The FBI snooping around was enough to convince me to lay low for a while. I figured I could handle it if things got too far, but I had a pretty nice setup here and didn't care to lose it. Oh well, they'd lose interest eventually.
I was walking in the park, innocent as can be, with my girlfriend Irina. I've mentioned her, right? Hot blonde, mediocre actress, naive enough to believe I couldn't hurt a fly? She's not a particularly interesting woman, but every powerful man needs a trophy slut and Irina was adequate for the job, if only because every time something better came along I killed her.
So we were walking along, not a thought of rape or murder in my mind, when down the path runs a woman. Half-naked in her skintight grey sports bra and blue spandex shorts, chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, a pretty but tough-looking face. But what really grabbed my attention was her body; nicely tanned with muscled arms, long, shapely legs, and some of the most toned washboard abs you've ever seen. Her breasts had somehow managed to survive what was obviously a rigorous workout routine (or maybe they were enhanced a bit, I didn't care much) and while I didn't dare risk a glance at her ass with Irina right there I just knew it would be perfect.
The woman was in my sight for maybe five seconds before she ran past, but it was enough. Fuck the FBI, fuck laying low, I was going to have her.
Bodybuilder types are slaves to routine, so the next day at around the same time I went back to the park and waited at the same path, close enough to the parking lot that if she drove I could see what car she used. No luck. I left after an hour and came back the next day, with the same results. My heart sank. I couldn't wait there literally all day when she might not show up at all. Could it be that I saw her the only day she ever went to this park? She might not even be in the city anymore.
I was beginning to worry that she'd become The One Who Got Away, but I wasn't out of options yet. This woman certainly went to the gym, and if she did live in the area then there were only a few options. I figured her rock-hard physique wasn't earned at Planet Fitness, so I took out a membership at a local CrossFit gym one afternoon and went in for a look around.
Sure enough there she was, doing dead-lifts with a guy I figured to be her boyfriend or husband. I took a moment to file that away for future reference - I'm a pretty tough guy myself, but a fistfight with a bodybuilder babe and her ripped boyfriend probably wouldn't go my way - admired her ass for a moment (it was every bit as good as I imagined) and worked out myself until I figured I could leave without seeming suspicious.
The next day I went back (it would be a hell of a coincidence if that too was her only day there) and when the couple showed up I followed the man into the locker room and took note of which locker he used. I saw too my delight that he hadn't actually bothered to memorize his lock's code and was still using the the sticker on the back. Too easy. When he went to work out I rifled through his stuff until I found his ID and house key. I snapped a photo of both sides of the key, then stashed everything back the way I found it and walked out. As I was leaving I passed my woman running on a treadmill, drenched in sweat. Getting nice and ready for her own murder.
I'll spare you the details, but suffice to say it wasn't long before I had the guy's address and a key to his house. The woman's name was Miranda, she was in her early '30s and she worked as a personal trainer. Her husband was an MMA fighter, and today he was home alone in the nice, isolated ocean house they lived in. Isolated enough that nobody heard the suppressed gunshot and nobody would find his body weighed down and tossed into the ocean with 9mm Parabellum in his skull. That taken care of, I sat in the bedroom and waited for Miranda to come home. I hid in the closet when I heard the garage door open.
"Mike?" she called out. "Hello?" Silence, of course. I heard footsteps up the stairs and then the shower.
I crept out of my hiding place, taser in one hand and cuffs in the other, and made my way to the shower. I imagined her naked, soap and water running down that sexy body. I wanted more than anything to just fuck her in there, but she was tough enough that if she put up a fight I'd probably have to hurt her. That part comes later.
I threw open the door and pointed the taser at her. She looked at me and froze, hands in her soapy hair, eyes wide, jaw open. I pulled the trigger and the wires buried themselves into her left tit. She screamed - thankfully drowned out partially by the shower - and collapsed onto the floor, shuddering. Acting quickly, I drug her out of the shower and cuffed her hands behind her back.
Already Miranda was beginning to fight back, legs kicking and arms straining against the cuffs, but I was perched on her ass so there wasn't much she could do.
"GET OFF ME!" she howled. "HEEEEELLP!"
"Help's not coming, babe," I said. I pulled out a syringe and stuck in her arm, pumping her full of tranquilizers. Miranda was out in seconds. I admired my prey briefly. Her tanned body glistened with water, and it took every ounce of being to not fuck her right there. I had a job to do.
I wrapped her up in a carpet I'd brought along for the job, carried her out to where I'd hidden my car, and tossed her in the trunk. Miranda's new life was just beginning.
