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| Free Interracial Rape Pics | Policewoman Rape Stories | Cartoon Rape Pictures | Pics Of Kidnapped Teens Forced To Have Sex |
| Day of Reckoning When Carl finally came downstairs to have breakfast, he spent a few minutes with the twins and then he left for work, and speaking not a word to Kate. It was Thursday. Today was the day. Kate had arranged for Sophie to stay later that afternoon, and to fix the twins dinner. She had packed her bag with the corset and the latex wear after lunch and it had spent the entire afternoon sitting on her bed, looking like some alien thing from another universe. And each time she passed through the room, the rubber and leather in the bag seemed to call to her – like the Sirens singing their seductive melodies of enticement – and teasing Kate to open the zipper on the bag and take them out and fondle and smell and lick them with her tongue. Her hormones were a seething cauldron of contradictions. Arousal, fear, fascination, revulsion - along with an overriding sense of perversion and lust and decadence - competed for her attention. Right and wrong, darkness and light, and lust and betrayal. All of the elements of a classic Greek tragedy were here, jumbled together and indivisible. Nothing about any of it made sense or was reasonable. But as the day progressed, Kate found herself both willing the clock to move faster, and slower, as she nervously paced around the house, doing nothing except moving from place to place and endlessly straightening objects that had no need of being straightened. Thankfully, Sophie kept herself busy with the boys today. There were being a handful and couldn't be left alone for more than a few minutes the way they were acting. Everyone in the house was on edge. It was like when you can feel a thunderstorm laced with tornados bearing down on you, even when all you can feel is the heavy, moist, still air of a leaden and sultry summer afternoon. You know in your heart that you are in its path, but you are powerless to flee – and you have nowhere to run to, to find safety. Kate knew in her heart that Carl wasn't going to come home until after it was time for her to leave to begin her journey to the hotel where she would spend the rest of the night with their mutual tormentor. For that, she felt both angry and sad – cheated, really. His support and reassurance would have made it so much easier for her. But it was not to be. She was going to have to walk out the door alone, to face David Masterson and buy Carl his freedom and to save his job, and their life together. She would have to figure out what to do about Sophie later. The day that their bargain with the devil had been sealed, Kate had decided to wear the same dress that Masterson had seen her in at the Christmas party, when he had leered at her and groped her. Somehow, that seemed fitting. To close the circle like it had began, almost a year ago. She hadn't worn the tiny little spaghetti-strapped and backless black chiffon number since, and it felt new and alien when she wiggled into it again. It wasn't the most daring or flesh-baring dress in her closet, but she felt more naked in it now than she thought possible. The g-string and garter belt and the silver-flecked, patterned black stockings were new, but they hardly counted. Only the dress really mattered. After she had it on and she had applied her makeup and had stepped into her shoes, she studied the elegant and sultry woman who calmly looked back at her in the mirror. She leaned forward to check her cleavage and to see again what had apparently led David Masterson to create this awful trap for her and Carl. Her nipples were resolutely and irresponsibly hard, poking a good quarter-inch out from her breastflesh. Damn them. The little sluts. I can't take them anywhere without them getting me in trouble. When she straightened back up, their presence was still clearly evident through the sheer black chiffon of the dress. She licked her lips and willed them to retreat, but with no success. And she was wet. Goddamn it, her pussy was leaking already and dampening the tiny silk triangle that covered her pussy. Damn Carl for not being here, and for not fucking her for the past seven days and for not wanting to even look at her! She wanted it to be Carl waiting for her in the hotel room and not David Masterson. She wanted it to be Carl who made her do those wicked, unspeakable things that had so dominated her dreams for the past week. It should be Carl who fucked and ravaged her in her black latex skin and made her his slave. It was time to go. Whether she would be the same person when she returned sometime before sunrise the next morning, was something about which she had absolutely no clue. Or whether Carl would be there to take her into his arms and hold her and hug her and make it all right again. Sophie arched her eyebrows and made an "O" with her mouth when she came