Rape Story - YOUNG TEENS BRUTALLY RAPED AND TORTURED

A bondage novel by Ropegag

Steve walked across the parking lot, slowly making his way to his car. It had been a long day; work was quite a drag lately, and he was looking forward to a relaxing weekend at home. Maybe his secretary was right; maybe it was time to start playing the Lotto and hoping for a windfall. Oh, well, he was finally free of the drudgery of the office. Until Monday, that is.

As he drove down the winding back road that led to the highway, Steve's mind started to wander. What kind of entertainment lay in store for the weekend? He sighed. Nothing much, probably another dull, boring weekend alone at home, with only a fire in the fireplace and an X-rated cassette in the VCR to keep him company.

As he neared the intersection with the highway, he saw with annoyance that a car was stopped on the side of the road. He started to swing around into the other lane to go around it, when he noticed who was sitting in the passenger's seat. It was that sexy new secretary, Jean Marie Simpson.

Jean was a fiery redhead with the cutest freckled nose, greenest eyes, and sexiest mouth he had ever seen. She had a magnificent pair of legs, and a body that would not quit. With her double-entendres and husky voice, she was a sensation, and many of the guys in the office had already attempted to put the moves on her. But Jean Marie would merely flash them an unforgettable smile, one that would leave them speechless, muttering incoherently to themselves like baboons, while she turned on her stiletto heels and drifted away. Steve had already written her off as unattainable and far, far out of his league.

She seemed to be hunched over the steering wheel, intently trying to start the car, oblivious to his presence. Steve glanced quickly into his rear-view mirror, noted the complete absence of traffic (it was, after all, about 9:30 p.m., and just on the verge of becoming dark.) Steve decided to take a chance. He pulled his car over to the side of the road directly in front of the stalled red Miata, then leaned over, unlocked his glove compartment, and extracted two unusual items. He quickly stuffed the first into his left suit coat pocket; the other he slipped
into his right. He took one more quick look into his rear view mirror, then popped open the handle on his door and stepped out.

Jean was still hunched over the steering wheel, intently turning the key, listening to the starter motor uselessly grinding away. Steve approached the driver's side window, all smiles. Jean continued to be oblivious to his presence. He tapped on the window, and Jean jumped in her seat, momentarily startled. When she recognized Steve, she broke out into her infamous smile, and quickly lowered the window.

"Having trouble?", asked Steve. Jean sighed, her long red hair tumbling provocatively over her shoulders. "Damn new car," she muttered. "It hasn't been running right since I brought it in to the dealer last week. And now this!" She slammed her hand onto the steering wheel. "It's
just like a man; it's never ready when you need it." She looked at Steve, waiting for a reaction. She didn't get the one she expected.

Steve merely continued to smile and chuckled. "Sounds like trouble with your car and your love life. One more strike and you're out." He glanced towards the back of her car and up the road. Still no sign of anyone else. "Anything I can do?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a cellular phone in your car, would you?" asked Jean, staring through her window towards the back of Steve's Mazda XR-7. "I need to get someone to tow this lemon back to civilization."

"I'm afraid not," said Steve, suddenly glad for the first time in his life that cellular phones were so expensive. "But I do know where the nearest gas station is. If they don't have a tow truck, they will certainly have a phone."

Jean pulled the keys out of the ignition and dropped them into her purse. She reached for the door handle and started to get out of the car, but Steve held it shut.

"Don't forget to close your window and lock up," said Steve patiently. "You wouldn't want to find your lemon missing when you return."

Jean suddenly realized what she was doing and laughed. "I really don't know where my mind is today," she giggled musically. "Thank you." She rolled up the window, then looked around at the other door, which was already locked. Then Steve moved away from the side of the car and allowed her to open the door. Steve stared appreciatively at her long, lean legs, made even longer by the way her short skirt rode provocatively up her thighs as she slid out of the front seat and stood on the road. He began nervously fingering the metal object in his right jacket pocket. Jean mistook his nervousness for embarrassment and smiled at him as she pulled her skirt back down into position. It was when she turned her back on him and bent over slightly to lock the door that he made his move.

