came the tank top, it tore easilly from the neck to expose her good sized breasts. She decked me one, so I forced her over onto her belly where she could only beat on the matress. Pulling down her over shirt, the silk, or microfibre polyester was plenty strong enough to hold her hands. They also covered them, preventing her from scratching me, and picking up evidence under her nails. She thrashed nicely, and cursed into the bed, so I grabbed the back of her head, and forced it down to muffle her. In this position, I could see why she wore long sleeves. There wheren't any scars even enough to be self inflicted, or puncture wounds over the prominent veigns. WHat she'd been hiding was her musculature. Her arms rippled with chords of muscle like steel cable coated in glove leather. More striated her broad back which taperd down to the waist with the wings of her deltoids. From here, she couldn't be distinguished from a short stocky man with long hair.

I rolled her over, and got a better look at her chest. The first view of it'd been in the less than impressive light of a booth at the "Rat ". Her body had blocked the hanging light, drowning it mostly in shadow. Since then, I'd only gotten a brief flash while I was distracted with tring to subdue her. Her breasts where smaller than they'd looked under her shirts. The lack of a bra had been decieving to those of us that're used to them, but she didn't need one. They where amply supported by a thick shelf of pectoral muscle. The tips where large, and pulled out by the steel bars that pierced them vertically. "Treacherous son of a bitch!" she screamed, then, "Ah fuck!" as I twisted one of the dumbells. "That's no way to talk," I admonished, "You're mine right now, and I won't stand for any lip from you." I undid her charcoal grey chinos, and pulled them down. She sat up, and I knocked her back down. Her belly flexed as she rose, but slackened when she hit the pillow again. Now she had a matchhing welt on her other cheek from the backhand. Better than any rouge, they really brought the hate in her eyes. I tore her black cotton underwear off, and gagged her with them. That freed the strong odor of her arousal.

I slipped a finger beween her lower lips, and sure enough, they came up slick with her humidity. I wiped it under her nose, "Smell that?" I pointed out, "Now you know how much you wanted this." That was usually enough to get the more submissive of my victims from talking to keep quiet out of guilt. This one, however would be the type to talk, shame was no stranger to her, they where bitter enemies. I reached back down to rub the flap of her hood, and discovered something. Though not yet erect, her clitorus was already protruding. It hardened under my thumb as I slipped a couple fingers in, and grew to unnatural proportions. Not quite a cock, it was almost the size of a prepubescent dinky.

"Steroids?" I wondered aloud. It had to be, either that, or she was some sort of intergender, a demihermaphrodite. Regardless, she didn't answer. I had to sit on her chest to hold her down while I freed myself. Though not usually my type, her failed machismo was extremely arousing. There's nothing like dominating a dominant, a joy I'd given up because the more maleable ones are safer, easier to manipulate. I kind of liked her muscle, her manliness. It was a nice change from the skinny little girls I frequented of late. Unfortunately, her type is hard to find. I paused to slip on a rubber. Always use protection, and strangers. You never know where they've been, and strangers don't have any links back to you. She struggled, tried to prevent me from entering her, but I was an old hand at this. She clamped down, trying to lock me out, but that just made it tighter. I didn't resent the extra friction. I bottomed out in her with one long hard jab, and she grunted from the pain of the penetration.

"You should know better," I admonished, "Clamping down only makes it hurt worse." I pulled out, and gave another thrust for punctuation. "Relax, try to enjoy yourself." I went slow, but hard. Again, it hurt more, but the relaxes gait prolonged it. Only amateurs pound away untill they burst. Rape doesn't happen every day, if you've got it, take the time to enjoy it. I pulled back again untill I could feel my head catch on her rim, then sank back into her. "Drag it out, then slam it home," I told her, "That's the slow methodical rythm calculated to make it seem to last forever."

I could rape someone for hours like this. Telling her was the best part, she'd asked for it. Rape, how too, the hands on crash course. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but the actual feeling of an univited dick sliding into you, deliberate, and purposefull is priceless. She gaspes in, and snorted out of her nose. Equally precious was the look of sheer hatred in her eyes. The hopeless fury, the betrayal. She didn't weep, even stopped struggling and just stared at me like a cat I'd take his carrion from. Finally, I stared her down, and she avoided my gaze by letting her eyes roll up. I knew she could still see me, raping her in the mirror. Finally, she responded, her nipples popped out, bulged around the metal through them. The flesh of her chest mimiced them, prickling with goose bumps, and flushed with blood. Around her panties, her lips darkened, and plumped. Her cheks where red, but the ears blushed as well.

I could feel her heat radiating up at me, sweat rolled down her breasts, and between them. I got sick of the numb fuck pretty quick. Just pounding away at her limp body was no better than necrophiling it except for the warmth. I bent to bite her neck, first on the thick muscular wedge that blended it into her shoulder, then around to the front. I gripped her glottis gently in my teeth, pinching off her air. That got her moving, she struggled, and finally broke free. I went for it again, turning my head around to the other side, and she thrashed to throw off my aim. Simply for symmetry, I went on past it to plant another hemotoma on her other shoulder.

"That's right," I encouraged her, "It's lots more fun when you struggle." I chuckled down at her. She went limp again, so I bared my teeth, and she started up again. That naturally accellerated the pace, a good thrasher always did. I kept biting her though, spurring her on with the pain. I added my nails, raked them across her chest, and sides.she moaned, and gasped, but it was in pain as much as pleasure. She started rocking side to side, arching her back, flailing her head on her pillow. I didn't think the shirt would hold her forever, and I wasn't dissapointed. Her hands came free, and wrapped around to flay my back. At that point, I didn't care any more. I had enough endorphins, and orgone running though me to enjoy it. Pepper on vanilla ice cream, try it some time. She wasn't even trying to break free, or push me off. She even fucked me back.

I was really wailing on her, forcing the air out of her in feral grunts only for it to be sucked back in on the up stroke. I couldn't hold back much longer, I could feel her belly ripple under mine, her massaging me with muscles in places I didn't even have, and that pushed me over. I hadn't had such a good hard fuck in a while, that's the price you pay for taking the safe road, the weak victims. I realised I missed it as my lust broke free. I pulled out, yanked off the prophilactic, and sent it skimming across her torso. She locked her legs behind mine, and pulled me to her as it pumped out. At first, I made it over her head, then struck her face with it. She winced, and tried to shy away, but I grabbed her hair, and held her head up in the line of fire. Eventually, the pressure lessened, and I hosed down her impressive chest. Finally, it slackened all together, and dribbled onto her belly.

Now esentually free, she pulled out her gag, and I didn't stop her. Instead, I bent to lap my seed from between her breasts. "That was cruel," she accused. I grinned up at her, a creamy chord still dangling from my lolling tongue. Sucking it in, I swallowed before responding, "That'll teach you."