Stories of a Professional Rapist

In the almost five years I've been a professional rapist, I've raped exactly 522 women, or a little over two a week.  Of those 522, only 18 have reported being raped (I have a few friends inside the police department who keep me informed).  Most women would prefer not to report being raped, since the reporting can be very traumatic, but you greatly enhance the probability that you will not be reported if you keep a few things in mind.  First, the greater your victim's humiliation, the less likely she will report the assault, so make sure she's property humiliated.  Second, if you don't mark up your victim, it makes it easier for her to hide what happened to her from herself and others.  If you have to mark her up for the job, then make sure that the marks can be easily hidden until they heal.  Lastly, it is very important that you choose a time and place for the rape so it doesn't interrupt her normal daytime routine, since that makes it even easier for her to hide it from others.

Of course, applying these guidelines differs from woman to woman.  For example, with Emily, it was relatively straightforward.  I left no marks, heaped humiliation upon humiliation upon her each time I forced her to cum, and left no sign that I had ever been there.  Being young, she was neither strong-willed nor knowledgeable, so it was easy.  Another of my favorite jobs, Jennifer, was almost the complete opposite.  Jennifer was a smart, strong, strong-willed professional woman in her mid-twenties, and it took a different approach to break her down as my client wished.

Jennifer's client was upset that Jennifer was on the fast track at his law firm, despite being only 26 years-old, and he figured that the only reason she was doing so well was because she was good looking, so she must be fucking one or more of the partners to get ahead.  He had heard that I knew how to put 'bitches in their place', so wanted to hire me to do so.  He only had a head shot of her, but good looking was an understatement.  She was a classic blond beauty, with long. straight blond hair, gorgeous cheekbones, pale, thin lips, a cute, straight nose, and piercing ice-blue eyes.  In her picture she was looking into the camera like she owned it.  I knew a challenge when I saw it, and, besides, I wanted to humble this haughty, determined, capable young woman; I wanted to break her will, to turn her from a strong, confident human being into a destroyed beast.

My first thought was to take her in her office, to taint her workplace with her rape forever; unfortunately, after some basic surveillance, I discovered that the security in her office building was tight, and she wasn't usually the very last one to leave (although she was usually one of the last 3 to leave).  I also considered her apartment, a studio in an upscale neighborhood, although without a doorman and no security that I could see, but decided against that option when I discovered her hobby.

Jennifer was a student of Taekwondo.  As far as I could tell, she was a 2nd guep, which meant she was very good.  She went to her school four times a week, once on the weekend; on weekdays she would start at 8 p.m. and wouldn't leave until 11.  It also meant that she would be a fighter, and it is never a good idea to take down a fighter in an apartment building.

I watched her on and off for two weeks, looking for weaknesses in her schedule while admiring her, her posture, the way she walked, the way she moved, her taste in clothes.  She stood five foot eight and weighed about 130 lbs, and most of that was muscle.  She had a lean, strong, beautiful body, with just enough curves to make you want to see underneath the so tasteful clothes she always wore.  For work, she was immaculately dressed, with tailored, gorgeous suits, always with skirts that came down just below her knees, always with sheer pantyhose.  The only other outfit I saw her wear was her Taekwondo student outfit, which hid all of her curves.  Her shoes were beautiful and expensive, with two or three inch heels, giving her a height to match most men's, shaping her calves in the most delicious ways, giving her walk a nice, sexy sway.

This was a woman that, as professional as she was, as conservatively as she dressed, as coldly as she acted, couldn't help but be sexy, couldn't help but attract the lust of the men around her.  She knew it, didn't like it, and was doing everything to make it despite her looks.  I admired the strength and ability of this woman, and I wanted to test myself against her, to see how far I would have to go to break her.

At the end of the two weeks of surveillance, I had decided on my plan of attack.  While she was at work, I parked my car a few blocks from her apartment complex and took public transit to her Taekwondo school, making sure to arrive a bit before I knew she would be leaving.  As she left the studio at a brisk walk, I started to cut across the parking lot toward a bus stop on the corner, making sure I would pass near her car about the same time she would, also making sure that I would be behind her.  She was almost to her car when she noticed how close I really was, but at that moment it was too late--I reached out and pressed an electric shock prod against her belly and caught her as she lost control of her muscles.

