Play Rape

You can come rape me anytime you want, Stacy typed. The door's locked, but I left a key under the doormat for you.

I won't make you wait long, Phil replied back. It'll be in a few hours, after you've gone to sleep. Where do you live?

Passing on the directions to her house took longer than it should have, because Stacy couldn't resist sliding a hand down into her panties to rub her already soaking crotch. Tonight was the night! She'd fantasized about getting raped for years now, and it was finally going to happen.

Not a real rape, of course. It had all been set up in advance by her and Phil, this guy she'd met online. She'd been chatting with him for weeks now, getting to know him. She'd even met him in person for lunch a few days ago, just to make sure he wasn't some fat kid living in his mom's basement or something.

She'd been pleasantly surprised to find him quite handsome. He was better than six feet, well muscled, and had a rugged look about him, like a man who worked with his hands all day and enjoyed the labor. Stacy herself was a small and slender woman, only a couple inches above five feet, with wavy blonde hair that barely reached her ears, framing a smooth face and wide hazel eyes. Phil looked like he could pick her up and snap her in two without breaking a sweat.

She'd felt intimidated at first, not just by their disparity in size, but by his sheer presence. There was a sharpness to him, a hardness that suggested he was someone who gave orders and expected them to be obeyed. Her breath had caught the first time he'd looked into her eyes with his own steely grays.

But Phil had quickly put her at ease. His manner was as charming and easy going in person as he'd been online, and he soon had her laughing as he shared stories. He hadn't even batted an eye when they'd started discussing the details of their encounter and she'd warned him that she had some strict rules.

No anal. No fellatio, unless he washed himself immediately beforehand and didn't cum in her mouth or on her face. No tight bondage. No whipping or spanking or anything of that nature. The list was extensive and detailed. “The long and short of it is that I'm not into any of that pain and humiliation garbage,” she'd told him. “What I'm looking for is to be forcibly pleasured, to have someone hold me down and make me cum again and again.”

She'd expected some resistance, but Phil had given her none. He'd readily agreed to all of her conditions, questioned her about a few possible edge cases, and even wrote everything down to make sure he didn't forget anything. Then they'd finished their lunch, shook hands, and left.

And now it was finally the night. Stacy chatted with Phil for a few more minutes, making sure he understood her directions, then closed down the computer and went to go take a shower.

As she was undressing, her phone buzzed on the counter, alerting her that she'd received a text. She eagerly checked it, hoping it would be Phil, but it was just her fiancé Bobby again.

Bobby was... a nice guy. That was all she could really say about him. He was good looking enough, intelligent, always treated her well, but he was just... just a nice guy. Bland as dishwater, with nothing to make him stand out. Stacy had been on the rebound in a bad way when she'd first met him, and originally hooked up with him more because she was horny and lonely than out of any actual interest in him.

The only things keeping her with him after that were inertia and his bank account. He wasn't rich rich, but he made enough to put her meager savings to shame. Moving in with him had let her quit her shitty minimum wage fast food job and relax in his nice house all day. As far as he knew, she was spending all her time job hunting, but she had no intention of ever going back to work. When he'd proposed to her last spring, she'd seen her chance to live the easy life, and as far as she was concerned, pretending to be in love was just the kind of cushy job she deserved.

Besides, it's not like Bobby was getting nothing out of it. He was getting her. She liked to joke that the reason she hadn't found a job yet was because she was holding out for supermodel, and she knew it wasn't much of an exaggeration. She'd always been beautiful, with a face that turned heads and a figure that kept them staring. Ever since puberty she'd had no trouble getting men to do whatever she wanted, and it was a talent she didn't let go to waste.

Except when it came to Bobby and her dark fantasies. His idea of love making was plain old vanilla, nothing kinkier than leaving the lights on. She'd tried to probe him for info a couple times, wondering if maybe he was concealing something more, but he'd nearly fallen over himself assuring her that he had no hidden depths in the bedroom. They had sex a couple times a week, and he always made sure she had at least as many orgasms as he did, but it never left her feeling satisfied.

