extreme rape

It all started out harmless enough. You’d met him in an on-line chatroom, the two of you had really hit it off. Eventually, you arranged to meet in person. You knew that could be risky, but you played it safe. Met for coffee in a very public place. A little older than the men you usually dated, but that was okay. Good-looking without being handsome, tall and muscular, though not athletic. He felt safe. And not just interested in sex. You went out with him a few times, again, always somewhere public, until you’d felt you’d built up a rapport. You felt a definite connection when he looked into your eyes, something shared between the two of you. So, when he’d eventually invited you back to his place one night after dinner, you’d accepted. Knowing full well what would probably happen … or so you thought. Maybe you should have paid more attention to the titles in his DVD library. Crimes of Passion, Tokyo Decadence, I Spit on Your Grave, an old black & white movie called Peeping Tom. Maybe. But you didn’t… You had, as expected, had a few drinks, and ended up in his bed. He was slow and gentle with you, spent long minutes kissing and caressing your breasts, even going down on you for a delicious orgasm, before finally mounting you…

Now, somehow, it’s all turned violent…

I love strangling a slut while I fuck her. Nothing better. Your face feels hot & flushed as the blood rushes to it. You’re struggling for breath as my hands tighten around your throat. My stiff cock slams into your tight little pussy as I rape you viciously, my balls slapping hard against your pelvis with each violent thrust. Your face turning a deep red bordering on purple as my hands clamp tighter. “Oh yeah! This is what it’s all about, Christine,” I snarl into your ear, “Not your stupid little romantic notions about love & happiness. It’s all about cunt like you making my dick happy…it’s all you’re good for, slut, taking some cock up your dirty little fuckhole…” You’re praying silently for me to tire soon, to reach orgasm and be done with you. You’re terrified I’m going to kill you. But it continues…

Lying underneath me on the bed, your legs draped over my shoulders, feet pressed almost to your own shoulders as I fuck you, you’re terrified I’m going to kill you. And rightly so. Even as your vision starts to swim, you can somehow dimly see the cold bloodlust in my eyes. I’m tempted. It would be so very easy – just squeeze a little harder, a little more pressure on your slender neck, cutting off your oxygen just a little longer – and I would have the ultimate prize. You’re on the verge of blacking out when I release my fingers, allowing you to gulp in huge ragged breaths. Tempted though I was, I could sense you weren’t ready for that ultimate surrender. Yet I haven’t relented out of concern for you – your life means absolutely nothing to me, bitch.

Rather, my backing away from the final precipice recognizes a cold, simple truth: I have a lot more uses for as living breathing slut than a dead one.

I pull my still-erect cock from your quivering body. I haven’t cum, yet. You’re not sure why I stopped fucking you. Getting up from the bed, I allow you to catch your breath for a minute. But stop you when you try to pull up my sheets to cover your nakedness, tearing the material from your fingers and flinging the sheet back. You stare up at me, wide-eyed, questioning: what’s going to happen next?

Reaching into a drawer beneath the bed, I retrieve a heavy leather dogcollar and toss it onto your heaving chest. “Put it on.” A harsh command which you’re too slow to obey. A sudden hard slap across your scared face and your trembling fingers are struggling to fasten the dogcollar around your neck. When you’re done, I pull it a notch tighter than you’re comfortable with – tight enough to remind you of my fingers wrapped around your throat. “Get up, bitch,” I order. “Time to look in the mirror.” With that, I loop two fingers through the heavy metal ring on your collar and tug you to your feet and in front of a full-length mirror nearby. “Tell me what you see, Chrissy,” I whisper into your ear. I’m standing directly behind you, my erection pressing into the cleft of your ass. You’re not sure how to answer – afraid to give the wrong answer, but not sure what I want from you.

“I’ll tell you what I see, then,” I continue. With one hand, I reach around and cup your lips, pursing them together into a mockery of a kiss. “I see soft sweet lips I’m going to train to make love to my cock.” Both hands glide downward, now, hefting first one breast, then the other.

“I see lovely firm boobs I’m going to subject to more titpain than you can possibly imagine – by the time I’m through with you, Chrissy-bitch, you’re going to wish you’d never been born with tits!” This statement causes you to flinch, and I grin. I spin you around, making sure you turn your head so you can still see your reflection.

“I see a fine smooth back and rump just begging to be striped an angry bright red.” Spinning you around again, I push you down onto your knees facing the mirror.