I quickly scooped her keys from the ground and opened the trunk of her car, loading her like a piece of luggage into her car.  I stopped for a second and looked around, making sure I hadn't been seen, and took out a syringe and, very carefully, administered just the amount of Pentothal that I thought would keep her out for about thirty minutes, making sure I hit a vein.  Shutting the trunk, I got into the car and drove to our destination, where I would beat, rape, and humiliate this strong, confident young woman.

A BMW 3-series, the car drove beautifully, and I was at our destination within twenty minutes, pulling the car into the abandoned warehouse and quickly taking my victim from the trunk into a room I had specially prepared for our encounter.  It was a big room, about 40 feet by 30 feet, and I had covered the concrete floor with exercise mats.  It had two doors, one of which led to the outside, and which I had chained shut; the other door led directly into the warehouse space.  The windows along two walls that had once allowed an unobstructed view of the warehouse had been boarded over.  I had had to bring in a small generator, and I had hung lights along the ceiling which illuminated the space.

I laid her against the wall furthest from the door and stripped her, leaving her only her sports bra and white panties.  I took time to admire her body, a firm, flat stomach, strong, lean, muscular thighs, a beautiful, firm ass, and just enough breast to make it worthwhile.  I stripped down to a jock-strap myself before putting on a pair of steel-tipped boots, arranged a set of toys in the middle of the room, pulled a ski-mask on, and then sat down and waited for her to regain consciousness.

Jennifer was the type of woman who could always handle herself.  She was strong, physically and mentally; she had never been truly victimized, and believed deep down that she never would be because she was strong.  The first lesson I was going to teach her was that she wasn't as strong as she thought.

When she started to come to I stood up, making sure that I was between her and the door.  She was groggy at first, pulling her legs underneath her, her hands supporting her, looking so sexy with her long blond hair in her bra and panties.  She looked dazedly around, her eyes unfocused; I could tell when it registered that she had been nearly stripped from the way her body seemed to jerk, and her head snap up, her eyes finally focusing.  Her eyes locked on me, a lean, muscular man of average height, wearing only a jock-strap, a pair of boots, and a ski-mask, standing between her and the only exit.  I saw her eyes flicker down to my feet, taking in the bamboo cane and the shock stick as she surged to her feet.

I let her stand there for a minute, letting her take it in:  the room, the toys, me.  She swayed, steadied, and then spit out a challenge.

"What the hell is going on?  Who are you?"

Only a little fear leaked through her words.  She had to suspect what was in store for her, but she still believed in herself, in her strength.  I smiled, making sure she could see my teeth, and answered.

"I am going to beat you, first with my fists, and then with this cane.  When I'm done, I'm going to rape your ass.  Then I'm going to rape your cunt.  Before I'm done, I'm going to bring in a dog and you are going to beg me to let it fuck you.  Bitch."

Her eyes widened as I spoke, disbelief struggling with fear reflected in them, before I saw that wonderful, strong body of hers tense and her jaw set.

"Fuck you.  I'm leaving."

She started walking toward me, and I took two steps forward and waited, watching as the muscles in her thighs played beneath her skin, the sight of her an erotic vision.  She was too smart to try to run, and too smart to try to walk around me.  She came right at me, and stopped just out of range and took up a fighting stance, and I could see confidence fill her as her martial arts training took over.

I knew she was good, but I was no fool.  I would not have challenged her this way if I thought I would lose, although there was always that possibility.  She was a very good practitioner of Taekwondo, but I was an expert at mixed martial arts, with a special strength in grappling, since it came in so handy in my work.  I closed quickly, taking a glancing blow to my thigh and a few sharp jabs to my shoulder, but once I had my hands on her it was all over.