She knew that if she told him what she really wanted, he probably would try to do it for her, but... ugh. She wanted to be dominated by someone bold and sexy, not by a man who bored her to tears. He just wouldn't do at all.

So it had been hard to hide her joy when he'd told her about the month long business trip to Europe the company was forcing him to take. He'd expected her to go with him at first, but she'd refused, making up whatever excuses she could to stay home. A whole month to do what she wanted, without him around!

Under the warm water, Stacy fingered herself while imagining Phil running his callused hands over her body. If the night went as well as she hoped, maybe she'd dump Bobby after all and try to start something more serious with Phil. It would be silly to commit to anything before she found out more about him, like the size of his wallet, but he definitely seemed to be partner material. She pictured herself entwined with him in bed every night, tied to him in the most intimate way possible, and felt the first orgasm of the night wash over her. The first of many, she hoped.

After she'd finished her shower and dried herself off, she decided to sleep in the nude. No sense putting something on that she was going to end up taking off, and she certainly didn't want him trying to cut or rip apart anything expensive. So she laid in bed, head buzzing with anticipation, and did her best to fall asleep. It seemed to take ages, but at some point she managed to drift off.

Stacy didn't wake up until she felt icy metal close around her right ankle. She shivered and tried to pull away from the source of discomfort, but found her leg was now attached to the bed post. Another ring of metal, handcuffs she slowly realized, attached her left ankle to the other post, leaving her flat on her stomach.

“Phil?” she whispered in a slight panic. She knew it must be him, it had to be him, but... she had to make sure.

“It's me, Stacy,” he whispered back, and she relaxed. She felt his warm hands glide up the sides of her body and then gently pull her arms behind her, a third set of cuffs closing around her wrists. They were more uncomfortable than she'd expected. In her fantasies, she was always being tied down with silk ribbons or scarves, something smooth and pliable. The handcuffs were neither. They were cold and chafed her skin.

She considered saying something about it, maybe asking him to use something else, but she held her tongue. It was only a minor inconvenience, and besides, it would break the flow to have him untie and retie her. So she just laid back and tried to forget about them, concentrating instead on his wonderful hands massaging her thighs, and the trail of soft kisses he was leaving down her back.

“You know,” Phil said slowly, as if he was imparting a deep secret. “We went over everything you like and dislike. But you never asked about what I like.”

“Oh, and what might that be?” she purred, pushing her body back against his touch. He took his hands away, and she whimpered in frustration, wriggling as she tried to find them.

She felt his hot breath against her ear as he whispered, “Making women suffer.”

Her mind was still foggy with sleep and lust, and before she could really process what he'd just said, she felt a searing pain cut across her right ass cheek. Stacy gasped, and felt another blow on her other cheek, equally painful. She twisted around as best she could, and saw that Phil was holding something, some kind of cane. He brought it down again, this time right across the first welt, and she screamed.

“Stop!!” She blurted quickly. “Stop stop stop stop stop stop! No pain! I said no pain!”

“Exactly,” he told her, a broad smile on his face. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning. He caned her again, this time right between the cheeks. “That's why I'm doing it. The thing is, it can be hard being a sadist sometimes. I just can't get off if I think they might be enjoying it, you know? I need to know they're really feeling it. And that's where dumb sluts like you come in. You pathetic, lonely whores are kind enough to give me a whole laundry list of ways to play with you.”

“But you can't do this,” Stacy pleaded, as he continued to beat her. The cuffs on her wrists jangled as she reflexively tried to get her hands out from behind her back. “This is rape, real rape. You have to stop! Or I'll... I'll call the police!”

And miraculously, he did stop. She heard him drop the cane onto the floor, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you. Just, just go... I won't tell anyone, just go.”

