She started it. She asked for it. It was all her fault.
I was innocently perving my way around my favourite chat site when I chanced upon her ad.
‘Lady, 30, would like to be raped.’
Oh yea? Still, I zinged off a reply: ‘Seriously?’
She must have sent the same response to hundreds of people.
‘Thank you for answering my ad. I want to be stalked, spied on, attacked and raped. You can hurt me but not injure me. I do not want to know anything about you or meet you beforehand, but there must be some way of identifying you: figure this out and you can fuck me any way you want.’
I could see how the identifying bit would cut the field down from hundreds to, well, nobody so far I presumed.
But I had a solution.
‘Hi, I am a webmaster. I could put a message on the site so you’d know it was me. Then if you needed to identify me you’d only need to contact the company and ask who their webmaster is. The site is www.blueblue.com.’
She replied: ‘OK. Put “Diane in June” on there.’
I put those words up on a backwater page of the site and emailed her the URL.
Minutes later Diane replied with her full name and address, the address of the estate agents where she worked and she said: ‘Stalk me, spy on me, rape me. It will be rape, I will fight back – kick you in the balls if I can. Any time any place before June 30th. My period will be 25-29 this month and June 22-26, but this is not a bar on those dates. If I spot you before you attack me the deal is off.’
And a few moments later another email arrived with a photo of her sitting at an outdoor café table dressed in a smart black suit and black tights. She was the sort of girl you’d definitely want to fuck if you saw her.
I was excited, very excited. For about a minute. Then the doubts set in. Anyone could have sent those emails and that picture – someone with a grudge against her perhaps.
So I emailed her back: ‘How do I know it’s you sending the emails?’
She replied: ‘Fair enough. I’ll take one pic posed in any way you like to prove it’s me.’
A million dirty poses flashed through my head. But a malicious boyfriend could take any one of them without telling her why. So I replied: ‘write “www.blueblue.com I want you to rape me” on a bit of paper, hold it beside your face and take a pic.’
And within the hour she did exactly that.
Now I knew it was her, I replied: ‘I am going to rape you.’
She replied: ‘Yes.’
Wow.
But how to do it? How do you watch someone without being spotted? Or maybe I should just turn up at her place in the middle of the night and knock on her door. No, she wouldn’t open it. And for all I knew she lived with a large Rottweiler and an even larger boyfriend. And how did I know that was really her address?
Grab her in the street perhaps? No, not a very realistic idea. Lure her to a property asking for a valuation? No, she’d see that coming a mile off. My excitement was rapidly turning to gloom as the impracticality of the whole thing began to dawn.
Still, I looked up her home and office addresses on google maps. Her office in – I’ll call it Hertown – was in a pedestrian precinct near the station and her home was less than half a mile from her office.
I had nothing to lose by just going to have a look, so next morning I took the 40 minute train ride.
Coming out of Hertown station I was nervous. I felt as though all eyes were upon me. I felt guilty, maybe I even looked guilty.
Number 44, 42, 40, 38 – her office was no 22. I crossed over to the far side of the pedestrianised street and glanced across at 22. And there she was! She was standing in the estate agents office with her back to the window talking to a man. Blonde hair, black dress, black tights – it was her, no doubt about it. And, God, did she look fuckable.
I hurried on by, my heart pounding, blood coursing through my veins – some veins more than others. I went into McDonalds. From my seat there I could see her office.
The Big Mac and medium fries calmed me down and I began to plot how I’d stalk her. It all seemed a lot easier now I was there and I’d seen her in the flesh. I’d go to her flat next, see where she lived, work out her probable route to work – it wasn’t far so she most likely walked.
But my grand planning was interrupted by her emerging from her office clutching a folder, looking all business-like and gorgeous, accompanied by the man she’d been talking to. They were coming my way. Oh no. They were coming to McDonalds! I had no time to run and hide.
She must have passed within six feet of me – I could hear the swish of her tights, smell her perfume. I looked out of the window, at my fries, anywhere but at her.
I ate up and left as nonchalantly as I could, resisting the temptation even to glance back.
I went to her flat. It was a four storey block. There was no security so I went straight in. Number 30 was on the fourth floor. I took the lift up. There were 8 flats off the landing and no CCTV as far as I could see. I rang her doorbell. I was wearing a suit so if anyone did come to the door I’d think of something plausible. Nobody answered. I had a sudden urge to wank over the door – leave a streak of cum down it so she’d know I’d been there. But that would mean every man she’d seen that day would become a suspect and she’d be looking for those faces again.
I beat a retreat down the stairs and went home and had a glorious wank.
Two days later I took the train again. This time I wore jeans and sunglasses. I went for a haircut in the hairdressers next to McDonalds. That the hairdresser was a big girl in every way was a bonus, and I sat there in a hazy pleasure stupor with a huge hard on, watching Diane’s office in the hairdresser’s mirror.
Diane wasn’t in the office as far as I could see, so suitable shorn I carried my erection across the street and pretended to study the properties in the window. Diane definitely wasn’t there. I wandered round the town to get the feel of the place and then explored the possible routes between Diane’s home and office.
Early next morning I took the car and parked where I could see the front door of the flats.
Diane bustled out at twenty past eight, not looking around at all to see if anyone was spying on her. She took what I had thought was the most likely route. There was a narrow alley that way and I did think of sprinting after her and attacking her there but it would have been far too risky at that time of day.
Instead I went up to her flat again and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered. She must live alone. As I went down the staircase I realised that its windows looked out over the approach to the flats. My plan was beginning to form.
I drove home knowing now that I was going to rape her, and how I would do it. But not just yet. I wanted to enjoy the anticipation and to spook her. Besides it was her period this week.