downstairs. "Now this is interesting," she said, arms folded across her chest. "Going out?" "Yes." "With Carl?" "No." "I won't ask any more questions, then," Sophie said. She stepped forward to hug Kate and to kiss her on the cheek. "I don't want to mess your lipstick," she said, coyly. "Have fun," she added. "It's not like that," Kate rushed to say. "OK, it's not. But you'll tell me all about it tomorrow," she leered. "If you want to come, that is." Kate said nothing in reply. She interrupted their castle building to kiss her boys goodbye. Then she picked up her Pandora's bag and her car keys and walked through the door into the garage. "Carl will be home in a little while," she said over her shoulder to Sophie. At least she hoped he would be. Fear and Lust, and Arousal and Shame When Kate arrived at the hotel, she parked the car in the self-park lot and sat there for an eternity of minutes before she could find the willpower to open the door and step out into the chilly, gasoline-stained air of the garage. She wrapped her coat tightly around her body, hugging it close like a shield of body armor. If only it could be a cloak of invisibility, too. As she dodged the throngs of passersby on the sidewalk, she felt very naked, and very alone. More than once she bumped into someone she hadn't even seen, while the smallest things captured her attention – the man with one untied shoelace, the half-crushed Styrofoam cup in the gutter that looked like a crumpled, lifeless bird, the usually invisible beggar huddled in a filthy blanket outside the liquor store with his intact Styrofoam cup pleading for change to get a bus home that was so transparently going to get poured into a bottle of gin instead. When she approached the hotel entrance, the doorman nodded and smiled, and held the door open for her. He leered at her stockings and spike heeled stilettos, and x-rayed her cloak to imagine her near-nakedness beneath. What was his guess as to her reason for being here? Once she was inside the lobby and surrounded by the milling knots of guests who were checking in, or enjoying the ornate, gilded lobby, the reality of what was about to happen to her became very tangible and very real. Hotel lobbies always made for surreal, disjointed, out-of-body experiences; with everyone there at sea and away from their regular home-based moorings and morals. Business, vacations, conferences, honeymoons, and illicit trysts, all commingled together in a bubbling stew of anonymity. The bustling energy of all those around her, busy with their conversations and their appointments and urgent little errands, seemed distant and utterly foreign to Kate. While she could understand the words they were saying around her, it was like she was in a foreign country and completely adrift in an alien culture. She wanted to clear her throat and announce, "Excuse me everyone! I am here to be fucked by a kinky and amoral blackmailer of a man so I may buy my husband's freedom." To her surprise, she almost added, "Do any of you want to watch?" to her unvoiced declaration. Glancing briefly at the stiffly dressed man behind the registration desk to see if he was paying her any undue attention, Kate dashed across the expanse of marble flooring to the elevator to begin the last part of her fateful journey into iniquity and, hopefully, a quick and honorable discharge from her sinful act of redemption. Masterson had left a message on her cell phone earlier. It had been brief, and succinct. "Room 521. And don't be late." The menace in his voice had been palpable, and real. Thankfully, she was still alone when the elevator doors hissed closed behind her. The short trip to the fifth floor was agonizingly long – long enough for Kate to untie the belt of her coat and slide it off her body and for her to see in the mirrored doors that her nipples were still hard – harder, even – and that her cheeks were flushed with excitement, and fear. When she was disgorged into the hushed silence of the fifth floor, Kate felt the walls closing in around her. As she passed room after room, she imagined other Kates naked and bound and being fucked and sodomized and whipped behind each dark, impassive, numbered door. But all she heard was the hushed whisper of the air ducts. Either the rooms were empty, or the occupants were sleeping, or the naked women were gagged as well as bound as they were being fucked and used. Room 521. She stood in front of the door, and willed herself to breathe. It was time to vanquish her fears and to confront the conflicts in her mind. Did she want this? To be stripped and touched and used and made to wear the black painted-on skin that made her sweaty and breathless while she was required to perform unimaginable acts of depravity and perversion? Or did she feel compelled to do this solely for the sake of her husband, and her children's future? If she had been required, on pain of death, to answer truthfully; there was no single