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Author Topic: Five Or Six Days  (Read 289 times)

Offline CerealRapist

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Five Or Six Days
« on: January 12, 2018, 11:45:48 PM »
She could hardly move.  And whenever she did adjust her torso even in the slightest the ropes bit deeper into her wrists, shoulders and hips.  Hurting her.  She felt herself beginning to cry again…even though having made a vow that this time she wouldn’t give her kidnapper the satisfaction.  So she kept still to avoid more agony from the gripping ropes…and she allowed herself to sob despite the shame in brought onto her.  She was helpless.  And naked.  Her body was going to be used again as a canvas.

She could hear the man raping Tammy behind her again.  Behind the chair she was so painfully bound to with coarse hemp rope.  She knew the way he preferred her best friend Tammy; on all fours…taken from behind…with her pretty face pulled back by her long black hair until Tammy’s eyes were staring at the ceiling.  Until Tammy whimpered and pleaded for mercy.  As she sat in her chair and sobbed she realized the man would attend to her just as soon as he was done with Tammy. 

It had gone on this way for five or six days now.

She rolled her shoulders and instantly regretted it.  Ropes gnawed at her armpits and gripped at her pelvis.  She’d been restrained and displayed upon the chair in such a way that her breasts were fully exposed…not obstructed by strands of cord.  She knew her kidnapper wanted access to her throat…her cleavage…and her belly.  She was his blank sheet.  When she wasn’t being mauled in his bed.

Tammie screamed behind her and she knew that the man was close to cumming.  He always doubled down on his savagery just before his climaxes.  Her own sobbing became more pronounced – knowing what was in store for her own body – as Tammy screamed a second time and begged the man to finish in her mouth.  Pleaded with him to just finish and let her be for a time.

Then, from behind, she heard a primitive grunting.  Then laughter.  And finally, just the deep, exercised breaths of the conqueror…and the whimperings of twenty-one-year old Tammy Casper.

It was her turn.

He strode up from behind and sat facing her in an ordinary metal folding chair.  Eye to eye.  He always approached her fully nude and fresh from Tammy…she could see his now flaccid penis glistening with her best friend’s juices.  She could smell Tammy upon him.  And was frightened of the perspiration that had collected along his own shoulders during the extended attack just completed behind her.

She felt his eyes gather in her collarbone, her breasts, her tummy.  Already he was considering her as more of a template than a human being.  Whenever he raped her he had a look akin to it in his eyes…like a sculptor seeing form within a cube of blank stone.  But his gaze here – roped to the chair as she was – contained a more visceral element than any atop a mattress.  There his eyes conveyed ownership of her fine body as he enjoyed her sexually.  Here – upon the chair – that same set of cruel, brown eyes seem to discern flaws in her.  Searched for imperfections. 

He had high hopes for her body.

She cringed as he left his own chair momentarily.  And cursed herself for sobbing uncontrollably in his demeaning presence.  When he returned – with the tools of his trade – she thought for a moment to beg again.  To plead for mercy.  At the last instant she thought of Tammy still behind her…spent and devastated.  She thought of poor Tammy and what the man had put them BOTH through the last time she had spoken ‘out of turn’.  So she kept her foolish mouth shut, her pretty eyes open and her breasts ‘at attention’ for their new owner. 

The paint was cold.  Impersonal and frigid.  As he sat across from her and selected from blues or greens she flinched as his brush flicked away at her décolletage.  Leaving broad swaths of vivid paint left to dry upon her pale skin.  Load with colour…dab, dab, dab…more colour…dab, dab, dab.  Along her throat and tantalizingly close to the tops of her breasts.  The man delighted in his work and in the shame it brought to her.  He concentrated intently as his brush invaded the sweep of her cleavage.  Then caressed the tips of her nipples with flicks of his brush.  She sobbed and knew from experience – from the past five or six days n’ nights – that he would spend at least an hour ‘decorating’ her. 

Before it was time to fuck her again.

Tammy whimpered.  And she sobbed.  Knowing what was inevitable…and how much it might hurt.  She closed her lips and endured the strokes of his brush across her torso and flanks.  Wherever a lack of binding rope allowed this man to dabble pigment onto her skin.  Teal, grey, sea green…then lavender.  He coated her nipples three times…each with a different colour.  Until she began to shiver from the cold.  Yet being ever so careful not to disobediently spill any of her tears onto his masterpiece.

Tammy would regret it if she did.

But the true torment – the base evil – of what he did with Tammy in bed or with her via his paintbrush paled in comparison to his words.  His dialogues.  The man’s sadistic gift for ‘conversing’ with his subjects.  The rapes were painful…herself as a human canvas, humiliating…but the man’s voice was what sealed their fate as sex slaves.  Because he merely enjoyed the pastime of painting her in the colours his whim allowed.  But he lived to remind her that he was in control enough to be able to do it anytime he liked.  As often as he liked.  For as long as he liked.

“You seem sad Jenna.  Don’t you like the colours I’ve used on your shoulders?  There…along that length of binding cord?  I will admit it appears I did tie you overly tight this time.  But you must understand I needed you very, very still for this delicate work I’m applying to your left tit.  We’re agreed you needed sprucing up, right Jenna?  That a whore like you with a whore friend like Tammy desperately required an upgrade.  After all, do you think it’s easy raping swine like you and your friend here?  SILENCE!  You just weep away and tremble like an obedient slut and I’ll overlay a bit of burnt orange between your breasts for contrast.  Then I plan on redoing the arcs of tangerine I initially thought might show off your navel.  We’re going to be at this for a while pig.  Probably have to give Tammy another go at the halfway point just to recharge my batteries.  Then – when and if I get you just right – you and I can enjoy another session with the vid recorder.  Okay Jenna?  Does that sound nice?  OR ARE YOU GOING TO BE A FUCKING PROBLEM CUNT?”

Two hours later Tammy was whimpering behind her…begging for mercy.  The man had decided that her own breasts had once again not done justice to his artistic vision.  No matter what colours he had used on her cleavage or nipples.  So now she – and her best friend – had to suffer.  She sobbed as Tammy was anally raped…and every single one of her joints ached with even the slightest movement.  Her rope bindings were as tight as ever.  The paint was caked and stiff upon her chaffed skin. 

Five or six days.  And the man had  told her he wasn’t even close to being happy with her.         
Kneel.  Submit.  Perform.

Offline archon1980

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Re: Five Or Six Days
« Reply #1 on: January 17, 2018, 08:31:25 PM »
You never fail to impress @CerealRapist


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