Steve approached Jean from behind, leaned forward, and snapped a pair of handcuffs on her left wrist. Moving quickly, he reached around and grabbed her right arm, pulling it behind her back and locking it inescapably into the other side of the handcuffs. Jean, startled, barely uttered a dazed "What--" before the other object, a red ball-gag, snaked out of his left pocket and was popped in a flash into the gorgeous young woman's gaping mouth. It wasn't until he began buckling it closed at the back of her head that the realization of what was happening to her suddenly hit her like a lead pipe, and she began screaming into the rubber ball. A series of muffled "Mfffs" was the best that the startled redhead could produce through the efficiency of her plug.

Steve knew from experience what would be coming next, so he quickly unbuckled his belt, bent over, and strapped it around the woman's knees, buckling it tightly. By the time the dazed young girl realized what was happening to her and tried to run, the best she could manage was a lame trot.

Steve put his arm around her and began steering her towards the back of his car. Holding on to her left elbow with one hand, he fished around in his pocket for his car keys, then used them to pop open his trunk. Inside was another pair of handcuffs, which he reached down and clicked into place on the young secretary's shapely ankles. He looked at her face. Real fear was showing in those emerald eyes, and he smiled. This one would be a piece of cake.

He hefted her up, and swung her body over the lip of the fender, and gently lowered her onto the blanket in the trunk. He put his hand down on the lid and began to slam it shut. Then, almost as an afterthought, he raised it once again, and stared into the face of his helpless young victim. "Don't go away now, love," he said, in his sweetest voice. You'll be back out again before you know it." Then he slammed down the trunk lid, and went back to the driver's seat, whistling. Looks like this wouldn't be such a dull weekend, after all.

Jean was standing in the middle of his living room, eyes wide with terror. Her wrists were chafed from struggling against the cruel steel of the handcuffs, and her mouth was sore from being propped open by the loathsome gag. The belt that was firmly bucked around her knees and the steel cuffs hobbling her ankles guaranteed the man across the room a captive audience.

Steve's voice droned on, as he began bustling about the room, making preparations. He had gone back out into the garage and had returned with a steel ladder which he placed in front of her before moving on to other things. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't offer you a seat, young lady. But when I get through with you in a few minutes, you won't be in any position to sit down anyway."

Jean, terrified at the prospect of finding out what he meant by that remark, frantically clawed at the handcuffs and shook her head wildly in an effort to dislodge the foul-tasting ball that stuffed her mouth.

"That never works," said the man, pulling a pocket knife from his trousers. He had extracted a coil of clothesline from a nearby closet, and was busying himself cutting it into strips of varying lengths. He was kneeling on the floor directly in front of her, immersed in his work, yet carrying on a running conversation with her at the same time.

"I'd actually prefer hearing you scream and plead and whine, but I live in a rather crowded area, and the neighbors enjoy summoning the police at the slightest provocation." He reached up and clutched her chin between his fingers. "And I'm sure you wouldn't want them to come by and spoil our little fun, now would you?"

Jean, who actually would have liked nothing better, nodded her head in a frantic "no" pattern. She knew that arguing with a crazy man armed with a pocket knife would be a losing proposition, even if she hadn't been trussed up like a Christmas turkey. She silently cursed herself for having gotten into this situation, and wondered if she would be leaving this place alive. His next comment did little to reassure her. "So you'll just have to wear that little gadget for the duration, and I'll just have to satisfy myself with your little whimpers and moans."

Steve finally finished his work, folded up the pocket knife and put it back into his pocket. Jean almost collapsed with relief, until he got up and began approaching her with two of the sections of rope he had selected. He walked behind her and began lashing his first length of rope around her left wrist, without removing the handcuffs. After testing his knots to make certain they were secure, he moved on to her other wrist and trussed it up in a similar fashion. He then took the loose ends of both ropes, and began climbing the ladder he had placed in front of her. Jean could not imagine what he was up to. For her sake, it was much better that she could not. If she had been able to
deduce his intentions, she probably would have fainted on the spot.

"Once I'm done here," he said casually, "the handcuffs will no longer be necessary, and I'll remove them." He leaned over the side of the ladder and drooled lavicousiously down the front of her blouse. "Besides, I'm sure you'll find the rope far more comfortable than the steel cuffs, considering what I'm about to do to you."

Jean tensed in terror. "My God," she thought, "what have I ever done to deserve this?"

