A judge would call me a rapist, but I see myself as an opportunistic sexual con-artist
I’m not a rapist …… honest..
Rape fancies are improper, but wantonly arouse her … so what happens if her date is with me? ….
From the moment I first heard her speak, I knew she would be a push-over. There was something about that lightweight squeaky voice. Servile. Cowering. Deferential to power. Oh, my sweet little five foot two princess, you didn’t know it, but you were going to endure one of the most intense and humiliating episodes of your life. And I’ll bet you’ll love ever second and you’ll be my best one yet.
It took me several weeks to get to this point, with us both sitting at opposite sides of a little round table in the mall coffee shop. She worked a mere three shops away, and almost every morning I’d go to the mall and we’d exchanged banter as we exchanged goods for cash. Newspapers, lotto tickets, gum and matches, even though I don’t smoke. Any excuse to engage her. I assumed the possibility of me being a smoker wouldn’t turn her off. I’d caught smoke on her breath whenever I’d leaned in close to catch a whiff of her scent. It was just another excuse to connect and to flirt, as our banter became ever more easy.
“Really? You’ve never actually sat in this coffee-shop before today?” I was truly astonished.
“Nope. Always a grab and run, and I drink it behind the counter. No time, see?”
‘Your boss is an ass. How come you scored a break today?”
“The new girl is getting good now. Gave her a tester. Leave her on her own for a bit.”
“She’s not as good as you though.”
“Well, I have been there three years.”
“When I say good, I mean pretty.”
“How can you think she’s not pretty? She’s gorgeous.”
“Only ‘cos she’s young and puts on all that make-up. You’re a natural beauty.”
“Oh,,, err.. thank you. You don’t have to say that.”
She shuffles, touches her face, flashes her band.
“Your husband is a very lucky man. How long you been married?”
“Oh,.. err…jeez,… seventeen years.”
“So people can get married at ten in your country, then?”
She blushes. Gives a little laugh.
“How old are you then?” she asks, deflecting, embarrassed at my compliment.
“Guess.”
“Oh, come on. I don’t like to……”
“No, come on ……. guess.”
Demanding. My first order. I want her to get used to taking my orders.
“Twenty …. er …. Six?”
She was wrong, but very close.
“You been looking at my birth certificate, ain’t ya? You been checking me out.”
“No.” she scoops, feigned indignant, not wanting to show she thought I was cute.
“That’s ok then. So you haven’t learned of my dark past?”
“You’ve got a dark past?”
“Everyone’s got a dark past. Secrets they don’t want revealed. I bet you have.”
“Nope.” she says, innocent, her hair flutters as she shakes her head.
“Do too. All women have secrets.”
I’ve narrowed it down to women. Now I want her cornered.
“Not me,” she says, again with two shakes of her head.
“But I bet you’ve had daydreams, though. Things you want to do, places you want to be. Daydreams are secrets if you don’t share them.”
“Oh, that’s different. I don’t share them, but I could if I wanted.”
Now we’re talking about her.
“Ok then. Look me in the eye and tell me you’ve never had a daydream you can’t share.”
Her eyes look into mine, searching, unnerved. It was only a tiny request but it was massive. She’d have to be dishonest, Deny she’s hiding an uncomfortable truth. Her gaze flicks down at the table. No denial. I continue pressing.“I knew it. All women have daydreams they can’t share. They’re called fantasies.”
Her look screams, “Oh, my god, he knows” …. She knows she must get away.
“Look, I really must be getting back. I……”
I really touched a nerve then. She fidgets and braces, as if to make her leave.
“No you don’t (need to be getting back). You’re scared to admit to a guy with a dark past that you’ve got fantasies.” I firmly pose.
“Look, honestly, I must get going.”
She braces her arms straight and starts to stand. She thinks she’s getting away.
“Ok then, but before you go, just for me, just to make me happy, sit back down and tell me you’ve never ever had a fantasy.”
I’d asked for a simple favour, and her conditioned politeness insists she comply. She sits back down, and steels herself with a deep breath so she can tell a big fat lie with a straight face.
“I’ve never ever had a fantasy.”
Her head was weaving, her eyes darting. I grab the fingers of the only hand I can grab, and pull her hand towards me. Our first physical touch is controlling. She tries to pull her hand away but I pull it back.
“Then you’re a fucking liar.” I say, straight out to her face.