answer. Both were true, and untrue, at the same time. Fear and lust and anger and shame and that unmistakable wetness between her legs and the aching of her nipples to be fondled and ravaged –they were all there, and none of them could be denied. Kate lifted her hand and knocked three times on the door. Into The Tiger's Lair "Good evening, Kate. I knew you would come." David Masterson stood in the doorway to the opulent suite he had engaged for the occasion of Kate's debasement. He twirled a half-full glass of red wine in his hand and had a Cheshire-cat grin painted on his face. "And you look lovely, as well. I've seen that dress before, have I not?" "It's the one I wore to the Christmas party last year," Kate replied, tightlipped. "I know. I liked it then. I like it even more now." He smiled at her and sipped from his glass. "But where are my manners? Do come in out of the hallway. We can't have you trolling the halls like a common whore looking for her 'date,' now can we?" "No, we can't." He stepped to the side and gestured with his arm. "Please come and join me, Kate. I am sure you want to." She stepped across the threshold without speaking. As she strode past him, David Masterson took her bag from her arm. He unzipped it and fondled its contents. "Very nice. You have excellent taste when it comes to what a woman should wear for fucking." "Don't be so sure of yourself," she retorted, though she regretted her words the instant she spoke them. Kate's eyes went round as she entered the main room of the suite. It was opulent, far beyond her experience and her credit limit. The closed doors on either side hinted of bedrooms and bathrooms and closets that were likely as spacious as the elegantly appointed sitting room in front of her. Other than its luxurious furnishings and the extraordinary view out the curtained windows, there was nothing here to hint at the depravities that were to come. "I see you like the room," he offered as he placed the bag with her fucksuit in it on the coffee table next to the vase filled with red roses and yellow lilies that dominated the small glass-topped table. "It's very nice," Kate said, not wanting to engage in any more conversation than necessary with her husband's blackmailer. "It's an old hotel. The walls are quite thick. Exceptionally quiet, too. We have complete privacy here." "I'm sure." Kate looked around, warily. "But before we test the soundproofing, we are going to have dinner. I do trust that you have an appetite, Kate. For dinner and for a bit of adventure." "We both know why I'm here, Mr. Masterson. Now, can we please get on with whatever you have planned?" "Oh, Kate, please!" he implored. "I have such high hopes for you. I want to make this night special for you, too. Something you will remember for a quite a very long time." David Masterson stood close behind her and massaged her shoulder muscles. She could feel his hot breath on her bare neck. And a shiver ran down her spine when his hands slalomed down her exposed back to rest on her hips with the confidence of someone who had done this thousands of times before, and who knew that she would not attempt to twist away from him. Kat closed her eyes and stiffened when he caressed the underswell of her breasts for a moment, before returning his hands to their resting place on her hips. "Your nipples are hard, Kate. They don't lie." "It's chilly," she retorted. "Not in here. I set the thermostat to 75 degrees. And if I slide my hand between your legs, what do you think I'll find?" Kate gritted her teeth. "Panties. Black silk. And a garterbelt." "Well, of course, though I must say that I am a bit disappointed you wore panties, Kate. I do like my dates to be bare and naked under their dresses. But my point is, Kate, darling – if I slide my fingers inside your black silk panties, will you already be wet? Shall we make a wager, Kate?" "No..." "No, what, Kate?" No hint of moisture soaking your little black panties, or 'no' you don't want to accept the bet? You haven't even heard what I might be wagering." "No, I don't want to bet." David Masterson laughed. "I thought as much." He reached around her body to roll her nipples between his fingertips, pinching them through the sheer silk of her dress. "Your body speaks with such expressiveness, Kate. That's what attracted me to you in the first place. You're an elegant and refined woman, whose heart and mind are those of a shameless slut who loves to show off and who lives to fuck." "Please stop," Kate whispered. "Stop playing with your tits, Kate? Or stop stripping off the veneer of the respectable wife and the good mother who lives the three-car garage suburban dream with her husband and her two lovely children - and exposing the insatiable slut and the fuckdoll beneath?" "Please..." she breathed deeply and arched her back. "Stop...." "I don't think so, Kate. That wouldn't be right. Not for Carl. Or for me." He bit her on the side of her neck. "Or