But instead of leaving, she felt him clamber onto the bed with her, his knees pressing on the back of her legs, and then his hands pried her bruised ass cheeks apart and a finger tip stroked her anus. A sudden wave of horror and nausea almost made Stacy physically ill. “You want to call the police, feel free,” Phil said as he began to finger her asshole, each thrust bringing unfamiliar pain that made her flinch. “And then I'll show them the chat logs. 'You can come rape me anytime you want', remember? 'I left the key under the mat for you'.”

“But not like this,” she moaned, hot tears welling up in her eyes. “I didn't want this.”

“Too fucking bad.” He withdrew his finger, wiped it off on her back, and a moment later she felt him lay his cock between her cheeks. He slid it back and forth a few times, letting her feel how large and thick it was, and then began to press it against her asshole. “You wanted to be a rape slut? Well congratulations.” Stacy gasped as his cock sank into her virgin hole. “Now you're getting raped.”

Phil took her asshole without a trace of gentleness or concern for her well being, reaming her out in long sharp strokes that made Stacy feel like she was being stabbed. Her tears flowed freely, and they only seemed to excite him more. She wriggled and squirmed like a fish on a hook, trying in vain to get away from him. He gripped her ass, the fresh welts aching as his fingers dug into them, and hammered at her like he was trying to break her.

“I have to make sure I really bust this shithole of yours wide open,” he said cheerfully while she sobbed. “I'm probably the only guy who will ever get to enjoy this, so I have to make it count.”

“Pleeeeease,” she moaned. “I have money. You can have whatever you want, just stop!”

“Oh yeah? And how much is your ass worth to you? Five thousand dollars? Ten?”

“Y-yes! I could get you ten thousand dollars, I swear!”

“What about twenty? Would you pay me twenty thousand dollars to stop turning your asshole inside out?”

“Yes! Yes! I promise!”

He started fucking her even harder than before. “Such a good rape slut,” he crowed. “Nothing could get me going more than hearing how much you hate this!”

Endless minutes passed before Phil finally withdrew, leaving her slumped lifelessly on the bed. Stacy could feel the cool night air on her exposed anus, and in her mind's eye she could see it gaping wide open. Her insides ached, and a dim, coldly rational part of her noted that he hadn't cum yet.

She heard Phil moving off somewhere and then returning. “Don't you worry, fuck meat,” he said. “That butt of yours won't be empty for long. I promise to keep it stuffed one way or another this whole night.” Something cold and hard touched her backside, and a second later Stacy screamed as a thick metal dildo was forced up her ass with a single shove.

Phil reappeared at the front of the bed, lifting her head up by the hair to bring to eye level with his stiff cock. Stacy stared at it in disgust. Up close, it looked like something out of a horror movie. It was long and veiny, topped by a bulbous mushroom head colored an angry red. Crimson and brown fluids were streaked across the shaft and smeared all over the head, and at the very tip, a drop of precum glistened.

She closed her eyes, unable to bear the sight of it, and wishing she could block out the stench too, a nauseating mix of shit, sweat, and urine. She felt the head, hot and soft and slimy, rub back and forth over her closed lips, and had to fight back the urge to retch.

“Time to show my filthy dick some love,” Phil said, still kissing her with it. “And don't be a prude about it; I like my slut mouths wet and nasty, with plenty of slobber. But first, let me show you what that toy in your ass will do if you get unruly.” There was a clicking sound.

Stars exploded inside Stacy's head, and her whole body spasmed. She opened her eyes to see a small remote in his hand. “That was a level 1 shock,” Phil explained. “The lowest level. Some of the higher ones could kill you if I let them go on for more than a few seconds. So this is where you make a choice, rape slut, one of the very few you'll get all night: either you give me a long, tender blowjob with plenty of tongue and enthusiasm, not to mention a complete lack of teeth, or we start experimenting to find out what setting makes you piss yourself.”

Stacy didn't have much experience with fellatio. The few times she'd tried it with past partners had felt gross and degrading, and they were more interested in having her slim legs wrapped around them anyway. She'd done it a couple times with Bobby, but only for brief moments during foreplay, never as a means of finishing. In every case, what little technique she had centered around simple, efficient movements that got the job done without demeaning herself more than necessary.