*****************************
I was relaxing in my hot-tub when Miranda finally woke back up. She was tied in a strappado position, arms pulled straight back and bound to the ceiling and legs separated with a spreader bar. I'd put her in a pair of high heels I'd found in her closet, they do so much for the female form, but besides that she was as naked as she was when I took her.
"W-where am I?" she groaned groggily. She turned her head towards me, naked and climbing out of the tub. I could see her muscles flex as she tried to move but couldn't. Realizing her predicament, she sobered up pretty much instantly. "What the FUCK?!" she screamed as she began struggling.
"I wouldn't move too much, Miranda," I said. I ran my hand down her muscled back, rock-hard ass, and firm thighs. Wherever my fingers touched she tensed up and sprouted goosebumps, god I loved this job. "If you fall over you might break your arms."
She got the idea and stopped moving, but wasn't ready to submit yet. "I'll fucking kill you," she growled. "My husband will kill you."
"Who, Mike? He's fucking dead, sweetheart. Nobody even knows you're missing." I pushed a finger into her pussy as I rubbed lube on my cock, I didn't feel like chaffing today.
"No," she said flatly, I guess unsure whether I was telling the truth. She regained some energy when my shaft pressed against her slit. "NO! FUCK YOU!"
"That's the spirit," I laughed as I shoved my member in. She howled in rage and humiliation as I took her slit, fucking her like the piece of meat she was. She wasn't the tightest fuck I've had, but she was up there. I imagined her spending hours every day at the gym pumping iron, unknowingly working to give me the tightest hole she could manage. I grabbed her long brown hair and pulled back hard, enjoying her delicious screams as I railed her sex.
I was getting kind of tired of her threats, so I decided to give herself something else to say. "Alright, babe," I said as I slapped her ass hard enough to leave a mark, "Where do you want me to cum. Pussy, ass, or face?"
"Fuck... you..." she hissed through clenched teeth.
"Ass it is then," I said as I pulled out and pushed my cock against her tightest hole.
"NO!" she yelled.
"Oh?"
"My f-face," she said. Her face was flush with humiliation.
"What about it? Don't forget to say 'please.'"
"P-please... cum..." Frustrated tears were dripping down her face as she forced the words out. "Cum... on my face."
"As you wish, Miranda." I retrieved an O-gag - I didn't need her getting bitey - and forced it into her mouth, followed by my cock. Her eyes bulged out as I shoved into her up to the hilt, deepthroating her. She screamed, choked, and slobbered all over my manhood as I fucked her throat like an improvised vagina, it felt so good. I decided to abandon my original plans of giving her a facial and just came inside her, spewing my jizz down her throat.
Miranda's face was turning a bit blue at this point so I pulled out of her before she could pass out. She sputtered, coughing up cum and saliva and maybe a bit of blood, oops.
She didn't look like she had much fight in her, so it seemed like an opportune moment to move my buff bitch into a new position. I undid her arms from behind her and retied them in front of her, then hooked the rope to the ceiling, leaving her standing more or less straight. I removed the spreader bar and her high heels, letting her dangle there and scrabble to find purchase on her toes.
I filled a bucket with water and dumped it on Miranda's face to clean her off and wake her up a bit, then swapped the O-gag out for a traditional red ball gag. Being bound like this let me truly appreciate my victim's body. I ran my hands down her toned arms and shoulders, feeling the muscles strain and flex from supporting her weight. I caressed her breasts, firm despite her age and surprisingly large and shapely for a woman with an otherwise buff physique - if they were enhanced, the surgeon did a good job because I certainly couldn't tell. I stroked her rock-hard washboard abs, admiring the way the flesh trembled from my touch.
I pondered Miranda's fate as I circled my finger around her cute tear-drop naval; the muscle-bound, not-quite-middle-age babe was a far cry away from being a "traditional beauty," yet I was still drawn to her. Maybe I'm just into powerful women, maybe I was just looking for a change from the rail-thin 20-somethings with jiggling tits that usually made up my world. Whatever the reason, it was poor Miranda's bad luck.
I was broken from my reverie by a kick that nearly caught me in the balls. Really I was lucky she was still dazed from her face-fucking, a full-power kick to the right place could probably end my rapist career. Well, I know what to do with girls who fight back.
Miranda was yelling (or at least trying to yell) obscenities at me through her gag, but they choked off in a whimper when I turned around a faced her, whip in hand.