Jean's silent question went unanswered, as Steve reached the top of the ladder, and began threading the ends of both ropes through metal hooks in the ceiling that she had not noticed before. They looked extremely strong, and she wondered what possible excuse anyone could give to their visitors for having such a thing embedded in their living room ceiling. Then she realized just how few visitors this man must really have, and an uncontrollable shudder ran through her body.

Jean's action did not go unnoticed. "Just tingling with anticipation, I see," he remarked. "Don't worry, girl," he said, looking back up at his work, "You don't have much longer to wait. I'm almost ready here. Then I can promise you a real uplifting experience."

Having finished threading each rope through a separate hook, Steve descended the ladder, ropes in hand, and moved around to Jean's rear. He looped the ropes once around the belt binding the unfortunate woman's knees together, then folded up the ladder and moved it back out into the garage.

"We won't be needing that again soon," he stated matter-of-factly. "And now, let's get down to business."

He dug in his pocket for a tiny key, which he used to unlock the handcuffs. He carefully pulled them free of her wrists. Jean started to bring her wrists around to her front, but Steve had released the other ends of the ropes from the belt and was now pulling down hard on them. Jean's wrists, each firmly anchored to a rope, shot up over her head, one to each side, and the poor girl found herself spread-eagled into a "Y" shape. Steve walked the two loose ends of rope over to the heavy fireplace mantle, and tied them off to a large hook on the side
of the mantle, on which numerous fireplace utensils were hanging.

Jean squirmed in her bonds. It had been nice to be able to move her hands, even for just a moment, but she was beginning to worry about how uncomfortable this position would soon become. She silently prayed to herself for a miracle to save her from this torment.

Jean silently swore to herself. If she ever got out of this alive, she would seek out this man and kill him all by herself. A wave of fear washed over the frightened young woman, as she realized that he must know this, and would never let her leave this place alive.

Her wave of fear was replaced by a wave of nausea as she suddenly felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. Despite the warmth of his breath, a cold chill ran down the length of her spine, causing her to tremble. Just as suddenly, she felt something poking her in the rear through the folds of her dress. "My God," Jean thought, "it's his cock! He's poking his cock at me!"

Indeed he was. Steve was lost in the blissful feeling of nestling his cock in the crack of the shapely redhead's ass. Although insulated by four separate layers of clothing (his underwear, his pants, her dress, and her underwear), it still felt like nirvana, and his cock was in seventh heaven. He imagined what it would be like later when both of them were naked; his cock twinged in anticipation, causing his young victim
to begin squirming frantically in her bonds. The friction of her rear end grinding into his pelvis simply served to excite Steve all the more, and he reached around to the front of her dress and clutched her breasts, one in each hand, and used them to press her body back into his even harder. Jean's involuntary response was to twist and turn even more, causing an even harder reaction in the young woman's new master. Steve paused, just short of cumming, and backed away from his precious young treasure, panting heavily, attempting to catch his breath.

"Whew! You're quite the sexpot!" he said, complimenting her on talents she was currently wishing she could do without. "With a body like yours, I'll bet you could turn on a stone." He left the room momentarily to regain his composure, leaving the object of his affections helplessly pulling on the ropes that kept her hanging from the ceiling of her tormentor's condo.

When he returned, Steve was brandishing another long pair of ropes that had been cut from the length of clothesline that had since been returned to its resting place in the closet. He bent down in front of the terrified redhead and began securing the end of one of the two lengths around the woman's left ankle. After a moment, he began affixing the other rope to the unfortunate girl's other ankle. Jean couldn't imagine what new torments lay in store for her poor, mistreated body; she only knew that they wouldn't be pleasant, and that she wouldn't have long before she found out exactly what they entailed.

Sure enough, Steve quickly finished his tasks at the woman's feet, and took the loose end of the rope detaining Jean's left ankle and walked it over to the stairway, where he pulled it taut, stretching Jean's left leg to the limit that the handcuffs around her ankles and the belt around her knees would allow. He then walked back to the hapless girl's body, picked up the loose end of the rope securing her right ankle, then walked over to a wrought iron railing on the other side of the spacious living room, and, again pulling tight on the rope to remove any slack, carefully knotted the free end to the bottom of the railing.

