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Lynsey was a pretty ordinary young woman, in her twenties. A natural blonde, she had long legs and a round ass that had become J Lo fashionable just as it was developing. Sometimes I'll answer questions, sometimes I'll give you things, but I won't make it too easy. But with each, there was the sense of giving away a little piece of herself, there was a little revelation, a surrender that might somehow be her undoing. It was a nasty, vile, vicious game, and she loved it. Lynsey could only mew as his fingers painfully manipulated her towards orgasm. Please what, Peter asked, pushing his fingers hard against her clit. He patiently allowed her to suck his cock for ten minutes, watching as her hips began to rock of their own accord, as her arousal, born out of confusion and surrender built.Her parents had spent a lot of money educating her, so she'd gone to University, learned a marketable skill, and then, well lubricated by family money and family contacts, she'd slid right into a well paying career. Her breasts were high and firm, not as large as she'd have liked, but suitable enough. Perhaps they knew that restaurant, or staked it out? Sometimes, giving away a particular clue, she would be so overcome by the idea of surrender, the idea that this might be her undoing, that she would come in a splashing, shuddering orgasm. It seemed to put her in a state of permanent arousal, it made her more richly aware of herself, of the possibilities. But it's Italian, and she's expressed a preference for Italian food a few times. I don't want to catch anything, get us a couple of rubbers out of her purse. Lynsey's answer was lost in an inarticulate howl as the orgasm hit her. I think you'd look real good, licking my boots with your tongue. Then, just before she was ready, he grabbed her head tightly and violently thrust a half dozen times into her mouth, shooting his load. You don't get to come on this one, you're going to leave here all squirming and hot and bothered and unable to think straight.

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These slags and skanks were fucked out, and it wasn't the gentle touches of her polished lovers, it was industrial fucking, hard fucking, real cocks from hard, cruel men. She liked to watch the men too, but more carefully. Yes, Linsey typed, her pussy suddenly on fire, her cunt clenching, wetter than she'd ever been. A few times, they even carried a digital camera, trying to build up a database of possibles, that could be compared, sifted, and used to determine if there was a recurring face... But you could watch one go by and just imagine it was the bitch, and your cock would get hard as a rock. Now sit at the edge of the chair, hike the dress up your thighs and spread your legs.... Lynsey busied herself around her apartment, doing some tidying up, taking care of a few things. The red dress, she decided, wasn't really that bad. It was harmless attention though, perhaps a little exciting to think of her future rapist (Rapists? Dance around a bit, bitch, do a striptease for your paying customers. Clumsily, she began dancing for them, undoing her clothes awkwardly, trying to climb out of them. It pooled around her ankles and she stepped out of it, remembering to shimmy. She did as she was ordered, working the panties down her thighs. Ian brutally used her throat before shooting his load, refusing to release her until she swallowed every drop. She sat, still imprisoned by their domination of her will. Once he was inside, he could get her into the house, into the basement, without anyone seeing her. For a while, he amused himself fondling her stiff but unresisting body. With fight or flight, the blood goes just the opposite, into the limbs. If they're wet, if they were getting off, hell, if they came, then we would know they were lying. She would deal with it when she could deal with it. Still, as difficult as it all was, there were rays of hope. No one else was out there homing in on her, there was no way to find her. And it had been a one time thing, for Jack and Zacc. So, for the first instants of her waking, she knew only that she had woken in physical and emotional turmoil as if from a horrific nightmare. Gradually, as she gained control of herself, Lynsey realized that she couldn't move. So it came as a complete and utter shock to the core of her soul when two strong male hands were laid on her upraised buttocks. Mike had watched her shock back to consciousness, had listened to her tiny mews and groans, the twitching and stretching as she discovered her bonds.

She could imagine them on their knees, bent over tables, spread out on beds, on all fours on the floor, taking it from a variety of brutal men. Hard men with tattoos and prison muscles, black gangsters, grizzled street people, vicious teens and middle aged hustlers. Sometime, if she was really close to the description, they might follow, ambling along behind her for a few minutes, trying to get a better look. She slipped out of the boots, but continued to wear the dress and stockings. After forty five minutes, she was seriously considering going online. More a party dress, but really, not all that bad for shopping. Nah) as one of the watchers, but really that was bullshit. She knew as she bent over that they could see her pussy. Oh gee, Peter said, as she lay gasping, prostrate on the pave. They rode the skytrain to the end of the line and back, and finally Ian let her off one stop away from her destination. Now, next, I want you to put the cuffs around your ankles. He'd often taken whores into his house that way, and once in a while, a semi-unwilling victim. He ignored them and plunged his hand into her top, roughly mauling one breast. From the way she blushed, he knew he had scored a point. He exposed her breasts and pawed them, raking fingernails down to leave red marks. And, fortunately or unfortunately for Lynsey, he was well acquainted with the techniques for forcing orgasms from bodies in agony. It's not a real rape, we'd just send them off for counseling to work out whatever emotional problems it was they had. He had, of course, watched her unknowingly drug herself on tainted orange juice. He had undressed her lovingly, posed and positioned her body as he had done so many times before. His cock laid in his pants like a battering ram, as he carefully bound her body into position, ensuring both helplessness and complete vulnerability. Finally, he'd slid a methamphetamine suppository up her ass to watch her wake. Now with his hands, strange hands, kneading the yielding flesh of her buttocks, Lynsey flew into full fledged panic, thrashing within the limits of her bonds, kicking, trying to throw him off.

* * * * * * * * Mike stared at the screen, stroking his erection. Mike considered himself an artist, and after his first few encounters with Lynsey, he just didn't bother. Ridiculous and infinitely improbable, but exciting nevertheless. Okay, that couldn't possibly happen, not with the bullshit handful of clues she'd given. She had almost no will left, was simply operating on autopilot. He rolled her hair in his hands as she obediently unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.

She might have known if she'd checked the member logins, but that was her mistake. But worse in his view, she had no respect for the mechanics of a good well structured fantasy. He doubted it, the self absorbed bitch would never really put herself at risk. Then he emailed a few of his internet friends in Vancouver to let them know about this fascinating little game.... She skipped at work, riding the skytrain she couldn't help glancing around, wondering if one of those faces belonged to the someone from her chatroom. He could tell she was still undergoing an internal struggle.

Little did she know, the Mike also lived in Vancouver, as did three or four other men who frequented that chatroom from time to time. It didn't matter to her whether her cyberpartner came which was bad enough. Then he instituted a file function to record her visits to the chat room and everything she said. * * * * * * * * * Lynsey found herself flying through the day. Her lips were like putty, she was barely responsive.

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