for you, Kate." She whirled around and lifted her hand to slap David Masterson on the face. He caught her wrist and forced her hand down and over her left breast. The stern look on his face frightened her. "Stop. You're hurting me..." "As you wanted to hurt me, Kate? You were going to slap me. And for that, I would have to punish you. And I don't think you would like that very much. At least not right away." "You bastard..." He cut her off with a cruel twist that bent her arm at an unnatural angle. "Yes, indeed. That's what Mother always said. She never was quite sure who sired me. She had so many, at the time." She glared at him, but the tears in her eyes telegraphed her weakness. "Squeeze it, Kate. Play with your tit and show me how you like to tease your nipples." "No..." He squeezed her wrist harder. "I insist. I really do." Kate opened her clenched fingers and spread them wide. David Masterson relaxed his grip on her arm and began to move the palm of her hand over her still-engorged nipple. "See? Now that isn't so bad, is it? In fact, it feels good, doesn't it Kate?" The gleam in his eye told Kate that her body was succumbing to the boldness and the indecency of his words – and of their unerring accuracy. "There now. Close your hand over your breast, Kate. Squeeze it. Ahhh, yes, like that. Now, the other one, too." He released her wrist and stepped back from her. Kate continued to knead and massage her breasts and to play with her nipples. And her breathing got slower and deeper as she struggled to steady her nerves and to control the fluttering in her belly. David Masterson paced around Kate while she teased herself. He refilled his wineglass and then threw the curtains completely open on the floor-to-ceiling Palladian windows. "Oh, don't stop, Kate," he admonished when she froze at the image of herself in the night-black glass. "No one is going to see you. Well, probably not; and almost certainly no one who knows you." Kate bit her lip and started again. "That's a good girl, Kate. You're getting the hang of following my instructions." On his next circumnavigation, he took the tall-backed chair from under the writing desk in the corner and placed it in the middle of the room, behind Kate's feet. He smiled at her questioning look as he passed in front of her. "Curious about what comes next, Kate?" "Yes." "We're going to dress you for dinner," he replied. "I am dressed for dinner, David. No fucking way I'm wearing a latex dress in public, if that's what you're thinking." "Oh, no, no, no, Kate. I am thinking no such thing. This is strictly our secret, dear. I should have been more precise. We are going to decorate you for dinner." He sat down on the couch in front of Kate. "Turn around and lift up your skirt, Kate. Bend over the chair and place your hands on the top of the seatback." Kate turned around and looked back at him over her shoulder. He motioned upwards with his hand. "Yes, now dear. Bend over and pull up your dress. I want to see your ass now, Kate." The way he turned the letters A, S, and S into 'ass' was absolutely pornographic. Kate bent forward and put her shaking hands on either side of her black chiffon dress. She stared at her reflection in the night-darkened window as she slowly lifted up her dress. When she had it clutched around her waist she leaned farther forward and rested her arms on the chair back. She could see her breasts almost hanging out of her dress with their not-so-subtle hints of the hard pink nipples that indented the silk so close to the daringly low-cut neckline. Her knees were shaking and her mouth was as parched as the desert. "Very nice, Kate. You do have a lovely ass. Much nicer than I even imagined. So smooth and unblemished. You are going to be such wonderful fun, Kate. We're going to have such a lovely time together." David stood up and disappeared out of Kate's field of view for a moment. When he returned, he stood a cock's length behind her bare, goosebumped ass. With a single yank, her silk panties were down around her knees. "Don't flinch," he warned, and then a finger with a cool, slippery something was dancing around her asshole, and then inside it as he forced his index finger past her entrance. "Arghhh! Goddamn you, you fucking pervert." "Right again. I am a fucking pervert." He worked his finger in and out of Kate's asshole, squirting more lubricant onto his finger every few strokes. "And I'm no different from you, dearest Kate. This asshole has been fucked before, I can tell." "I'm right again, aren't I?" he said smugly, as a second and then a third finger worked their way inside her. Kate hung on to the chair back and tried to relax. He was slow-fucking her ass, and despite her best efforts, she was dripping wet. She had been wet before, when he had made his dare, but now she was drenched. "Are you going to fuck me in the ass now? I thought we were going to dinner?" |
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