"You shouldn't have done that, Miranda," I said as I sauntered over to her. She didn't try and kick out at me as I approached her, the only movement being her head following the whip. I ran my hand down her ripped, powerful back, then stepped back. I cracked the whip through the air a few times, earning a few horrified "NNNNMMMMMMMMMMMM"s from my victim, before cracking it across her spine.
A woman's first taste of the whip is one of those moments that I live for. Miranda's scream was deafening even through the gag and she swung back and forth on the rope like a pendulum, body arched beautifully and legs kicking wildly, as an ugly red welt formed across her spine. It took more willpower than I care to admit to not cum there and then.
"Are you going to be a good girl?" I asked after a few minutes. Miranda nodded her head wildly, panting and sobbing. Now when I felt her sexy body up she froze in place, squeezing her eyes closed. I groped her tits, felt up her ass, rubbed her thighs, and pushed three fingers into her pussy - not a peep. I licked the tears from her face and stroked her hair as a reward. Just like that she'd gone from a feisty, fighting bitch to just another submissive slut who'd do anything I said. The whip does that to people.
I put the whip down and grabbed Miranda's thighs, lifting her legs up and open. She moaned in pain as her shoulders took more of her weight, but she didn't protest when I pushed my cock inside her and started thrusting. Maybe fucking buff chicks is something I should do more often, because it felt pretty damn good. Her body felt firm where it should be and soft where it should, and her strong legs wrapped around my waist as she tried to relieve the pain in her shoulders. I bet she was a wildcat in bed. Too bad.
I was already approaching climax even before I started fucking her, and it wasn't very long at all until I came in her. I let go of her and she dangled from the ceiling, exhausted. But I wasn't quite done for the day.
I undid her gag and let it fall to the floor, then massaged her toned, curvy body (I hear it's good for relaxing and restoring the muscles after a hard workout) as I kissed her neck.
"Please..." she muttered over and over, her voice hoarse and quiet. "Please... please... please..."
"We're almost done for the day, sweetheart," I said. I picked up the whip and draped it over her left shoulder.
"NooooOOOOOOO!" she howled. I stepped back and laughed as she shook and struggled in her binds. "NOOO! PLEEEAASE!"
I cracked the whip across her back, her firm ass, the back of her muscled thighs. When I figured her back was done I stepped in front of her, lashing her abs and tits, splitting one of her nipples. When I was done I swung the whip underhand and cracked it across her pussy. I swear she jumped so high she almost cracked her head on the ceiling.
Miranda was still screaming when I cut the ropes down and let her fall to the floor. I figured I could let her roam around her prison for the night without issue, but you never know, so I snapped a shock collar around her neck just to be safe. She looked so cute there, shaking and howling on the floor, although I imagined that she'd look a lot less pretty when those welts started setting in. I cut open a box of MREs for her and locked my toys up before heading out for the night.
"Good night, Miranda," I laughed. She was still screaming when I shut the door.
****************************
So, you remember how I said they'd probably never find Miranda's boyfriend in the ocean? It turns that was pretty optimistic. It actually took them a couple of hours, according to a call got from my buddy in the FBI. Embarrassing, I know.
It seemed that right now they were investigating his murder as something gang related, or figured that maybe Miranda had killed him and took off - wouldn't be the first time a wife took out her 'roid-raging fighter boyfriend and fled - but a review of my cameras said that at least one agent didn't buy that. There she was, that same black obviously-an-FBI-agent woman, snooping around my property and asking questions of my staff. The audacity.
Well, if she wanted to know where these women were disappearing to, I figured I could help her out there. But that could wait for another day. I showered off and went out to eat dinner with my girlfriend.
***********************************
It was late afternoon the next day when I went to visit Miranda again. I reached for the lock, reconsidered, and pressed a button on a remote that would activate the shock collar before unlocking the door. It would be extremely unfortunate if I'd underestimated Miranda and got my head bashed in by a bedframe.
My caution was unnecessary though. She was lying on the bed across the room, twitching from the electricity as I walked in. She hadn't touched the MREs.
"You gotta eat, Miranda," I said. "Going to lose all your gains if you starve yourself."
She was in pretty bad shape. She just lay there sniveling, her once lovely body absolutely covered in nasty purple welts. Her right tit, where I'd split the nipple, was swelling painfully and her pussy looked pretty unusable. That was okay though, nature blessed women with more than one hole. I could live without her eating but I needed her to drink if she was going to be fully conscious for today's activities. Fortunately I didn't even need to threaten her to get her to break open an MRE and start gulping down its contents like a good little sex toy.