“Excuse me?” Incredulous, affronted. No-one speaks to her like that. Tugging again, urgent to get her hand free. I grip it tighter.
“Look me in the eye and repeat it. Tell me you’ve never had a fantasy.”
Her gulp tells me that she can’t. Daren’t. She could admit to innocent fancies, sure, but hidden in-amongst is ‘that’ one. It’s too shaming to admit the grubby truth out loud. Three long agonizing seconds pass as I’m waiting.
“Well?” I press.
She gulps again. Denial is a lie. She’s not used to telling lies. She’s got brain block.
“See, you ‘are’ a fucking liar. Don’t ever lie to me again, understand? You have fantasies all the time, don’t you, you fucking slut liar.”
“I’m not sitting here listening to this,” she squawks, My outburst jolting her out of her frozen blockage as again she gives her hand a couple of firm tugs to try escape my grasp.
She can’t afford to come undone, and I’d started to pick at her seams.
“No, you don’t want to sit and listen ‘cos you know what’s the truth, and you won’t admit it.”
“I’ve never been so insulted in my life,” she squawks again, becoming flushed and angry.
I allow her to retrieve her clasped hand. She braces again to leave.
“Leave if you want, but if you do I’ll tell them, let them all know ….. ‘THIS LADY HAS……’” I start in a loud voice, and several patrons turn and look our way. She slams back down onto her seat, throwing away her last chance to escape.
“What the hell are you doing?” she snaps in a fluster, panicking now, shutting down the embarrassment of what I possibly could have revealed. Although the ‘word’ has not been spoken, she’s guessed I knew the truth and may announce it to the world. Wounded, she slumps low in her chair attempting to hide. She doesn’t want to be the focus of titillation. The centre of embarrassing attention.
“I was going to tell them. Let them all know ….”
“Tell them what?” she gulps yet again, mouth becoming dry. Don’t say it… dear god, please don’t say it out loud.
“That you have rape fantasies.”
She flushes bright red and goes almost hypo-vento. Her self-preservation screams ‘deny, deny, deny.’
“I do no such ……..”
I cut off her lying words..
“Liar, fucking liar. You do because you can’t help it. You fantasise about being taken and raped all the time. And sometimes you wish it would really happen, don’t you? Go on, admit it. You want to be forced to orgasm on a huge raping cock. I bet you’re imagining it even now.”
Her head whips around in all directions. Panic. Did anybody hear that?
“I haven’t , I don’t … I .. I..
“Haven’t or don’t? ….. Don’t means you have and haven’t means you do. Tell me.”
I’d twisted her flustered answer. Tied her words in knots. Tried to trip her up. Tried to catch her out.
“I don’t … do.” Her answer a mess.
I have tripped her up. She wants to assert denial but the wording tripped her up.
“But you’re aroused now though, eh? Getting flashes of those dreams that you’re trying to deny.
“No, I…..”
She squirms on her seat. I’ve pointed out something that up till then she hadn’t been aware.
“I’ve told you once, you stupid dumb bitch ……. You lie to me again and I swear to god.”
I raise my hand up as if to give her a hard face-slap. Her shocked quick flinch allows me to instantly drop my hand before anyone else sees. She’s got the message.
“What do you want? Why are you doing this?”
She won’t get up leave now. Not without my say-so. She’s terrified at what I may do. A quaver in her voice. She’s been found out, and is becoming more aroused at every turn of my screw…… How do I know this? Because she asked “why?” Why have I pulled her strings and exposed this hidden moral weakness? Things are out of her control.
“’Cos I’m gonna take you out back and rape you, and I want your sex wet and ready when I do.”
The red flush on her face is now on her neck. Bullet hard nipples point out at her shirt.
“But I don’t wan…….”
Again a short sharp flick of my hand as if to go slap her. Another recoil flinch.
“Stop lying to me, and lying to yourself,” I growl through gritted teeth, conditioning her thoughts, as the side of my hands chop at the table, showing her a hard face slap could be just an eye-blink away.
“I was gonna give you a chance, but not any more. Not now you’ve allowed yourself to get horny. I’m gonna escort you to the restroom in back, and I’m gonna rape you right there, right then. And if you give any trouble I swear to god…”
Using that specific wording, ‘I was gonna give you a chance, but not any more’, has turned this around to being her fault. She’s become horny and brought it on herself. She deserves to be raped. I work my clenched fists which still lay on the table, a feigned display of angered resolve. She can’t see an option. She knows her fate’s sealed. Her sense of responsibility needs to tidy-up loose ends.