In seconds we were on the mat and I had her back, with her left arm twisted behind her, my legs wrapped around hers, locking her in place.  Quickly adjusting my grip, I jerked her shoulder forward and she screamed in agony as I felt her shoulder pop out of its socket.  I pushed her off of me and stood up, watching as she writhed on the floor, holding her injured shoulder, the sweat of fear and pain glistening on her gorgeous legs and her slender waist and her firm, beautiful arms. 

She was on her knees, her legs slightly spread, her panties stretched tight over her firm, succulent ass, her head resting on the mat as she moaned in pain, her body rocking back and forth as the agony grew.  I kicked her in the belly, my boot thudding into her slender form, her body jerking up, her breath shocked out of her.  Again I kicked her, and she rolled over onto her side, then her back, her legs kicking up in a feeble attempt to defend herself.  I kicked her in the ribs, hard enough to bruise, but not break, and she rolled back onto her knees and tried to scramble to her feet.

I knocked her back down and proceeded to beat her, smashing my fists and feet into her sexy body, driving home to her her helplessness, until she rolled up into a fetal position and lay there sobbing and moaning as I punished her.  The beating was a lesson, a lesson of her powerlessness, of her weakness, giving her a vivid example that she could be victimized, that despite her strength and confidence and skills, she could be reduced lower than a whipped dog.

When I finished I stood back and waited for her to open her eyes; when she did, I told her to sit up.  As she struggled to sit, pain from the beating making her slow and cautious, I picked up the bamboo cane and circled her, watching as her head swiveled to keep me in sight.  Coming up behind her I knelt down and took her back again, hearing her whimper as I locked my legs around hers, all the fight beaten from her.  She screamed again as I started to massage her dislocated shoulder, feeling my way around as her lean, sexy body shuddered and trembled against mine, then jerking it back into place as she screamed.

I released her and stood facing her, the cane in my hand, and waited until the pain dulled.  Her shoulder would hurt, a lot, and it would be very sensitive, a fact I could use, and her arm would be pretty much useless, but she wouldn't be incapacitated for what came next, which was important.

"Okay, you worthless cunt, stand up," I commanded.

When she hesitated, I lashed out with the cane, a sharp scream echoing in the warehouse as I left a mark across her flat, sexy stomach, making her scramble to her feet, moaning as the deep bruised I had given her from the beating ached, to stand with her arms crossed in front of her, her confident pose replaced by a young woman trying to disappear.

"Take off your clothes, bitch."

She looked at me, and I could see the recalcitrance in her eyes, the stubbornness and rebelliousness lurking right beneath the fear the beating I had given her had instilled.  I brought the cane down again, against her left side, faster than she could jerk away, drawing a hiss of pain from her as a dark red welt showed on her waist.

"I said strip, bitch."

Slowly she removed her bra, using her right arm, her left shoulder clearly sore, hissing in pain as she pulled it over her head, revealing two beautiful breasts, creamy white mounds of flesh topped by small pink nipples, standing firm and full below her narrow shoulders.  She kept her eyes from mine as she bent and slid her panties off.  A light blond fuzz gathered at her mons, hiding the soft pink folds of her cunt.  She kept her legs together, her lean, muscular thighs rubbing together as she stepped out of her panties and looked up at me, defiance flashing in her eyes as she stood before me, her hands together just above her mons, not wanting to show weakness by hiding herself.

I slowly ran my eyes up and down her nude body, taking in a face that belonged on magazine covers, her sweet, creamy breasts, her lean torso, her firm, flat stomach and narrow waist, the curve of her hips tapering to well-defined thighs and calves.  She was truly a gorgeous woman.  I stepped closer to her and slightly to the side, and slid the cane underneath her left breast, commenting,

"Nice, very nice."

She hissed, and slapped the cane away, a curse on her breath; I moved more quickly than she could speak, stepping into her, slamming the palm of my left hand against her previously dislocated shoulder, surprise and then pain registering on her face as she cried out, grabbed her shoulder, and then fell to her knees, bending at the waist and rocking back and forth in pain.