“But most of all, I see a pretty young cunt who still hasn’t learned her proper place in the world!” With that, I shove you to the floor, using one foot to press your shoulder to the carpet. The other foot I press down onto your upturned face. “This is where you belong, Chrissy. Ground down beneath a man’s feet like shit.”

I grind my foot against you now, pushing hard, flattening your nose, rubbing my sole across your pretty face as if indeed cleaning a smear of feces from the bottom of my foot. “Open your mouth,” I order. “Lick!” Miserably, you comply, your moist tongue sliding over the dry skin of the bottom of my foot. “That’s it! That’s a good little cunt. Lick it all clean, just like you were licking up all the shit that you really are inside.” In a few minutes, the sole of my foot is slick with your saliva…

I pull a chair away from the bedroom wall and set it in front of the mirror. Prodding you with one foot, I have you sit in the chair facing the mirror, legs spread so we can both see your pussy, still swollen from my earlier assault with my cock. “Spread yourself open.” Your slender fingers grasp your labia and stretch, showing us both your glistening pink interior. “Most of all, this is what I see – the essential truth of what you are. I’ll let you on a little secret, Chrissy. Actually, not so much of a secret, I guess, but a sad, elemental truth that most bitches don’t ever want to face. For all our veneer of society & sophistication, for all our rules & manners & laws, we’re all still beasts beneath the skin. And, no matter what a man tells you, no matter how much he says he loves you (and he may even mean it!), all a man really wants from you is that hole between your legs. You’re nothing more than a cunt to me, Chrissy – or to any other man. Your boyfriend, your boss, even your father – we’re all the same. You’re a cunt, nothing more, nothing less. Cunt. Pussy. Snatch. Slit. Twat.” (Without realizing it, you’ve begun to mouth these terms silently, along with me.) “Do you understand? You’re a warm hole to fuck. A fuckhole, that’s it.”

Squatting down next to you, I slip one hand between your widespread thighs, finger sliding between your labia, trailing along your unavoidably moist inner lips, just grazing against your clitoris. “Say it, Chrissy. You know it’s true – you’ve always known it was true. Tell me what you are.” A soft voice, barely audible, speaks the words. “I’m…I’m a warm hole for men to fuck.” Words rewarded with a more insistent pressure between your legs. “A – a cunt. A dirty…little…cunt…for men to use…” I continue masturbating you as you deride yourself. “Oh god! Fuck me – fuck your worthless little cunt…dirty…filthy…cunthole…made for men’s cum…” And so the litany continues, you calling out truths you are finally free to admit, until I bring you off, hips bucking and grinding against my hand. “Excellent!” I breathe into your ear.

But you’re not allowed to rest. I pull you to your feet and slap handcuffs on your wrists, then raising them up and securing them to a hook in the ceiling. There’s just enough slack in the chain securing the cuffs to the hook that you’re forced up onto tiptoe in order to keep the weight off your wrists. The panties you’d worn tonight, still laying on the floor next to the bed from when we’d undressed earlier, are stuffed unceremoniously into your mouth as a gag. “Later, we’ll go downstairs to the basement. You’ll like it down there, little fuckmeat – you can scream your head off!”

But, for now, you must be gagged so my neighbors won’t hear. I pick up my thick leather belt and, without any preamble, commence whipping you. The first stroke falls across your tits, the force of the blow causing titflesh to bounce & jerk. Another, and another, across those soft orbs, before moving lower, the belt lashing out across your taut belly, just missing your mons. More strokes across your firm thighs, the belt wrapping around your flesh like some monstrous caress. In only a few minutes, the front of your torso has been covered with thick red welts, so much so that more of it is an inflamed red color than the normal soft pink-white.

I work on your back next, stroke after stroke across that pretty expanse, beginning with your shoulders and working down. Spending long minutes whipping your ass, striking so hard the belt repeatedly breaks the skin. In spite of your struggles, you’re not able to stay on your toes through this. As you body dances & writhes until my onslaught with the belt, your weight inevitably hangs from your wrists as your feet & legs leave the floor. After twenty minutes, your wrists are raw and bloody. Tears are streaming down your soft cheeks.