“But the new girl….. “ she blurts, before I cut her off again.
“She can wait half an hour, can’t she?”
I allow her only half a second to ponder
“Well, can’t she?” I bark for an answer.
Her burning red face breathes out a weak “yes”. She knows what she has just said ‘yes’ to. She’s just killed off the only external barrier she could use as an excuse. Only her self-respect now. But she’s told herself she no longer deserves respect, because she’s a dirty slut for having rape fancies, and those dirty little fancies having turned her on big. Her perverse self-conditioning has brought her undone. She never expected an encounter with a controlling slick rapist, but knows she’s only herself to blame. There can be no more excuses now the reality of being plundered has made her horny and has now resigned to being the victim of rape. She just unleashed it with that final weak ‘yes’.
“Come on then, slut whore,” I command, as I lurch up onto my feet. “I know you want this.”
She barely gave any resistance as I half crush her hand and pull her into one of the unisex stalls furthest away from the door. Her eyes fly open like saucers and she sucks a sharp breath when I produce a roll of sticky-back plastic tape. She knows there’s no stopping this now. Her body is quivering as she thrusts out her chin after mimicking my motion of a backwards head-flick. A couple of strips over her mouth bitten to size with my teeth and then her wrists crossed and taped together at her back where I left the roll of excess tape dangling. I was gonna wrap it all the way round her torso to keep her crossed wrists fixed immobile in the middle of her back, but I figured she’d suffer enough. That should keep her how I want her for a while, anyway. My cock was already rock hard, being as I really get off putting it inside married women who claim they’ve never had a rape fantasy. Sometimes they enjoy it almost has much as I do. Without too much effort I have her bent over with her panties round her ankles and I’m balls deep into one of the wettest, sloppiest pussies I’ve had in a long time. Forty-something year olds, eh? You’ve gotta love ‘em. Dirty old slappers, I call them. But I am only twenty four after all. It takes me about ten minutes to shoot my load, being as her puss is all sloppy goo with no friction. I don’t even know if she came off, but I know her knees were convulsing like a seizure and the desperate moans down her nose were true animal and carnal. When I’d done my business, I was gonna give her arse a few slaps for good measure, but the noise would’ve been too loud. I left the tape strips over her mouth and told her to lean against the door to keep it shut while I went back into the shop for some scissors to cut off her plastic-tape wrist binds. Nasty to peel off that stuff, and it’s much easier and quicker to cut. I knew she wouldn’t try anything stupid, her panties still round her ankles and all. I’d already told her I’d been taking pics which clearly showed she’d been having the time of her life, and that I wouldn’t tell anyone if she didn’t... Course, I ain’t got any pics, but she don’t know that.
I was on my way to the counter to con-borrow a pair of scissors when I had a huge slice of sadistic luck. Two big burly builder-types walked in, course and boisterous, larking about, and crashed themselves down at a table. I casually walked over and stood between them, putting my palms on the table top and lean in. I had a long, quiet word about fulfilling dark fancies and their imminent good fortune should they choose to take it on. That she would feign frantic desperate resistance, but that was part ‘n’ parcel of the game, and to cut her free when they’d both done. As I walked out the door, I glanced over my shoulder, and the two builders are making their way out the back……..
Oh, dear…
Before I sign off part one I’ve got to tell you something …. …
The crazy part… the real crazy part …. If she’d come clean up front and told me she had wicked fancies (not necessarily rape) it would’ve turned me off, so it wouldn’t have been me that done the business. But I would’ve sold on the information about this ‘hot’ target to some unsavoury characters I know. Get good money for that…… and like it or not, she would’ve got a helluva lot more than an hour with me and a couple o’ builders. But I don’t sell information about used goods, see. Get yourself into trouble doing that, so I suppose in one way she should consider herself was quite lucky ….
///////////////////////////////////////
Chapter two.
Not much sex, but a continuation of my master-class in cruel seduction, which is worth a read in its own right.