Under Phil's direction, her mistakes punctuated by more painful electric shocks, Stacy quickly learned all about sloppy blowjobs.

Her cheeks hollowed as she noisily sucked on his head. She opened wider to let the wet mess of saliva and other fluids in her mouth drool out of her and down his shaft, then got to work slurping it back up. She rubbed her cheeks and neck all over him, adding to the spit already plastered over there, then went after him with her tongue again, lapping at him like a dog.

Once, back in the sorority house at college, Stacy had tried raw oysters on a dare. The slimy, salty taste of them had sent her running for the toilet, where she had immediately voided her stomach. Her sisters had teased her about it for weeks, and years later the smell of oysters still made her feel ill.

Phil's bloody, shit covered cock tasted a bit like those oysters had, only a million times worse. As Stacy worked, she tried her best to ignore what her tastebuds were telling her. She was only partly successful; she didn't actually vomit, but not from her stomach's lack of trying. A fresh stab of nausea hit her each time she swabbed the brown streaks with her tongue, feeling the gritty, bitter substance flake away. Even the supposedly clean parts of his shaft had an oily taste to them.

“Haven't washed down there since we first started chatting,” he confirmed at one point. “Wanted to make sure you got the full experience. And if you think that's bad, just wait until I make you clean my asshole later.”

For the most part, he relaxed and let her do all the work, but occasionally and without warning he would rock forward with his hips, pushing himself in deep enough to bang against the entrance to her throat and make her gag. Each time he did it, Stacy redoubled her efforts to make him finish, hoping he had forgotten that deepthroating was one of the banned acts on her list.

She was in the middle of a long, one-sided french kiss with his head when those hopes were finally dashed. Phil laced his hands against the back of her head to hold her still, and slid forward until he filled her mouth completely. “You've got a tight throat back there,” he told her. “I bet you've never even tried having a cock in it, have you?” She shook her head weakly. “Don't worry, I'll make your first time memorable.”

Moments later his entire fat prick was in her throat, cutting off her air. Her body thrashed, helpless to stop him or even draw breath. She looked up at him desperately. Surely he didn't mean to choke her to death? Phil only smiled back. Her vision grew hazy, and spots appeared in front of her eyes. Just before darkness overcame her, he withdrew enough to let a trickle of air through. She gratefully sucked it in, lungs heaving.

Before she was even close to catching her breath, she found herself gagging on him again.  She knew what to expect by now, but it didn't make the sensation of choking to death any easier. He kept this up for long minutes, bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness before easing off. Her lungs burned and her head pounded.

Finally Phil withdrew completely. “I think you can add suffocation play to your list,” he said, smirking. He smacked her face with his stiff dick a couple times, smearing yet more saliva across her cheeks. “I could keep choking you all night.”

“Just cum already, you fucking sadist,” she snarled, and then convulsed as another electric charge ran through her, this one stronger than the others.

“That wasn't very polite, “ he said mildly. “Would you like to rephrase that?”

She gritted her teeth. “Please cum.”

He held a finger over the remote. “Please cum, what?”

“....Please cum, master.”

“I knew you were a quick learner. Now, is my rape slut's throat sore? Does she want me to soothe it with some warm semen?”

“...Yes, master.”

He sighed and leaned back. “Then get to work. Fuck your throat on my cock, and I'll give you a creamy drink.”

Stacy started sucking him off like she had before, but within seconds, another agonizing shock went through her. “I didn't ask for another blowjob, cunt. I want a throat fuck. Maybe you need another demonstration?”

She shook her head and began to swallow him as best she could, feeling the throbbing phallus slide down her gullet. When she had swallowed so much it was choking her, she backed away, lines of drool still connecting them together. Her throat was already sore, and she hesitated taking him back in, but his finger on the remote got her moving.

Soon Stacy was bobbing up and down on the shaft in a slow but steady rhythm. “Keep pumping, slut,” Phil said. “It's past time you learned that your face is just another fuckhole. Nothing but a cunt with a tongue attached.”