The panty-gag has muffled your cries, but still allowed me to savor your pain. Without touching it at all, my cock is hard as a rock. “Spread your legs, whore.” We both know where my cocklust is taking this. “One stroke for each year of your pathetic life, fuckmeat.” Your eyes wide (so many lashes on such a tender place!), you nonetheless move your feet wide apart. Deep down, you know you deserve all the pain I’m giving you, you know you have no choice but to obey. I’ve saved the heart of my rage for this all evening. All my bloodlust is channeled into my blows. I swing my belt up against your tender slitmeat with all the force I can muster. Your muffled scream causes my stiff cock to twitch. Another blow, and another. Each time, I wait for you to regain your balance (if not your composure) before the next blow. Each time, you spread your legs for me, accepting my belt like a lover, accepting each blow like the thrust of a cock. It isn’t long before my belt has ruptured the soft skin here, too, slicking your labia with a thin sheen of blood.

You pass out long before I reach your age, the pain coursing through your body overwhelming you. Your body hanging limply from the cuffs. I still haven’t cum yet, and the pressure to achieve an orgasm is intense. I grasp your dangling thighs and step between them, impaling your battered cunt with my raging erection, fucking your unconscious body as it hangs completely suspended by your wrists. Blood dripping down your forearms from the tears in your skin caused by the handcuffs. A minute or two at most and I’m ejaculating deep inside you, grunting like a rutting animal as my thrusts slow and finally stop. My cock slipping slowly from you… I leave you there, a well-fucked piece of meat hanging unconscious from your bloody wrists, semen dripping from your abused cunt and running down your thighs before dripping into a small wet pool on the carpet beneath your feet, while I go to clean myself up.

When you awaken, you find yourself lying alone on a cold, bare cement floor, with no idea of how much time has passed. Hours? Spreadgeagled, still nude, wrists and ankles shackled to heavy metal rings set into the floor. Your wrists, rubbed raw by your suspension from them, have been salved & bandaged. Other wounds – where my earlier whipping broke your skin, buttocks, labia, belly – have not been treated.

A bright spotlight, mounted directly overhead, shines down into your eyes. It takes a few minutes for your eyes to adjust, allowing you to glance around. You correctly surmise that you’re confined in my basement. “Hello?” you call. No answer. You try again, louder, eventually screaming out for help. Nothing. Silence.

Time passes slowly, lying there on the floor. The basement is heated, but I keep the temperature around 64 degrees, just cool enough that a naked woman will never get comfortable… Still, you drift in & out of sleep. Waking up, hours later, realizing you need to urinate. You call out again, and again there is no answer. Soon the only sound in this dark, still room is the hiss of a stream of urine as you empty your bladder. The golden droplets splatter onto the cement between your outspread thighs. It’s then you realize you’ve been positioned with the floor sloping towards you: in moments you’re lying in a pool of your own piss cooling around your rump. And glad, even so, that all you needed to do was pee.

Again you drift into a light, restless slumber…images of your abuse – the strangling, the whipping – flit in & out of your consciousness…lying there in the dark…Awakening some time later as a pillowcase is slipped over your head, cutting off what little vision you had. The rank smell of your drying urine fills your nostrils, even through the cotton pillowcase. Strong male hands fondling your bruised tits roughly, pinching your nipples. You moan softly. Are the hands mine? You think so, but can’t tell. No one answers when you speak. Those same unseen hands spreading your thighs wider now, taut against your bonds. You sense the weight of a man’s body above you, then feel a stiff cock pushing against your labia, thrusting deep into your dry hole. This unseen assailant continues thrusting into you until, with a grunt (the only sound he’s made) he shoots his load deep inside you. You feel his cock slipping out of you, then you’re alone again, the pillowcase still over your head. You’re wide awake, now. Humiliated at having been used by someone completely (?) unknown, but even more humiliated by the fact that his rape of you has left you unsatisfied & wanting more…long, long minutes pass…time moving so slowly when you have no reference points…the single light overhead always on, the basement itself always still, dark, and silent…

The next time you awaken, it’s to the feel of a booted foot rocking your head back & forth on the cement. “Wake up, Chrissy. Time for fuckmeat to play…” My voice. The pillowcase has been removed, and, after blinking a few times to adjust to the light overhead, you can just make me out, seated on a chair near you. Smiling down at you, I bite into a crisp red apple. And you suddenly realize your stomach’s been grumbling for some time. You haven’t eaten since going out to dinner with me – last night? Longer? You’re not sure – and you’re famished. And so thirsty… You look up at me imploringly, can just moisten your lips & tongue enough to mouth, “Please…some water…food…please…I’m so hungry…”

“Good! The cunt knows how to beg! Very nice – a good quality in a cunt.” After taking a few more bites from the apple, I set it on the floor next to your head –just an inch or so beyond your lips when you turn your head. Just out of reach. “You’ll have to earn your dinner, bitch. How do you do that? By being a good enough piece of fuckmeat that you get me off while I’m hurting you. Maybe by servicing me while I’m torturing you. Maybe just by suffering…I don’t know, exactly. We’ll have to see. In any event, no food now. You haven’t earned it, yet.”