When she was done I stripped and lay in bed with her and stroked her hair as she regained her strength for her final act. Part of me wished I could have kept her as a slave but alas, those welts were only going to get uglier as infection set in. Best to just put her down - in an arousing, painful, and entertaining way of course.
But first I wanted to fuck her. Somehow I had spared her lovely ass so far, so I flipped her onto her stomach and stuck a couple pillows under her hips to lift her up.
A whimpered "Noooooooo" was all she gave me, but she scrabbled a bit at the bed so I twisted her right arm behind her as I lubed up my cock and pushed into her tightest hole.
"Owwwwwww," Miranda sobbed as I pumped her ass, fitting in more and more of my shaft with every thrust. Her free hand grasped the bedframe as her sobs began to match my rhythm, and she cried out when I gave the welts on her ass hard smacks. When I was ready to cum I grabbed her brown hair and yanked back, lifting her entire upper body up by her scalp as I pumped my seed deep inside her. I held her like that for a few seconds, extending her torment as long as I could before I let her go and collapsed on top of her.
We lay like that until I was ready to get one more orgasm out of my bodybuilder chick. I threw her off the bed, sat on the edge and pointed at my cock. She gulped it up obediently, licking my shaft clean until I came in her mouth. You know someone's been well trained when they'll do ass-to-mouth without even questioning it. I patted her head as she looked at me with those big brown eyes, desperate for my approval.
"We're almost done, Miranda," I said. "We're almost done."
************
It seemed fitting that Miranda should die doing what she loved. I had her on a treadmill, and a noose-like collar (a marvelous device that tightens like a noose but can't be undone or loosened without a key) around her neck. I gave her ass a playful smack as I used a remote to turn it on and lubed up my dick, ready for the show.
"The game's simple, babe," I said. "You make it an hour and I let you go. You fall off it and you die painfully."
"Just let me goooooo," she cried as the treadmill picked up speed. She clawed at the collar as I set it to go up to eight miles per hour, which I figured was enough to keep my bodybuilder babe miserable while still giving me a decently-long show. The treadmill had no console or handels, and I'd covered the sides in shattered glass shards to keep her from cheating. I set up a clock so she could keep track of where she was at.
I sat there stroking myself as Miranda literally ran for her life. As the minutes ticked by she visibly got in The Zone, maybe imagining she was back at the gym with her husband. And indeed despite her bruised, broken, naked body, I almost saw again that confident, strong woman running through the park. Her face was determined, her tits were bouncing, her muscles were straining, and her tan body shone with sweat. God she was sexy. I don't usually orgasm from masturbation but I came at the half hour mark.
"Halfway there!" I said.
I was almost ready to cum again as we approached the one-hour mark. She was wheezing and coughing at this point, but I saw it in her eyes: Hope. Was that a smile she allowed herself?
Her expression changed to confusion and worry as the timer ticked past an hour.
"Oh, right, good job" I said. I pulled out the remote and turned the speed up. "Sorry babe, I don't let my bitches go."
"NOOOOOOO!" she screamed. I love that moment when someone realizes they're dead, can see the seconds ticking away. She lost control, put one foot on the side of the machine, howled in pain as it filled with glass, and went careening off the treadmill. "OH MY GO-"
The collar choked her off. She was a strong woman though, and managed to grab the rope and pull herself up a bit. She was unbelievably sexy; arms straining for dear life, abs taught, chest heaving, legs kicking - every muscle in Miranda's rock-hard body giving its all to do something, anything to keep her alive. This was the best Miranda had ever look, the moment she'd been working for her entire life. Too bad she couldn't appreciate it.
"Please," she whispered. Already she was sinking down the rope to her doom as her muscles slowly betrayed her. I walked over and jizzed on her abs, then sat back down. "Pleeeeeaaase."
Miranda was a strong woman. It was probably about fifteen agonizing minutes of choking, pulling herself up, and choking again before she lost the strength to delay the inevitable and spun around kicking, arms clawing uselessly at her throat. All her years of bodybuilding, the hard work and strict diet, the hours spent at the gym - all she'd really accomplished with any of it was extending her own agonizing death, torturing herself for my amusement. The look in her eyes as she dangled there told me she realized this. All told, poor Miranda managed to spend half an hour choking on a rope, knowing she was going to die.
About fifteen minutes after Miranda was reduced to a twitching corpse, I took her down, stuffed her in a box, threw the box in my trunk, and then dumped her miles away where I hoped nobody would find her for a while.
As I drove back I kept an eye out for my FBI babe. I didn't know who she was, or how much she knew. I did know that she'd fucked around with the wrong guy, though, and that she was going to end up just as dead as Miranda.