After several long minutes, she felt him pulsing. At the last second he pulled out, and she flinched as hot sticky cum sprayed all over her face. “Now you look more like the whore you really are,” he said, laughing. “We should show you off.”

Stacy was confused about what he meant, until he brought her laptop over and set it by the bed. She felt a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as he turned on her webcam, muted it, and focused it on her before logging into the BDSM chat room they'd met in.

Hey all, he typed. This is Philanthrapist here on Bound2Please's account. The two of us hooked up tonight, and she's been loving the play rape. Here's the link to her webcam feed so you can see how much fun we've been having!

There was a flurry of responses back, many of them congratulations and well wishes, and plenty of lewd comments about the cum dripping off her face. Stacy flushed with humiliation and shut her eyes. A few minutes ago she couldn't have imagined anything that would make this godawful night even worse, but now she did: an audience.

I shot my cum on her face so you could all see what a wonderful rape slut she's been so far, Phil typed. But my fucktoy is hungry, and I promised she'd get to eat my jizz. She was having the time of her life tasting her own shit on my prick a little while ago, so this ought to be a real treat for her. He rubbed his softened dick against one of her cheeks, then stuck it in her mouth. She meekly sucked the cum off it. He continued to scrape his seed off her face and feed it to her that way, until it was all gone.

Any suggestions on what my new pet and I should do next? The laptop made a series of soft beeps as numerous watchers chimed in with their suggestions. Phil looked them over with a smile. “Seems like a lot of them think you deserve a good whipping for being such a dirty slut.”

Stacy shuddered at the idea. “Please,” she begged, “I'll do anything you want. Whatever hole you like, I'll make it good for you, I swear. I'll be your... your rape slut. You don't have to hurt me.”

“Of course I don't have to, you stupid bitch. I want to.” He poked one of the angry red welts the earlier caning had left on her butt. “The real question is, where do I whip you? On your ass? I bet I could slice your cheeks up so bad you won't be able to sit for a week. Or I could whip those juicy tits.”

“My chest,” she said after only a moment's hesitation. “You can whip my chest. Just please, I can't take anything more on my ass.”

“Maybe we'll see about that later,” he said with a smile. “But tits it is. Let's get you into position to show those funbags off.” He snapped a bright red collar onto her neck, and then hauled her up to her knees. The collar had a leash dangling to it, which he tied to the footboard behind her. With her legs still secured to the bed posts, she was forced her to arch her back as far as she could, her body forming a backward C with her head tilted back and pointing straight up at the ceiling. Then he uncuffed her hands just long enough to recuff them in front of her.

With her head forced up, she could no longer see him or her own body. She heard the soft sound of his footsteps and trembled with anxiety, expecting new pain to hit her any moment. “If you want me to leave your ass alone,” he said, his voice coming from right in front of her, “you have to earn it by playing nice. Put your hands underneath your tits. That's right, as if you're offering them to me. Those tits belong to me tonight, slut, just like the rest of you. “ Stacy couldn't see the whip, but she certainly felt it when it slashed right across her nipples, making her scream and bring her hands up to protect them.

With everything going on, she'd almost managed to forget about the dildo sheathed in her ass, but she was given a sharp reminder when it shocked her again, the strongest one yet. “Put those fucking hands back underneath your tits,” came Phil's angry voice when she was done convulsing. “Or I'll nail them in place. And don't just kneel there. Thank me for teaching you what a worthless piece of meat you are.” The whip came down again.

“Thank you for teaching me what a worthless piece of meat I am.”

“Don't just repeat what I tell you, cunt. Tell me it in your own words. And don't forget to call me master.”

SMACK

Her mind raced. She'd seen people exchange degrading talk like this in the chatrooms, but she'd never had any kind of interest in it herself. Now she desperately tried to remember the kind of things they'd said. “Th-thank you for teaching me that... that I'm just a useless fuckhole, master.”