Jean found her freedom of movement even further restricted than before, something she would not have imagined possible a few moments ago. She mused over what new wonders remained in store for her, as a large gob of drool oozed out from the edges of the ball-gag firmly planted in her mouth and dribbled down her chin. At this point, she wasn't she which of her agonies was worse; the physical restraint, the cramping in her jaw muscles, her enforced silence, her inability to plea with her captor, the overpowering feeling of helplessness, or the pure humiliation of it all. After all, she was Jean Marie Simpson, the gorgeous daughter of a powerful family; a woman with a career; a girl with a future.

But all of this meant nothing to the man who was stooped down in front of her, inserting a tiny key into the metal chains that locked her ankles together, and, with a twist, springing them free and removing them. "Now's my chance!" thought the shapely redhead, as she tried to move her feet to giver her some sort of leverage. But the awkwardness of her position, combined with the height of her heels, the ropes strung from her ankles, and the belt lashing her knees together made little difference in her ability to move, with or without her steel anklets. Jean began sobbing in frustration.

"Don't cry, my little dove!" cooed Steve, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of his hand. "Or I'll give you something to really cry about."

Jean lost what little composure she had left. If she had been able to move, to speak, to plead, to beg, she would have done anything, anything, for the chance to get away. She would have had his children, she would have sucked his cock, she would have let him squirt cum all over her breasts, there was almost nothing she wouldn't have done for the opportunity to go free. Unfortunately for her, Steve already had everything the ravishing redhead could possibly have offered him, for he was now the complete Lord and Master of every square inch of the redhead's beautiful body; she could refuse him nothing, and he knew it. To him, the redhead's stunning body was little more than a tool to
be used by him to satisfy his basic sexual needs, and, afterwards, to be discarded like a used dishrag.

Steve returned with a rather large Craftsman toolbox, and set it down in front of her with a loud clunk. Jean's body began shaking in fear, as he opened the lid, rummaged around a bit, then pulled out two long, thin, white plastic strips. Jean had no idea what use he planned to put them to, and was not in any hurry to find out. Steve bent over and ran the first of the two strips around one of Jean's trim ankles, then crossed the two ends over one another, and ran them around the bottom of her high-heeled shoe. He then threaded the one end through the
other, and pulled on the cable tie until it was snug. He repeated the process with her other foot, effectively trapping the young woman into her own shoes. Jean watched him, fascinated. Despite all her struggling, it had never occurred to her to remove her heels; now, removal was impossible. She wondered what other fiendish things he had in store for her. She didn't have long to wait.

Steve turned his back on her and began fiddling with some of the equipment in the tool box. From her immobile position, Jean could only catch a glimpse of it; it seems as though he was doing something with some fishing tackle. Jean shuddered, and began glancing around the room, hopelessly looking for some avenue of escape.

Suddenly he stood up and turned around to face the frightened young woman. She tried to gasp when she saw what he was brandishing, but the gag sealed her mouth relentlessly. He had a large pair of tin snips, which he placed at the sleeve on her shoulder and began cutting into the fabric of her dress. "Oh, great, there goes one of my favorite dresses," she thought to herself, before realizing the absurdity of her thinking. "Fear does strange things to the mind," she mused silently to herself, as the maniac continued slicing his way across her once-
pretty blouse. When he reached the other shoulder, the garment slithered to the floor, almost like a leaf in autumn. Steve paused in his work to admire the view. Jean's breasts were now framed in a plain, white, simple cotton bra that understated the ampleness of the pretty secretary's figure. Steve had always known that normal clothing tends to underemphasize the true size of a woman's breasts, and Jean's brassiere hinted at two wonderful treasures begging for release. Steve savored the moment, then licked his lips and began snipping away at the two shoulder straps. They fell in an instant, and now only one tiny strap of fabric separated the young man from paradise. With a
sigh, he reached up, inserted the massive scissors between the woman's two breasts, and then, with a single snip, sliced through the strap separating the twin cups into two.

Jean's bra flew off of her body as though propelled by a spring. The bra sailed across the living room and landed on a nearby piece of furniture.