I stand up, and step over you, so I’m straddling your chest. I unzip my pants, extricate my semi-erect penis. “If you want something to drink, open your mouth, whore. I’ll give you all the piss you want to drink.” Dismayed, you stare up at me. “No, not thirsty? This is the only time I’ll offer today. The only thing a fucking piece of meat like you deserves to drink is a man’s piss, Chrissy. I don’t really care if it turns you on or if it turns your stomach – but this is all you’re getting to drink.” I start to tuck myself back into my pants, and you realize I’m completely serious. Who knows when I’ll really give you something to drink? Your mouth & throat are parched. You open your mouth slowly, just a little. “Open wide – you don’t want me to miss, do you?” I wait until your mouth is wide open before I pull my cock back out and aim it at you. And empty my bladder on you, a heavy golden stream arcing downwards to splash into your mouth, across your cheeks, into your hair. I’m gratified to see you gulping thirstily, trying to catch every stray droplet as it splashes down onto you. “That’s my good little toilet!” Finally I’m done. And you realize, miserably, that I’ve been taunting you, manipulating you into humiliating yourself in this manner. Very little of my salty piss has actually gone down your throat. Most I’ve deliberately aimed at your face & hair, soaking them with the foul-smelling liquid.

“Very good,” I announce with satisfaction. “Now, let’s see about earning you some dinner.” I unfasten your wrists & ankles, pull you unsteadily to your feet. My piss dripping off your face to land on your breasts. I lead you across the basement to a wooden table mounted on wheels, and stretch you out, face up, on this table. It’s one I’ve designed & built to facilitate my use & torture of a slut. A simple thing, nothing pretty – function over form. A rectangle about four feet by three feet, built low to the floor. This waterproofed top is constructed of thick plywood, waterproofed, riddled with holes drilled through it. Spreadeagled on top of the table, your knees are just at one edge, allowing me to bend your legs down & back so I can secure your ankles to thick metal eyelets set in the table’s legs. Similarly, your arms are positioned so your elbows are just at the table edge, so your wrists can also be secured to rings in the table legs. A notch has been cut out of the table between your legs, so your crotch is just at the edge – allowing me easy access to your cunt & ass, if I choose to use them. Another notch, cut into the other end of the table, allows your head to fall back unsupported over the table’s edge. I’ve chosen the low height of the table (18”) purposefully so it places you at almost the exact height of my crotch if I’m kneeling down.

I leave you alone, then, for a few minutes, wondering what will happen next. When I return, I switch on more overhead spots, illuminating your supine form in glaring white light. I pull up a chair near your table. As I sit down, you can see that I’m carrying a large bag black bag, which I set next to you on the table. Leaning back in the chair, I clip the end from a long, thick cigar, and light it up, puffing in satisfaction, blowing a large cloud of thick white smoke across your breasts. Adding to the insult of making your drink my urine, I lift a glass to my lips, sip slowly, smiling. “Ah, life is good,” I murmur. “A good cigar, my favorite single-malt Scotch, and a fine young naked bitch to play with…”


With that, I begin pulling clothespins from the bag. Wooden, spring-loaded. Leaning forward in my chair, I fondle your tits briefly, hefting each, examining it, pondering… Without a word, I begin placing the clothespins on your breast, beginning with each nipple, then adding one on either side of both nipples, so the three clothespins flatten your nipples and aureolae. Taking no notice of the low moan escaping your lips as the pins are added – your flesh is still tender form the whipping with my belt the night before.

It takes nearly twenty minutes to attach all the clothespins to your body. Slowly, methodically, taking my time, 5 or 6 per minute, until your body is a veritable forest of wooden clothespins. The three on each boob are followed by another 5, placed in a circle around the flattened nipple. Four or five on each tender, swollen cuntlip. A trail or 7 or 8 down the inside of each thigh. A couple under each armpit. One or each earlobe, followed by three or four on each of your facial lips – and one on your soft tongue. A few on each eyebrow. One secured to your septum – this, surprisingly, hurts more than many of the others. One between the fingers on each hand, matched by one each between your big toe and second toe. Four or five circling your neck above your leather collar.

