extreme rape

There was a screech of brakes as he stepped out into the road and someone shouted out a warning. He turned and saw the truck bearing down on him. In the space of a second, it grew incredibly large. There was an instant of terror. Then it hit him. There was an instant of pain. Then there was nothing.

The funeral was a quiet affair. He had no family, and there were no friends there to mourn his passing. The rain drifted across the cemetery on the bitter February wind as the vicar completed the service.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.” The sign of the cross was made. “And may the Lord have mercy on your soul.”

He was standing on a moving staircase that carried him endlessly upwards into a clear blue sky, broken only by the occasional cotton wool clouds that hung motionless here and there. He looked up. The escalator went on as far as his eyes could see. There were more people ahead of him. Many older, but some younger. He looked behind him. More people on an endless staircase. Questions drifted into the fog of his mind - What had happened? How had he got here? Where was he? - and drifted out again, unanswered. Amnesia? Was that it? Had he lost his memory? He closed his eyes, put his hands to his temples and concentrated hard. A vague image of a truck appeared, but nothing else.

The staircase came to an abrupt and unexpected halt, and he stepped off onto a platform that went on far into the distance. People were moving forward on both sides of him, and he was about to fall in step with them when a voice from behind startled him.

“Name please.” He turned around to see an old man with long white hair and white beard, dressed in a long white gown.

“Err,,, Steve. Steve Roberts.” he replied. “Where am I?”

“It’s not where you are that matters.” the old man replied, consulting a clipboard he carried. “It’s where you’re going. Go through that door over there.”

He pointed to a doorway off to one side that Steve could have sworn hadn’t been there a few moments earlier.

“Yes, but where am I?” he asked, turning back to old man. But he wasn’t there. He hadn’t moved away. He’d simply vanished.

Steve shrugged, and began picking his way through the moving throng of people. No-one else seemed to be going his way. He reached the doorway and peered inside. It was pitch black. A woman‘s voice invited him in, and he stepped tentatively forward into the total darkness. He peered forwards but was still unable to see anything. He turned back to the doorway, but it wasn’t there. He stepped towards where it had been, but was still surrounded by nothingness. Panic set in and he stumbled blindly forwards, waving his arms in front of him.

“What’s going on!” he called out. “Where the hell am I!”

And then he heard her laugh behind him. A deep mirthless laugh that chilled him to the bone.

“Exactly. Right in one.”

He spun around and there she stood. She was a vision. Tall, taller than him and he was a six-footer. She had flaming read hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a bright red cat-suit that clung so tightly to every curve of her body, it looked as if it had been painted on her. Her eyes glowed vivid red. The very air around pulsed redness.

He hid his alarm with a show of irritation.

“Does everyone round here talk in riddles?” he demanded.

She laughed again.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” she asked scornfully. “Think about it. What’s the last thing you remember?”

The truck appeared in his mind again.

“The truck.” she said. It was as if she’d read his mind. “And then what?”

The next thing he remembered was the old man in white.

“The old man in white.” she said.

“That’s right. How do you do that?” And then it dawned on him. “I’m dead aren’t I. So this must be Heav….”

He stopped in mid-sentence. No, rapists didn’t go to Heaven did they. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.

“So who are you?”

“Oh, I go by many names, but you may call me Mistress Satan.” she replied.

“Wh …what happens now?” he asked nervously.

“Well, “ she replied. “What do you think should happen to men who beat women up and then rape them?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he tried lying.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Well, it was partially true. Three times he’d raped, but never once had he even been taken in for questioning.

“Really?” she replied. “Let’s see if we can’t refresh your memory.”

She held out her hand and a large screen appeared from nowhere alongside her. An image formed on the screen. It was him, in Karen’s house. Karen was there too, kneeling before him, clutching her stomach. Her face was badly bruised and battered, and she was crying. He watched as his image pushed her to the ground and straddled her. He looked down, not wanting to see anymore.

“Remember now?”

It was pointless denying it. It was exactly as it had happened.

“Yes.” he replied softly.

“So what now?” she mused. “Why don’t I show you what some of our other ladies are doing to their rapists, now they have them here.”

He looked up to see a new image appearing on the screen. This one showed a man from behind in a plain stonewalled room. He was suspended …. no, not suspended. He was stretched between the floor and the ceiling, chains attached to his wrists and ankles pulling him cruelly in four directions. Every inch of his body from his neck to the back of his knees was raw. His head hung down and Steve could hear him moaning in pain. The camera pulled away and a woman came into view. She was breathtaking. She wore black thigh length boots and the skimpiest thong bikini Steve had ever seen. And she carried a whip, the long tapered variety favoured by lion-tamers. She flicked the whip forward with practised ease and it cracked loudly across his back. His head came up and he howled in pain. The woman stepped out of view, and then back in again. The whip had been replaced by a stiff leather paddle. The camera zoomed in on it, showing a surface that was liberally dotted with vicious looking half inch long needle sharp spikes. She stood to one side of him and swung it at him with all her might. It hit him across his buttocks with a resounding crack. His head was thrown back again and he let out such a shriek of agony that Steve stepped back a pace. As the paddle was pulled away, Steve could see blood trickling down the back of his thighs before the image faded to grey.