SMACK

“Thank you for showing everyone what a filthy, um, filthy slut I am, master.”

SMACK

“Thank you for... for giving this pathetic slave the honor of your company, master.”

The whipping continued for close to half an hour. Stacy ran out of things to say long before Phil tired, and by the end she was reduced to whispering “thank you for hurting me, master,” over and over again.

He whistled. “Just look at those titties now. All bloody and swollen. Do you know what I like to do with a set of freshly beaten melons?” She shook her head, and then felt his cock, grown hard again, sliding up and down her taut stomach. “Give them a soothing titty fuck.”

Phil rested his cock against the valley of her cleavage, and she waited for him to begin, resigned. A few seconds later, she squealed in pain when he grabbed one of her nipples and twisted it sharply. “Get those hands moving, slut! Fuck my cock with your milk jugs, unless you think they need to spend some more time warming up.”

Stacy awkwardly massaged his shaft with her breasts, wincing as he rubbed against tender flesh. She'd tried this once or twice with a couple of her boyfriends, so she knew the basic idea, but she'd never really cared for it. When it came to sex, she was always far more interested in pleasing herself than her partner. But now she pressed her tits together as hard as she could despite the pain, trying to maximize the friction, praying that the man raping her would enjoy what she was doing.

It seemed to be working. “You looking forward to me cumming on your face again, fuck pig?” Phil asked.

“Yes, master,” she mumbled, trying to move even faster. If she just did whatever he wanted, if she made him happy, maybe he wouldn't keep hurting her so much.

“You're thirsty for some more creamy jizz?”

“Yes, master.”

She felt him pull away and flinched, knowing things were about to get even worse. “Too fucking bad, slut. I'm going to finish breaking your butt in instead.” She groaned as he roughly pulled the metal dildo out of her asshole and put it in her hands, then adjusted her laptop to give everyone a better view before getting into a sitting position beneath her. Her anus was still wide open, and he had no trouble pulling her kneeling form down into his lap and then onto him.

The position put their heads right next to each other, and he whispered into her ear. “See how easily I slide right in? Your ass is made for taking cock now. Like every other hole in your body, its only real purpose is as a container for cum.

“Now there's a lot of people enjoying this show, so we need to make sure they can all see what a good fucktoy I've turned you into with a little discipline. Start by bouncing on my cock. Show them how I own your asshole.” She obeyed, slowly moving up and down on his shaft, her tender rectum a mass of pain. “Good. Now get that dildo down your throat. Stick it all the way in, until your lips close around the base, then slide it back out until the head is on your tongue. Keep doing that. Your friends didn't get to see me train you how to gobble a cock, so we need to show them what you've learned.” After such a long time in her colon, the taste and smell of the metal dick was nasty, but she didn't dare to complain. At least it had warmed up a bit.

He let her work for a few minutes, then began pumping two fingers in and out of her slit. “Did you think I forgot that fist fucking was on your list of taboos?” She froze, and it took a hard slap on her ass with his free hand to get her reluctantly moving again. He added a third finger to her cunt. “If you don't want my arm up your baby chute, you'd better get me to cum quick. Otherwise, I'm going to keep going in.”

She moved as quickly as she could, fear and adrenaline giving her energy. Her attention fixated on her ass, her movement with the dildo slowed, earning her another hard slap. “Are you too fucking stupid to do two things at once? If you can't ass fuck and throat fuck at the same time, just say so, and I'll stick that thing back here with me instead. You think your butt is sore now, imagine what it would feel like to have it double stuffed. You'll be in diapers for the rest of your life.”

Stacy sped up thrusting the metal prick in and out of her throat, still moving her hips up and down on his cock, but her efforts weren't enough to stop a fourth and then a fifth finger from joining the others in her cunt. She squealed as he clenched them into a fist and started slowly thrusting it in and out of her stretched hole.

“Just what a rape slut like you needs,” he told her. “All three holes filled. Don't forget to look at the camera. God, I've never seen so many people in the chat room. They must have let everyone know what was going on. They all get to see what a filthy whore you are.”