I continue to sip my Scotch & smoke my cigar during this, nonchalantly flicking still-warm cigar ash onto your body, across your clothespin-studded tits, onto your face, in your hair…

You’re remarkably calm throughout the process. Moaning a little, whimpering when a clothespin is attached to one of the more sensitive areas. But, for the most part, simply lying there, accepting your torment. But the final placement elicits a low keening wail from you. Reaching between your thighs, I massage the soft skin at the top of your cuntslit, the thin hood covering your clitoris. With a grin I fasten the final clothespin directly to your clit.

I sit back, surveying my handiwork with satisfaction. Your body is covered by close to a hundred clothespins…I get up and walk away, leaving you to savor the pain flowing through your body. First one area hurts, then seems to grow numb…then you become more aware of another…and so on…

You’re not sure how long I’ve left you like this by the time I return. I stand over you, reach down, slapping your tits a few times…spanking your pussy, grinding the clothespins into your soft cunt… Then, just as slowly and methodically, I begin pulling off the clothespins, a process that hurts even more than putting them on. Beginning with the one on your clit, I’m rewarded with a sharp grunt of pain from you. Each remaining clothespin also brings forth a small grunt or moan.

I’m silent throughout this, not even bothering to talk to you. By the time I’ve removed the last ones – from your nipples – it’s been nearly an hour since I began. Everywhere, your flesh is studded with heavy red indentations caused by the pressure of the clothespins.

Moving to the head of the table, I lift your dangling head, roughly pry open your lips. Only as I lower my hairy testicles to your open mouth do you realize I’m naked. “Suck, bitch,” I order coldly. “Gently. Make love to my balls, you fucking little whore. Make love to them like they’re the best thing you’ve ever had in your mouth…do a good job & I’ll let you each the cum that comes out of them later…” Menacingly, I add, “And don’t even think about biting me! If you do, I promise you you won’t have enough teeth left to bite anything by the time I’m done with you!”

You’re a slut that learns her place readily enough, tonguing my ball sack, gently sucking my nuts into your mouth, caressing them with your lips and tongue. You can’t see it, but I’m stroking the length of my cock while you dutifully work my balls. Contemplating the next stage…enjoying your mouth as you warm to your task. What a lovely little cunt you are, Chrissy, born to serve. Not just sucking on my testicles because I’ve ordered it, but because you enjoy it, you enjoy being treated like the filthy slut you’ve always known yourself to be, deep inside.

After a few minutes, I left my testicles from your warm mouth with a soft “pop”. Standing up, I produce another bag and empty its contents onto your chest: saw-toothed alligator clips… Just as slowly and methodically as with the clothespins, I begin fastening the alligator clips to your body – omitting, ultimately, any on your face, and omitting one on your clitoris. I have other plans for your clit, Chrissy – I don’t want it damaged…not yet, anyway.

The springs on these clips are much stronger than those on the clothespins. The teeth bite into your flesh, breaking the skin in many places. In only a few minutes a myriad bright of red droplets adorn your flesh.

When I’ve finished, I leave you, as before, alone with your suffering for a while. But this time, when I return, I’m bearing a riding crop, which I use to flick at the alligator clips – instead of simply releasing the clips, I’m whipping them off you. Where the clips had little purchase, such as your armpits, the clips come off easily, with an audible ‘click’ as the jaws snap shut upon falling from you. Other places, softer places, with more soft tissue for the alligator clips to bite into, don’t fare as well. Your nipples, tits, and labia suffer the most, the clips ripping and tearing the flesh there as they’re flogged off. Blood begins flowing in small rivulets from your wounds in these tender places…

The sight of your bright red blood flowing over your tortured skin makes me rock-hard. Running my hands over your tortured titmeat, I coat my fingers with a bright sheen of blood, then stroke my cock slowly, coating it, in turn, with Chrissy-blood. I kneel between your thighs, poise my cockhead at your anus, and shove hard. Lubricated with your blood, my cock pierces your anus rapidly, in one motion. Your body stiffens as another new pain sweeps over you. You’re certain I’m going to rape your ass unmercifully, but after a few thrusts, I stop, my full length buried up your rectum. Mercy, of course, has nothing to do with why I’ve stopped. “Chrissy!” I call out, then, louder, “Chrissy!!” Trying to penetrate the haze of pain enveloping you. Finally, groggily, as if somehow drugged, you lift your head and focus on me. You can see, now, what I’m holding aloft. “This is an extremely sharp exacto knife, whore, and you’ll really need to concentrate. You need to stay very, very still….”