Steve's eyes never left the front of Jean's chest for an instant. When her twin mounds sprang into view, his mouth gaped open in awe. He had seen a lot of naked breasts bobbing and weaving in front of him over the years, but this pair was by far the fullest, most rounded, most incredible set he had ever been privileged to leer at. And leer he did. He slowly reached out, hesitatingly, as though this was happening in a dream, and he was being careful not to move too fast and disturb his slumber and lose sight of the wonderful spectacle that lay before his eyes. His fingers finally made contact with the smooth, soft skin of the quivering redhead, and he slowly began twirling his hands around the woman's chest, as though he were tuning the massive knobs on an old-time radio.

Jean moaned as he ran his rough fingers over her nipples, fondling her breasts as if they were melons in a supermarket. She had always been proud of her firm, full breasts and the admiring glances that they drew; for once in her life, she almost wished they weren't quite so magnificent. Steve bent down and took her right globe into his mouth, running his tongue around her areola and across the tip of her nipple, which responded immediately. Jean closed her eyes and threw her head back in an attempt to shut out what was happening to her, but this maneuver could not block out the sounds or the increasingly pleasurable sensations coursing through her nervous system. Her right nipple was standing out erect, and his mouth left her breast for a moment. "Oh, God," Jean thought to herself, "he's going to go work on the other one." But what actually happened was far, far worse. A very strange sensation came over her chest, and when comprehension of what he was up finally came to her she screamed futilely into the red rubber ball. Steve was busily tying a small piece of fishing string around Jean's right nipple, which was conveniently sticking out far enough to make this possible. Jean looked down in horror to discover that there was a lead fishing weight of considerable size tied to the other end of the wire.

"No, no," she tried crying out in vain, for the ball-gag was doing its job most efficiently, and the only sound that Jean was able to make was a pitiful, muffled whimper. Steve was whistling happily to himself; this one had been a prize catch. A little too soon after the last one, perhaps, but the acquisition had been a good deal nonetheless. He finished up knotting the string to poor Jean's extended nipple, then took her left breast into his mouth and began teasing her free nipple with his tongue. Jean groaned silently into her mouthpiece, praying to herself that someone would somehow find her and free her from this maniac.

Meanwhile, her left nipple, having involuntarily responded to Steve's ministrations just as enthusiastically as her right had done, was now fully erect and being subjected to the same procedure the first one had endured. Jean thought the fishing weights looked rather heavy, and was wondering to herself why she wasn't feeling much pain on her nipples, when she looked down and noticed that the weight had been scotch-taped to her chest, relieving the nipple from the strain of having to carry the weight.

"How thoughtful," thought the harried red-head, as she dangled from the cords attached to this stranger's ceiling. "Just what exactly is he up to?" She didn't have long to wait, for once he had finished cording the second piece of fishing string to the poor woman's remaining breast, he removed the tape, and held both weights in his hands.

"You're gonna love this," he said, staring into her two green eyes. Tears were streaming down both of Jean's cheeks like rivers. She had long ago abandoned her dignity, and was willing to do something, anything, if only this lunatic would let her go. Unfortunately for her, this was his show, not hers, and she focused her attention back on the new, horrible words he was saying. "It's a good thing I've got the video camera set up already. This is the point where you'll want to dance."

"Dance?" thought Jean, "just what in the hell is he talking about--"

Steve let the two objects in his hands fall free, and the full weight of the lead sinkers tugged suddenly on the poor woman's tender breasts.

Jean shrilled into her gag using the full force of her lungs. Her body jerked violently, and her tiny frame was racked by sobs. Jean started squirming involuntarily in her bondage, much to her captor's delight. He had moved behind the video camera and was zooming in on her twin mounds. The more she heaved and rocked to and fro, the more the two lead weights swung from her breasts like two crazed pendulums, further distending her precious breasts and causing her even more pain, making her squirm all the more. This vicious cycle of pain was threatening to drive her mad, as she danced her macabre dance under the hot lights of her torturer's video equipment.

Having returned the camera to its normal focus, the maniac was now rummaging through her purse. He opened her wallet, and was slowly perusing the credit cards and other official documents. He paused for a long time when he came to her driver's license; she gulped. She hated to have people see her driver's license picture, but what she hated even more was that now this creep even knew where she lived. Somehow, the thought of this guy knowing where to find her made her feel even more violated than when he had first snipped off her blouse and exposed her chest.