"Cunt," I hissed at her, "don't you understand yet?  Do I need to beat you again?  I'm in control here.  If I want to beat you, I'll beat you."  I emphasized that by slamming the cane against her lower back, making her jerk and cry out again, a welt appearing on her smooth flesh.  "If I want to kill you, I'll kill you."  She looked at me then, and for the first time I saw real terror in her eyes.

"Do you understand?"  I lifted her chin with the end of the cane, and she nodded, a quick jerk that took a lot from her.

"Good.  Now stand up, bitch."

I circled her, sliding the cane across her breasts, her ass, her back, her thighs, pushing it between her legs from behind, adding to her humiliation as she stood there trembling.  The whole time I talked to her, playing mind games, telling her the truth I wanted her to believe.

"You're one gorgeous piece of meat, you know that, bitch?  Every man who sees you wants to be me right now, with you standing naked before them, ready to do anything I ask.  You don't believe me?  I've been watching you, and I've seen how men look at you.  They lust after your sweet tits and your perfect ass.  I saw how their eyes traveled over this tight little body of yours, and I know what they were thinking.  They wanted you, they wanted to fuck you, they wanted you on your knees with your sweet little mouth around their cocks, they wanted you on your back with their cock filling your tight little cunt, they wanted you on your hands and knees with their cock plunging into that ass of yours.  That's what you are to us:  something to fuck, something to stick our dicks in to give us pleasure."

I went on like that, interspersing it with comments about how nice her tits were, her ass was, her thighs were, her stomach was, how fuckable she was.  I was still careful, though, because, even beaten and in pain, she was still a fighter, and I wasn't about to give her an opening.  When I was done, I ordered her to lay on her stomach and spread her legs, her arms by her side.

If you've ever seen a beautiful naked woman laying on her stomach, it is a wonderful sight.  Her breasts pillow under her, pushing slightly out the side, the curve of her waist and hips and ass are exaggerated, while her legs are like pillars leading to the dark V of her cunt.  I climbed on top of her, and heard her stifle a whimper as my weight pushed her hard into the mat.  She groaned through gritted teeth as I pressed my cock against her ass, tensing her cheeks tightly together as I pushed, forcing my dry cock into that damp, dark, dirty hole.

She grunted as I forced my cock past her sphincter, sliding painfully into her ass-chute.  I felt something tear, and then I slid in easier, blood lubricating her back channel as she suppressed her whimpering.  I saw tears well up in her eyes as I began to truly rape her ass, sliding my bloody cock in and out of her, slamming my hips brutally against her ass-cheeks.  She took is stoically, even though the pain must have been incredible, only her clenched teeth and the tears flowing down her face revealing how painful her ass-rape truly was.

I made it last, that first humiliation of hers, riding her ass for long minutes, letting my weight press her body into the ground, my legs keeping hers apart, enjoying the tight, steaming channel of her ass squeezing my cock as it trembled beneath my pounding hips, her silky thighs sliding against mine as I pumped into her.  I talked to her the whole time, telling her how this is what men wanted from her, a good, tight hole, a sweet, sexy young body to fuck.  I grabbed her head in my hands and pushed her face into the mat as I came, my cock pulsing deep in her ass.  I laid on top of her for a long time, letting her feel me softening inside her.  When I finally pulled out and stood up I told her to stay as she was, enjoying the sight of such a beautiful woman with such a brutalized asshole.

I picked up the shock baton and quickly shoved it into her distended asshole, burying it four inches deep, making her ass and thighs jerk, her head twisting around to see what was happening, her mouth opening into a small O of confusion just before I hit the button, sending powerful voltage tearing into her ass-chute.

As voltage slammed deep into her bowels, her whole body seemed to leap from the ground to land and flop like a fish out of water.  I followed her thrashing body with my own, kneeling on her tail-bone, my shin supporting my whole weight as I gripped the shock baton firmly, shoving it further into her ass, keeping my finger on the button, keeping the voltage pouring into her sexy, bruised body.  I clenched my teeth as I the voltage jerked into my body and her struggling, bucking body threatened to throw me off of her, her arm beating weakly against my legs and arm, her legs scissoring and kicking as she tried to find purchase on the mats, her ass rolling and jerking as she tried to dislodge the torture device from her ass.