“How … how long has she had him in there?” he asked nervously.

“Time has no meaning down here.” Mistress Satan replied. “But in terms you would understand, I’d say about two years.”

“Two years?!” he gasped. “How much longer will she keep him like that?”

“Until she gets bored.” she replied.

“And … th …then what?”

“Then she’ll try something else, like this perhaps.”

A fresh picture began to materialise. This one showed three women and a man. The man was tied face outwards to a metal bar, and the women were spit-roasting him over an open fire. One woman turned a handle, causing him to revolve in the flames. A second woman was basting him in boiling oil that she ladled from a cauldron, while the third stabbed him with a vicious two pronged fork all over his body as he revolved before her. The man’s screams had to be heard to be believed.

Steve gulped again as the pictured faded away.

“How …. How can he survive that?”

“How can it kill him when he’s already dead?”

“But … there’ll be nothing left of him.” he gasped.

“Then they’ll restore him.” she replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Restore him?”

“Yes, like this.”

Another image formed, showing a man fastened face upwards on a conveyor belt. He was sobbing openly and begging for mercy. A woman stood alongside the belt, turning a large wheel which caused the belt and the man on it to be drawn feet first between two massive rollers. Steve could hardly bare to watch as his feet and legs passed between the rollers, the sound of his bones crunching not quite drowned out by his screams of agony. There was a sickening squelch as his stomach was squashed, and then a blood-curdling heave as his lungs were crushed. As his head passed between the rollers, the camera moved around to view the other side. As the picture zoomed in on the crushed and mangled remains, Steve saw that not only was he alive, he was conscious as well, his jaw moving in a pathetic silent plea for mercy. The woman leaned over him, spat in his face and began turning the handle the other way, causing him to be drawn back between the rollers again. As the camera moved back to watch him emerge from the rollers, Steve was reminded of a frog he’d found in the road as a child that had been repeatedly run over. It’s body was still perfectly formed, but completely flat. That was how he looked. Exactly as he had before, but in two dimensions instead of three. And then the impossible happened. His body began to … inflate, gradually restoring itself to its original shape. The picture faded as Steve saw him fully restored, begging for mercy once more.

“No.” He was having trouble speaking now. “Its not possible.”

“Obviously it is.“ she replied. “It gets better. Watch.”

A fresh image, this one showing two women with a midget. He was around three feet tall, barely waist high to either of the women. Steve frowned. How could a midget possibly rape one fully grown woman, let alone two?

“He’s not a midget. He’s been reduced.” Mistress Satan informed him, once again answering his unasked question.

“Reduced ..?” he queried.

“Yes. Reduced. Shrunk down to more manageable proportions.”

Steve watched in ever-increasing dread as the impossible vision before him unfurled. One woman stepped behind the tiny man, twisting both his arms up his back and lifting him bodily from the ground by his wrists. The man cried out as his shoulders were almost torn from their sockets. The other woman stepped towards him and drove her fist into his stomach. His cries of pain became a whoosh of agony as the air was forced from his lungs. She delivered a second piledriver blow to his stomach, and then gripped his head firmly by the hair, jumping upwards and smashing her knees into his face. The first woman dropped him to the ground and rolled him onto his back. Then she leaped high into the air and came down on his stomach, driving her feet into him as she landed. He instantly curled up around her ankles before she stepped off him. The image faded away as both women proceeded to kick and stomp on their helpless victim.

Steve stood there with his mouth hanging open. He’d lost the power of speech by now. Mistress Satan smiled at him.

“Some of our ladies prefer the more subtle approach.”

Yet another image. This one showed a man kneeling facing the screen, but bent over backwards with his head face up on a low stool. A woman was sitting on his face with her back to the camera. The man’s jaw could be seen to be moving beneath her and his adam’s apple was going up and down in his throat.

“Wh …what’s she doing to him?” he managed to stammer.

“Guess.” she replied.

He guessed.

“Others like to be much more intimate.”

Another image. A woman was laid on a bed, pleasuring herself with a dildo, sliding it in and out of herself and moaning softly. The camera zoomed in between her legs. It wasn’t a dildo. It was the tiny body of a man being used as a dildo. Steve gazed in awe as the woman continued to arouse herself, sliding her tiny victim in and out of herself with ever-increasing intensity until, with a cry of delight, she rammed him deep into her cave and squeezed her thighs closed around him. As her orgasm subsided she pulled him out and held him up by one ankle. Steve could see her secretions glistening all over him as they ran down his body and dripped off his head. Then she laid his limp body across the seat of a stool alongside the bed and sat on him. He disappeared completely beneath her bottom. She began to bounce up and down on him, and the camera zoomed in, giving Steve a close-up view of the man’s tiny body being squashed flat as the picture faded away.

“It makes her feel so randy to squash him like that.” Mistress Satan said with a smile. “Seen enough yet?”

Oh, yes. He’d seen more than enough. This was a nightmare. No, it was worse than that, because he could wake up from a nightmare. This was forever. He had to find a way out. If he could just get rid of this bitch in red, maybe he could still escape after all. He stepped towards her, hands outstretched, to take her by the throat.