Even though you don’t really know my intention, it’s too much. You start to beg, “Oh, god…Please, no…no..”

“Shut up, you stupid fuck! Haven’t you figured out yet – I’m the sort of man who just gets more turned on when a pretty young cunt like you starts begging? As I was saying, you’ll need to be very, very still – or I’ll end up slicing you open – which is not my intent…” And I lower the knife, slowly drawing it across the flesh of your soft belly, just below the navel. I have to concentrate, too, to only incise the top layer or two of skin, not let the blade go too deep. Not easy, since this new pain causes the muscles in your lower torso to spasm gently, musculature quivering in your belly, your anus flexing around my cock as if milking it.

You can tell I’m making a pattern of some kind. Drawing? Writing? I perform this task in silence until whatever I’m working on is completed.


When I pull my still-erect cock from your ass, it’s still smeared with your blood, and now lightly streaked with traces of shit. A fact you try not to notice when I kneel over your upturned face and order you to open your mouth. With your head dangling off the edge of the table, it’s at the prefect angle for me to slide cock all the way down your throat without choking you. You can’t breath, of course, when it’s all the way in, but that’s another matter. After a few exploratory strokes down your throat, I pull back a little. “Work it, bitch,” I order you, slapping your face lightly on each side to goad you on – something I continue to do as I continue speaking. “C’mon, you little pig, I know you can do better than that!” (Slap! Slap!) You’re starting to suck wholeheartedly now, doing your best to take my thick cock into your mouth and throat. It isn’t easy to concentrate, your body’s wracked with pain from the alligator clips, and the cuts I’ve made in your belly sting and burn. But you’re an obedient little cunt, and do you best to manage, working your lips and mouth up my shaft until your nose is buried in my hairy testicles. “That’s it, bitch, that’s a good girl –“ (Slap! Slap!) “ –take my prick all the way down your fuckin’ throat, you cocksuckin’ piece of shit…milk it for me, baby, milk all that nice juicy cum out of those fat hairy balls you were sucking on earlier…c’mon, work –“ (Slap! Slap!) “ — get that cum, bitch, that’s your fuckin’ dinner tonight, slut – a little protein, some carbs – that’s a good dinner for a slut… That’s all the dinner a goddamn slut like you deserves, Chrissy, a bellyful of hot cum for dinner…”

Pulling my eyes away from the spectacle of you greedily working on my thick cockmeat, I glance down to the incisions I’ve made in your belly. “Want to know what I cut into your belly, cunthole?” Around my cock, a small murmur of assent. “I hope you like one-piece swimsuits, bitch. I don’t think you’ll be wanting to wear bikinis from now on. I’m going to keep the cuts open, so they don’t heal.” By way of demonstration, I lean forward and tip my glass of Scotch, dribbling the alcohol onto your belly and the fresh cuts there. Which makes your whole body arch up in pain. I flick cigar ash onto your belly, grinding it into the cuts. “Eventually they’ll start to scar over. Nice big letters, almost 2” high: FUCK PIG. For the rest of your life, anyone who sees you naked is going to read those words. Anyone – your doctor, your boyfriend, some other cunt changing next to you at the gym, even your husband, if anyone ever marries a slutty cunt like you – will read those words and know what you really are, Chrissy — a filthy, worthless little fuckpig who’ll do anything a stiff cock wants her to!” (Is it my imagination, or are you sucking me harder, bitch?)

“You should see your tits, Chrissy. What a fuckin’ mess. Swollen, bloody, discolored. Beautiful! Just what I want from fuckmeat like you! Your tits are going to ruined when I’m done with them, whore, they’re going to be nothing more useless sacks of ugly meat hanging off your chest. And…I’m going to start right now.” With those words, I touch the redhot lighted tip of my cigar to the tender, savaged meat of your tits. Only the barest of touches at first – just enough to burn & hurt like hell. Once, twice, then again & again, until nearly the whole surface of your breasts has been burnt lightly. Except for your torn & bloody nipples. My cock grows even stiffer as I take a puff on the stogie, then grind the lit end down into the raw flesh of those nipples, holding it for long seconds…

You do you best to scream, but it’s a strangled, gargled sort of scream, muffled by the thick meat filling your mouth and my balls flapping against your face. It’s a pathetic, sorry little scream that makes me laugh as I ejaculate deep into your tight throat, spurt after thick spurt, as if your earlier ministrations have coaxed out every last drop of semen.

Shooting my thick load down your screaming throat: feeding the slut her dinner…