The next few minutes passed by agonizingly slowly for Stacy, her world a haze of pain and humiliation. She could feel herself crying, hot tears that ran down her cheeks and streaked across her naked form.

“Time for the final piece,” Phil said, and then the fingers of his free hand found her clit.

Stacy had often masturbated, and frequently played with her clit at those times. Bobby, too, often paid it attention during their love making, using his fingers and tongue to bring her pleasure.

What Phil did to her was nothing like those times. There was nothing gentle or intimate in his handling of her sensitive flesh. He pinched and twisted and dug in with nails, sending waves of raw stimulation smashing into her. There was pleasure buried in the overwhelming sensations, but also agony, so much more agony.

Stacy twisted in the throes of it, feeling her body respond despite the situation. There was something intensely dehumanizing about the experience. Even her orgasms were being turned against her, used as yet another way to make her suffer. Phil ripped the first painful, shuddering climax out of her, then the second, then the third.

"We all know exactly what kind of gutter trash you are now," he told her, as his fingers continued working on her. "Tied down, triple stuffed, and cumming her tiny little brains out. Forget about your goddamned list of taboos. Forget about pride, and dignity, and the ridiculous notion that you're a human being who deserves love and respect like everyone else. You're a disposable fleshlight, and this is where you belong.”

Stacy sobbed harder, knowing that he was right. "Cum with me, slut!" Phil snarled, and she did, screaming out as his dick pulsed and spurted, shooting its hot load into her ass.  When he was done, she slumped down, feeling like nothing more than a used condom.

She barely reacted when he pulled out of her, and when he presented his cock to her, she cleaned it without protest. She prayed that would be the end of it, but she wasn't surprised when it wasn't.

Phil and Stacy were both still awake when morning light began to fill the bedroom. He sat on the bed, legs hanging off the side, while she crouched on the floor, her hands cuffed behind her, doing her best to give him yet another messy blowjob. The toilet brush he'd made her shove up her own ass bobbed along with her movements.

Phil had a camcorder in his hand that he was using to film the action. He gave her frequent directions, and made sure she was always smiling. A series of cigarette burns along her inner thighs marked the times she'd let the smile slip.

“That's my porn star,” he was telling her. “Show your future fans how much you love the taste of cock.”

It wasn't the first video he'd made that night. He'd filmed himself fucking all of her holes, each time with her pretending to be a willing participant. Insurance, he called it. If she went to the police, not only would he use the films and the chat logs to make everything look consensual, he'd send them out to everyone she knew.

He left not long after that, but not before positioning her in front of the webcam. He told her that he didn't know when he'd get home to check on her. It might be in ten minutes, it might be in eight hours. What mattered was that when he did, if the first thing he saw on the webcam wasn't her right where she was now, still busy reaming herself out with that toilet brush, he'd come back to give her a second session. She did as she was told.

Stacy didn't go to the police. What good would it do? She doubted she even knew his real name, and if he found out about it, she was sure he'd make good on his threat to return. She just tried to forget.

A couple weeks passed. She stayed away from the chat rooms, away from the porn sites, away from any reminder of what she'd brought upon herself. She stayed huddled up on the couch all day, staring at the TV for hours without seeing anything on it. She slept out there too, unwilling to even step foot back inside her bedroom.

And one night, the front door rattled, then swung open. She flinched back, expecting to see Phil again, but it was a different man who stepped inside. Bobby was back! Stacy jumped off the couch and all but threw herself into his arms.

“I missed you too, baby,” he said warmly. “I got a little worried when your phone started going straight to voicemail every time I called.”

“Oh, I... I lost the charger,” she lied. It must have died at some point, and she'd been too distracted to even think about it.

She hugged him tighter. How had she overlooked this beautiful, caring man for so long? He had always treated her so well, so much better than she deserved. And if he was a little boring, all the better! Stacy couldn't imagine anything she wanted more than a quiet, boring life from now on.