Only he didn’t.

His body wasn’t responding to the commands his brain was giving it.

“You pathetic fool.” she sneered at him. “Did you seriously think it would be that easy.”

Sheer terror swept over him as he found he couldn’t move a muscle.

“That’s not your body anymore. It’s ours now, and we can do whatever we want with it. You can only feel what happens to it.”

“No! It’s my body!” he screamed mentally to himself.

“Come here.” she commanded.

Determined to stay where he was, he stepped the five or six paces it took to reach her.

“Lay down on the floor and ask me to step on your face.”

No! He wouldn’t! She couldn’t make him do that!

He lay down on the hard floor before her and was horrified to hear himself utter the words.

“Please step on my face.”

He stared in fear as her booted foot descended onto his face., and cried out as she lifted her other boot onto him. She was unbelievably heavy. Surely his head would collapse under her crushing weight. After an eternity of four or five seconds, she stepped off him again.

“Stand up.” she told him. He climbed obediently to his feet, moaning from the pain in his crushed features, and stood before her in abject terror.

“Remember Karen?” she asked, gazing over his shoulder. He whirled around, and there she stood.

“But … I didn’t … you can’t …”

“I’ll leave you to get re-acquainted.” Mistress Satan said. “I’m sure you’ve got lots of catching up to do before Linda and Christine get here.”

“No! Wait! Please!” he cried turning back to her. But she’d gone, vanished into thin air.

He turned back to face Karen again. The images he’d been watching earlier returned with terrifying intensity.

“Karen, please,” he begged. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Yes. Let’s.” she replied calmly. “Come here.”

Trying desperately to stay where he was, he walked towards her, almost sobbing with fear.

“Kneel down.” she told him. He knelt before her, whimpering.

“Do you remember my legs?” she asked him. “You said I had lovely legs.”

Yes, he remembered. And he’d been right. She did have lovely legs.

“Watch my lovely legs.” she said softly, taking a firm grip of his hair with both hands.

He watched, unable to take his eyes off her legs, unable to even blink. He watched her take step back, and then watched her leg flashing towards him. And he felt the impact as her knee smashed into his face. His nose crunched loudly, and he cried out in pain. She kneed him a second time and his nose collapsed with a sickening squelch under the impact. As she slammed her knee into him a third time, she released her grip on his hair and he flew over backwards and finished up sprawled across the floor in a spread-eagle position.

“Stay there.” she told him. He couldn’t move a muscle. She stepped forward between his legs and placed her foot on his groin, smiling down at him.

“Oh God, no Karen.” he pleaded. “Please … don’t.”

She did. He screamed in agony as she crushed his manhood beneath her bare foot. She ground down, twisting her foot on him in a sadistic attempt to destroy his masculinity. She continued to crush and grind him for …. seconds? hours? ever? … before eventually stepping forwards to stand astride him. She squatted heavily on his chest and smiled down at him between her legs as he sobbed openly beneath her.

“Karen, please,” he whimpered pathetically. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Don’t deserve it!?” she hissed back at him, a look of pure hatred spreading across her face. “I had one shot at living back then, and you ruined it. You deserve everything that’s coming to you, and more.”

Her face softened again, and the smile returned.

“Do you remember my bottom?” she asked him. “Good enough to eat, you said it was, just before you shoved your filthy prick up it.”

He remembered, and sobbed again.

“Well now’s your chance. I’d like you to lick my bottom for me. Will you do that?”

NO, he screamed mentally to himself.

“Yes.” he whimpered.

“And stick it right up inside?”

NO! NO!

“Yes.”

“Good boy.” she said softly, and shuffled forwards so that she sat on his face and gazed down into his eyes between her thighs. He clamped his mouth tightly shut, but his tongue forced its way between his lips and lapped obediently at her anus.

“Mmmm. That’s nice.” she murmured. “Now push it up inside.”

He probed at her anus. She was very tight down there, but his tongue was persistent, and eventually managed to force its way inside her.

“Right up.” she said quietly.

His tongue was stretched painfully as it probed deep into her back passage.

“Mmmmm. Further.”

He felt the skin under his tongue tearing as it snaked its way ever deeper inside her.

“Further.”

Muscled ripped and tendons snapped as his tongue continued its impossible journey into the depths of her bowels.

“Oh yes.” she purred. “Now wiggle it about for me. Does it taste nice?”

He screamed silently into the smothering confines of her bottom as his tongue wriggled and squirmed in the foul-tasting mess inside her.

An eternity later, she stood up and his tongue snapped back into his mouth like a piece of elastic. She gazed down at him, hands on her hips.

“So, how are we going to spend the rest of eternity?” she mused. “Tell you what. Since you’re so fond of my bottom, I’ll reduce you and use you as a suppository while I plan our future together.”

He moaned in despair and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, she was a hundred feet tall. He screamed in terror as she picked him up and pushed his head between the cheeks of her bottom. One last sane thought entered his mind as she crushed his face into her back passage.

What would Heaven have been like?

Karen smiled as she squashed his tiny body inside her bottom.

“It’s wonderful.” she breathed.