It’s been a couple o’ months since I dragged the old tart into the uni-sex rest-room stall round the back o’ the mall and gave her one. I say old tart. She’s only about early 40 something, but I’m 24, so it seems old to me. She’s exactly my type, though, and in my head I’ve nicknamed her ‘my goddess.’ I suppose the law would call what I done rape, and sure, she’s married and it probable weighed heavy on her conscience ‘cos she didn’t really wanna do it, but her big sloppy wet puss told me she loved every minute. I dunno how the builders got on … both literally and figuratively, ‘cos I was long gone by the time they would’ve finished doing whatever they did.
I’d used the two months break to seduce and ensnare a buxom and wealthy 50 year old divorcee into my ever growing informal harem. I’ll be honest, and admit it was a tussle even for me, because she was a formidable challenge. But her financial wealth made it worth the effort, because I don’t want to work ever again. I’ve got her on a short leash now though, and she’ll do whatever I want. Remind me later to tell you the full story.
Anyway…………
I’d heard nothing from the cops or in the news, so hey, I’m back at the mall to go see my goddess, and see what kind of reception I receive.
….
I mooches up to the news stand/shop and it’s only the young tart, the girl my goddess had been training, behind the counter. She’s about 18 and all dolled up like a cheap hooker. Just about every red-bloodied male would love to have a turn, especially the know-it-all young cavaliers, but oddly enough, she’s not my type. I prefer the oldies. I love that they are flattered and can’t believe their luck when a smooth, dashing young buck is on their case. Little do they know. I don’t want them to thank me with the gift of access to their soppy old puss. I want to steal it. Break and enter and vandalise the place. But that’s just me.
“Hi’ya. On your tod today then?” I ask the cheap tart serving wench who doesn’t know who I am.
“Yeah, waddy’a want?” she asks.
There you go. Talking to me like I’m a ten year old. A complete waste of my time. She’s used to horn-dogs always trying their luck, and has developed an obnoxious shell.
“You don’t wanna know what I really want, but I’ll have a pack o’ tic-tacs if it’s not too much trouble.”
Like a robot, she gets ‘em off the shelf behind her and plonks them on the counter.
“Two twenty,” she says, looking at me like I’m a piece of dirt. One of these days my sweet lovely, I’m gonna come in here and rap you up, and then give you such a hard slap……… I rifle through my pocket for the correct coins.
“Seeing as you’s in such a good humour today, I need a favour.”
“Yeah. What?”
Boy, is she angling for that slap. If only she knew.
“The other lady, 40ish. She not work here anymore?”
“Day off. In tomorrow.”
“So, you got a promotion then, working by yourself ….. more money, huh? Must be good.”
“It’s all right. This favour. What’d’ya want?”
“So she’s working less days now?”
“Yeah, only 3 now. Boss said we go 50/50 on the shifts, and double up on Fridays. Why, what’s it got to do with you?”
“Well that’s the favour, see. Last time I saw her we had a long chat and I said I could get her some work to do at home. She said that’d be great, and if she’s working less hours she could probably use the cash. Proof-reading some technical manu***********s. I don’t suppose you’d be interested?”
“I don’t read much.”
“No, I figured …… Well, anyway, that’s why I asked if she was here, see, I need to know, like, today, if she can do ‘em. I’m flying out tomorrow for a couple o’ days and I need ‘em done for when I get back…. If she’s gonna do ‘em I need to drop ‘em off to her today. You got her address?”
“Give her a ring.”
“She gave me her number, but I seem to have lost it. She said if the job ever came up, to just pop around to her place and she’d get ‘em done, but I seem to have misplaced her address too.”
“Can’t you just leave ‘em here and I’ll pass ‘em on tomorrow.”
I thought she’d be stupid enough to just give me her address from the employees record register book without much fuss, but she’s making me work….. bitch …. no problem …I’m in my flash suit and tie, so I go to work in the way I excel. I allow us to bat this thorny thistle back and forth a couple more times without the result I need, so I unleash.
“Sounds to me like you don’t have her address on file. Well, I’m gonna call my inspectors and have ‘em down here in 10 minutes flat. You know they’ll go through the stock inventory, tax records, cash-register receipts, the lot, with a fine toothed comb. And if they find dollar one missing from your cash register, your neck’ll be in a noose and you’ll be dangling from that tree out there. You’ll never get a job ever again.”
“All right, all right, Keep your shirt on. I’ll get the damn file.”
Having taken a snap of the whole page with my Samsung, (well, you never know), I closes her down.
“I only needed her address, but you showed me the whole page of personal details for the whole staff. Your boss wouldn’t be very pleased if he knew you’d gone and done that. Best keep it to ourselves, eh? I won’t tell if you don’t. We don’t want you losing your job, now, do we?’