She was screaming, shouting, fighting with all of her strength, but I wasn't to be moved, and fatigue set in, until she was barely moving, until she could only moan and sob and twitch as the voltage pounded her insides to jelly.  I stopped and listened to her sobbing as I slowly pulled the baton from her ass, wiping it clean of blood and shit.  Grabbing her hair I started to drag her to a corner, where a hook hung from a chain attached to a pulley in the ceiling, and hanging from that hook were a pair of handcuffs. 

I walked quickly, keeping my hand low to the ground so she was forced to crawl, enjoying how she scrambled to avoid being dragged by her hair, her face streaked with tears.  When we reached the corner, I pulled her to her feet and snapped the handcuffs on her wrists as she stood shaking before me, still recovering from the brutality of the shock baton.  She cried out in pain as I pulled her arms over her head, her shoulder still aching, and hooked her wrists over the hook.

I pulled the hook up until she was standing straight, trying not to sob too much at the pain in her recently dislocated shoulder, aggravated by her arms stretched over her head.  I didn't pull her off her feet, not wanting to dislocate her shoulder again.  I grabbed her breasts and looked right in her shining blue eyes.

"You don't listen, do you bitch?" I said, roughly twisting her tits as I spoke.  "I told you all men want from that sexy, succulent body of yours is a good fuck, but you can't even do that right.  I stick my cock in your ass and all you do is lay there like a mattress."  I spit in her face.  "Dumb cunt."

I walked back to the center of the room and picked up the cane, walking slowly back to my victim, whose eyes had grown wide with fear as she trembled on the end of the hook.  A beating like the one I had given her was personal, teaching a lesson about her vulnerability, but, unless you wanted to do some real damage, didn't leave much besides bruising and soreness.  Unless repeated constantly, over days and weeks and even months, it wasn't a very good way to break a person down.  A person could say to themselves that they had survived with their dignity; that they had been overpowered, sure, but they hadn't given in mentally. 

That's where the electroshock and caning came in.  There's something about a shock baton shoved up your ass that focuses the mind, that makes you say to yourself "I'll do anything to avoid another like that"; and there is something about women and whipping that makes their defenses melt, more than just the pain.  I don't know what it is, but a woman whipped is a woman willing to please.

She stopped her crying as she saw me coming toward her with the cane, only whimpering slightly at the pain in her shoulder now.  She raised her head to mine and moistened her lips.

"Please, please.  I'll do what you want.  You don't have to hurt me anymore.  I'll do anything."

I smiled and stood before her, knowing that they were just words, that deep down she was just saying them.  She didn't 'want' to do whatever I wanted, she just wanted, logically, to avoid the pain of what I was going to do to her.  Before I was done, the only thing she would want, to the core of her being, was to submit to me.  There is a difference:  in the first case, she would retain control, in the second, all control would be mine--she wouldn't be choosing to submit, she would be forced, like an animal, to submit.

My response was to bring the cane down across her taut stomach, driving a gasping shout of pain from her lips.  Then I really started beating her.  I drove the cane across her breasts, flattening those perfect mounds with the violence of my blows, brutally marking them, making her twist and scream with each blow.  I struck her stomach, driving her breath from her, making her gasp and shout, painting a crisscross of welts across her flesh.  I beat her beautiful, curvy ass, slamming the cane against those perfect mounds of muscle until blood oozed from her beaten flesh and she moaned in agony.  I targeted her firm thighs, loving the way she danced in pain with each blow.  Every once in a while I would stop and use the shock baton, making her jerk and dance on the hook, jabbing it hard into her stomach or breasts and sending the brutal pulses of electricity through her bound, hanging body.