“Stacy...” he said, and there was something in his tone that made her heart skip a beat. “We need to talk.”

Bobby led her to the couch, and they sat down. Then he pulled out his phone, and showed her the videos there. He had all of them, everything Phil had filmed her doing that night, and even the footage from her webcam. She watched herself being raped and humiliated, and could barely stop herself from vomiting at the memories.

“I-I can explain,” she blurted desperately. “I was--”

Bobby shushed her into silence, then stroked her hair. “It's alright, love. I understand.”

“You... you do?”

“Oh yes.” He kissed her forehead. “This man, Phil, he called me last week. I think he wanted to gloat. He told me about what the two of you had done, and sent me these videos. Do you know how I felt when I watched them?”

Stacy opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words. She lowered her head, cheeks burning with shame.

“I felt amazing!” he said, and broke into a grin. “And... a little foolish. All this time, I'd been pretending not to notice the urges inside me, trying to convince myself that that other part of me didn't exist. I was so scared that if you had any idea I enjoyed this sort of thing, you'd turn and run.”

“You... you're not mad?” Stacy asked, not daring to hope.

“Mad?” He laughed. “Oh, my love, I know, maybe I should be mad that you were with another man, but I understand! I wasn't able to satisfy you, and you were too scared to tell me what you wanted deep inside. I felt the same way, but now, now I know that you are exactly what I was looking for the whole time! I'm not mad at you, Stacy. I'm more in love with you now than I've ever been!”

“I... I love you too,” she whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She hugged him again. “I do, I do... I love you so much...”

The two of them shared a long kiss, then he broke it off and put one of his luggage cases on the coffee table in front of them. “This was all on short notice,” he told her, “so I don't have everything I wanted to get, but I think I've got the basics covered.” He unzipped the bag and showed her the contents.

Stacy blinked. Inside was rope, handcuffs, vibrators, nipple clamps, a riding crop... it was packed full of instruments of bondage and torture. She sat stunned as he took out a bright red collar with a leash, the same kind Phil had used, and fastened it around her neck.

“You... you liked what you saw on the videos,” she mumbled, the terrible realization dawning in her.

“Oh, yes,” Bobby breathed, his eyes lit up in excitement. “The pain, the abuse...”

He stood up and tugged on her leash. “I hope you weren't planning on getting any sleep tonight, babe. The videos didn't cover everything, but I called Phil back and persuaded him to fill in the gaps. Cuffing you to the bed, fucking your ass bloody, making you choke yourself on his cock, whipping your tits raw... and that was just the first hour! God, I can't wait to try it all out for myself!”

Stacy fell to her knees in a panic. “Please... please, no, Bobby. You've got it all wrong... I don't want any of that... I never wanted any of that... he... he raped me... I didn't like any of it, I swear... it was awful and it hurt and oh god... oh god... please don't do those things to me...”

She looked up into Bobby's eyes, and saw something that had never been there before, something cold and dark, but at the same time filled with hot lust. “There are two ways this can go,” he said softly, his tone calm and reasonable. “In the first, you are my devoted love, soon to be my faithful wife. You'll stay here in this house for the rest of your life, living in comfort and luxury, and the only cost will be indulging your loving husband's desires.

“In the other way, you are a cheating whore who deserves only to get fucked and beaten.” His tone was as calm as ever, but the fire in his eyes blazed. “And when I get tired of making you hurt, I'll give what's left of you to your lover, on the condition that no one ever sees or hears from you again. He's already assured me that he would be more than happy to make that happen.”

He tugged her leash again, hard enough to make her stumble up to her feet. “Now what's it going to be?”

Stacy tensed. She could... she could still... no.

She was tired and scared, and if she had to choose between Bobby and Phil, fake love was better than no love at all.. Maybe if she was good, he wouldn't hurt her as much. That was all she could really hope for any more.

She bowed her head. “Please... please fuck your rape slut, master.” She followed him into the bedroom, and she did everything she was told, and he lived happily ever after.