Stupid dumb bitch.
……….
Friday mid-morning rolls around and I rocks into the mall whistling “I’m singin’ in the rain’.
Don’t ask me why. I had an ear-worm… Anyways, my little 5 foot 2 goddess who’d orgasmed, ( I’m not certain, but she sure was as horny as fuck ) on the end of my rapist cock a couple of months back is standing behind the counter next to the stupid bimbo slut. I walks straight up.
“What you’s all got for me today?” I ask, interested to know her reaction.
“I was hoping I’d never see you again,” replies my goddess.
“Ouch, that hurt.”
“Hurt … hurt …. I’ll tell you about hurt, you arsehole. Those two goons of yours…..”
Of course, the reason I’m here is to break the good news to my goddess that I now have her address. I’d like to inform her over coffee, but there’s no way she’ll come with me…. except one way.
“Yeah, sorry about that, it was too good to miss. Anyway, it’s not you who I’ve come to see. It’s your gorgeous young assistant here. I’ve come to steal her away to join me for a coffee.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” My goddesses’ memory obviously still raw. Her one and only ‘coffee-date’ with me had ended up with her being, (debatably), gang-raped.
“But it’s just for a coffee. A liddle biddy coffee. I promise I’ll try to not let this one hurt too much.”
The dumb bimbo had shuffled away along the counter, removing herself from being involved, but was eaves-dropping for all she was worth. Of course, she’d no idea that a couple of months back I’d frog-marched her 40yo work colleague out of the coffee shop, dragged into a restroom out the back, (with minimal resistance I might add), and raped her. But although she kind-of enjoyed it, I’d put on an act of being ruthless and violent, and that is how she still thinks of me. It wasn’t my fault that two big brawny builders also turned up … well, technically speaking it was ……. but anyway….
“Over my dead body…”
Now, you know me by now, and I could bat that back in 50 different ways, no problem, but lets try the fun way.
“Me and your gorgeous friend have a small noose end, sorry, I mean loose end, to tie up. It won’t take longer than a nice long, long, long coffee break. Talking of long, I wonder if I’ve got my tape with me?”
I tap at a few pockets on my jacket, then hold my hand still pressing on one and declare,
“Ah, yes, here it is.”
“No chance buster, She stays here with me.”
“Ok, let’s ask her if she’d like a break. I’m sure I could persuade her to get away from this musty old shop for a while. Go out the back for a breath of fresh air and stretch her legs.”
“She’s not going. I’ll tell I’ll get her the sack.”
I smile to myself. Don’t threaten a professional threatener. It don’t work. My trusty Samsung has an extra-special app. see. With some certain females, all I have to do is wave it under their nose, and they do exactly as I say. I don’t recommend you install it though, unless you’re prepared to serve time.
I look my goddess straight in the eye as I lean in with my hands flat palm on the counter.
“If she’s gonna be leaving,” I quietly say, “Then I’d better take a couple o’ short vids to remember her by….. no, wait, my camera’s nearly full.”
She thinks I mean pics of her ‘enjoying’ the rape. Of course, I mean pics of employee records I’d conned out of the bimbo and which she knows I hold over her as dirt.
“She’ll never go with you, anyway. She’s got a boyfriend.”
“We’ll see, shall we?” as I scoot several steps sideways to stand in front of my mark.
“Till receipts still in order, I assume? Or maybe we’d better discuss it over a coffee, what’d’ya say? I’ve squared with her, but you’ll have to make it official…. don’t ask… tell her you’ve got to go.”
…
“I’ve got to go take a break, Bren. I need to sort out some business with this …. er …. man.”
Ouch. At least she took the bait. Now see if it’s a bait and switch.
“No, not her, please don’t do this,” pleads my goddess with hurt in her eyes. She knows how manipulative and cruel I can be, and knows how that can end up.
“Well I’m gasping for a coffee and I’m not going alone, so let’s decide who’s coming with me. I’ve got a surprise for you, see. If you don’t want coffee, I can wait and show you this evening, but I’m here now, so was hoping to get it over and done with.”
“What do you mean, show me this evening? I’ll be at ho…….” as her hand flies up to cover her mouth, stifling her own words and an almighty inhale …. …
“Oh yes, my sweet princess. We need to talk……. Coffee?”