It was over thirty minutes before I was done, and I was sweating with the effort, and she with the pain.  I dropped the cane and looked at her, this beautiful, strong woman, hanging by her wrists, ugly red welts marking her smooth, perfect flesh, her chest heaving with panting, moaning sobs as every movement of her body sent the pain of her beating back through her body.  I slid my hands between her thighs and she sobbed but opened them a little for me, and I slid my finger easily into her cunt, slick from the sweat of her struggles.

"That's good, bitch," I said, my fingers twisting in the core of her, "you're learning."

I lowered the hook and she swayed on her feet as I led her back to the center of the room, still handcuffed.

"On your back, cunt, and get ready for me to fuck you.  And you better give me a good ride or next time I won't be so easy on your dumb-ass."

She moved slowly, her body aching, lowering herself to the mat and laying on her back.  She spread her legs and bent her knees, inviting me in, her face a mask, only her gasps and the small twitchings of her body revealing the pain that she was in.  I climbed on top of her, sliding my body across her flesh, slick with sweat, and slid my cock with one stroke into her cunt.  I looked into her unfocused eyes, reading the pain I was causing her as I began to fuck her slowly.

"Wrap your legs around me and give me a good ride, bitch."

Those wonderful, sexy thighs closed around my waist, her ankles locking behind my back, and I let my weight press against her, her brutalized breasts pillowing under me, and I pressed my lips against hers, forcing my tongue into her whimpering mouth even as I continued to pump into her.  She rocked under me as I kissed her, fucking back at me, and I knew that this was total possession.  Raping her ass was merely a tool used to get to this point, where she would do what I said not because it was the logical way to avoid getting hurt, but because of fear, pure, primal fear of pain.

A weak woman learns to bend, to give in, to keep her dignity by accepting her weakness, by working with it, by knowing that there was nothing else she could do.  She knows, at her core, that there are always those stronger.  A strong woman, on the other hand, doesn't bend, she breaks.  When she admits weakness it is a revelation, a dagger to the core of who she is.  She is no longer one of the strong--she is a victim, a weakling; she could never accept, until this point, that there was someone stronger than her.

Jennifer was a strong woman, and as she used her beaten, whipped body to please me, squeezing her cunt, her thighs clenching against my sides, her tongue dancing with mine, her body slowly writhing beneath mine, I knew she had broken.  I fucked her for a long time, forcing her to use that sexy, aching body of hers against mine, forcing her to twist and buck and gyrate beneath me, forcing her to hold her mouth against mine, forcing her to pleasure me until I achieved release.

When I was done, I stood over her, and she turned onto her side, her legs slightly bent, her arm draped across her breasts, her face, streaked with tears, turned away from me.  God, she was sexy.

"That was good.  You'd make a good whore.  I'll bet all those guys you work with would pay a fortune to get into that tight cunt of yours.  Heh.  After seeing you walk around, untouchable, all those years, lusting after you:  man, you could make bank, slut."

I cleaned myself up and put on some pants as I watched her, letting her think it was all over, knowing that she knew my every movement even as she lay beaten on the mat.  It was time to test her, to see if she was truly broken or if she still had some fight left in her.

"Okay bitch, do you remember what I told you when you first woke up?"  She pushed herself onto her arm, her legs folded to the side in front of her, and shook her head, her blond hair damp with sweat sicking to her shoulders.  I walked over to the door, her eyes following me, and I knew there was hope there, hope for her release.  Opening the door, I heard her shift and a small whimper came from her as I whistled.

Rex came running into the floor, his paws pitting the mats.  Jennifer's reaction was priceless as she remembered my words, that I was going to let a dog fuck her, that she was going to beg me.  Her eyes got wide, filled with horror, her body jerking in terror and humiliation, her mouth opened in a horrified O and one hand moved to cover her mouth.  She started shaking her head, raising up on her knees, her hands pressed together before her, begging, "No.  No.  Please no.  I'll do anything, anything.  I'll suck you.  I'll fuck you again.  Anything but that.  Please."

Cane in hand and Rex by my side, I let her plead, tears coursing down her face as she kneeled before me begging to be spared the humiliation, enjoying my domination of this beautiful, sexy woman.  When she wound down, her head hanging as she wept, I said, "On your hands and knees, legs spread, bitch," slapping the cane against the mat for extra emphasis.

Her body jerked at the sound of the cane hitting the mat, and she turned her body and lifted herself onto her hands and knees, her breasts hanging beneath her.

"Down on your elbows.  You're a bitch, and bitches get fucked."

She groaned in pain as she got down on her elbows, the position lending a beautiful arch to her back, making her ass thrust out, her thighs spread just enough to display her bruised, raped cunt and her ravaged asshole.  She had started sobbing, and I gave Rex the command to start.

Rex is a black sable German Shepherd, about 90 lbs, whose been trained to enjoy fucking women.  I don't usually use him in my job, preferring instead to loan him out among my social group for entertainment (something about knowing that a woman is degrading herself by fucking a dog turns me on), but for Jennifer, I figured it would be a way to truly put her in her place.

Rex padded up behind her and started licking, his long tongue lapping against her mons, running across her clit and diving between her swollen nether lips.  He could do this for hours, tasting the sweet juice of a fresh cunt, and I let him work his bitch until her sobbing stopped, her forehead resting on the mat, her breathing steadying as she accepted what was happening to her, probably relieved that there wasn't any pain.

I've been told by many a woman that Rex's tongue is magic, and I was counting on it.  I watched my victim closely as he continued to slide his tongue along her slit, watching her body relax under his attentions, her eyes close.  I smiled, knowing it wouldn't be long before the unwanted pleasure started, the pleasure of being mostly out of pain, of being treated gently, even if by an animal.  Her breathing started to quicken, and I noticed her thighs trembling just a little, knowing that she was feeling it.

I waited, letting her fight it, letting it build until she got close to her ultimate degradation, her ultimate humiliation, cumming for a dog like a bitch in heat.  It would be the final nail in the coffin of her self-respect.  When an uncontrollable moan escaped her, her thighs starting to shake, I gave Rex the command to mount her, and he reared up, his forelegs wrapping around her chest, her head stretched forward toward her neck, his hips hunched as he humped his red cock against her cunt, finding it after three tries, plunging it into Jennifer's sexy young body, making her grunt in humiliation at the penetration.

I fell to my knees and reached under the bitch, my fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing it, circling it, knowing that I only had a minute or so before Rex finished, trying to find the motion that would tip sweet, sexy Jennifer over the edge.  Rex was humping away, Jennifer sweating and panting and trembling beneath his weight, as I teased her sex nub.

I felt her thighs shake and her stomach tense and tremble as she came, a gasp of despair escaping from her lips as her orgasm overcame her, a cum brought about while a dog humped his cock into her spasming cunt.  I saw Rex tense up and finish, and then he was out of her and lying on the ground licking himself, and Jennifer sunk to the mat, legs still spread, dog cum leaking from her freshly raped cunt.

I went to my bag and pulled out a syringe and quickly put her back under sedation.

I had a lot of cleaning up to do, and I won't bore you with the details.  It took hours, and after I was done she had been bathed and returned to her apartment and her bed, her alarm had been set, and her car had been parked in her garage.  Cleaning up the warehouse took longer, but by noon it had been finished.  I checked up on her and found her car still in her garage, and no police cars.

You might wonder why a woman so badly beaten wouldn't call the police to report her abuse.  Well, few woman wants to be seen as a victim, and almost no woman wants to let someone know that they felt pleasure while being fucked by a dog.  I had also made sure that all the physical damage I had done to her could be hidden from her friends and co-workers, so that she could keep what happened a secret.

When I called my client to inform him that the job was done, he insisted, like most of my clients, on all the details.  He laughed when I told him about the dog, and, even at the steep price, was well satisfied.

Like most of my victims, I have no idea what happened to sweet, sexy Jennifer.  She might have gone back to her job even more obsessed, better to block out the horror she had experienced; or she might still be suffering PTSD, hyper-aware of everyone and everything around her; or she could have quit her job and turned in on herself; or she could have become promiscuous, giving her body away before it could be taken from her.  You can never be quite sure how a woman will react.