Next day I went in by train – in shorts and t-shirt this time – with my camera. I took a picture of her office, of her route to work, of that narrow alley, of her block of flats, of the inside of the lift and of her front door.
Back home I emailed them to her saying: ‘I am going to hurt you.’
Knowing this would put her on her guard I didn’t go to Hertown for the next week. Was she excited, I wondered, or frightened? Suspicious of every man she saw, surely.
The long week finally up, I drove in for one final recce. I parked near her flat late afternoon. She came home just after six. I watched the sway of her arse as she walked up to the front door of the flats. She’d be all hot and sweaty and smelling of woman and she’d taste nice. I’d find out tomorrow. I’d lick her arse.
Next day I was as calm as anything. I went in on the train, stiff as a ramrod all the way. I got to the flats at quarter to six and waited on the staircase between the third and fourth floors, looking out over the approach. If anyone came up or down the stairs I’d do a circuit via the lift back to my vantage point. If she didn’t show up I’d come back tomorrow. Simple. I had my shorts and t-shirt on. No underwear. I had a large handkerchief that would serve as a gag and a length of cord just in case.
And there she was! Just after six as yesterday, without a care in the world, walking up the path and coming into the building. I was excited but not at all nervous. I went to the top of the stairs and looked through the little window. I heard the lift doors opening, I saw her walking towards her door, saw her getting her key out and putting it in the lock, turning the key and the door starting to open. I sprang from my hiding place and was on her in an instant, my hand over her mouth, pushing her into her flat, kicking the door shut behind me. She fell forwards. I fell on top of her. I sat on her arse and pulled her hair, jerking her head back.
“Make one sound and I’ll gag you and then really hurt you,” I said.
But before she could reply my neck was grabbed from behind and squeezed in a vice-like grip.
“Police! Get up, slowly! Don’t turn around!”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
“Hands behind your back!”
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!
He or she – it was one of those voices that could have been either – snapped a set of handcuffs on me. Diane hauled herself to her feet looking dazed and disoriented.
“You’re under arrest for assault and attempted rape. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say…”
I didn’t hear the rest. I wet myself. My whole life was at an end. I was in total confusion, total shock.
The police person turned me around. It was a fierce-looking she. She had her truncheon drawn.
“You don’t understand,” I started. “This has all been arranged. Diane asked me to do this. I’ve got emails, pictures, everything.”
Yes, of course I had. It would be all right, it would be all right.
“Is this true, madam?” the policewoman asked.
Diane looked horrified. “Of course not,” she said. “And my name isn’t Diane, it’s Joanne.”
Oh my God, oh my God. My life was at an end.
But still I tried: “No, really, I can show you the emails – even a picture of her with a sign saying I should do this.” I couldn’t bring myself to utter the word rape.
Diane gave a totally dismissive “pah!”. And the truth dawned on me. I had been horribly set up.
Yet still I yabbered on. “But I’ve got the emails, the pictures of Diane, Joanne, whatever her name is…”
“Sir…”
“And we exchanged several emails and she…”
“Sir!” the police woman insisted. “Will you please be quiet. You will have plenty of opportunity to put your side of the story back at the station and in court…”
In court. In court! God, no! Panic began to set in.
“Court, no no no. She advertised. I replied, she emailed me and…”
And thwack! The policewoman swung her truncheon up between my legs catching me full on in the balls. I crumpled to the floor doubled up in absolute agony.
Even Diane – Joanne – gasped in shock.
“You didn’t see anything did you, madam,” the policewoman said.
“No,” Diane/Joanne said hurriedly.
“Perhaps you had better sit down, madam. You must be shaken up. I want to make sure you are all right before I leave. Backup will be here any moment.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Diane/Joanne said. She sat on the sofa.
Meanwhile I was writhing around on the floor in excruciating pain.
“Let that be a lesson to you, you bastard,” the policewoman hissed at me. Then after a pause she said to Dianne/Joanne. “I am sorry, madam, but I am desperate for the loo, may I use yours?”
“Oh, yes, through there,” Dianne/Joanne said.
The policewoman undid my handcuffs, pulled my hands out in front of me and cuffed me to the radiator. As if I was going to make a run for it.
The moment the policewoman left the room Dianne/Joanne darted over to me, knelt down beside me, grabbed my balls and squeezed them. Curiously it didn’t hurt – or should I say it didn’t increase the level of pain I was already in.
“Pathetic,” she said. “Pathetic. You are going down, you bastard, just like all the others. The emails? You made them up. The pictures, from a different email address by the way? My ex sent them – the one who’s in prison for raping me. The pathetic note in the picture? You photoshopped it. You are dead meat, dead meat. Bastard!”
And with that she grabbed my cock and wrenched at it as if trying to tear it off. But unable to get hold of it properly through my shorts, she pulled my shorts down and grabbed my naked cock, pulling and twisting it for all she was worth. She was quite obviously insane. And how she was going to explain my bare arse to the policewoman I had no idea.
I was relieved to hear the lavatory flush and the policewoman’s returning footsteps. But then silence. I looked over my shoulder. And there was the policewoman. Stark bollock naked except for a black strap-on dildo.
It took me a moment. “Oh my God,” I said. My strength ebbed away, my head hung down, my limbs turned to jelly. I’d been had, hook line and sinker. Hook line and sinker. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Dianne let go of my cock.
“Did he twig?” the policewoman asked.
“No,” Dianne said. “Not an inkling. Thick as a plank. Daft as a bog brush.” Then to me she said, as if to a halfwit. “Aren’t you: daft as a bog brush?” My head was spinning. “Well,” Diane added. “You wanted rape. Guess what? You’re going to get it.”
And there I was, down on all fours, handcuffed to the radiator, naked arse in the air, a big woman with a strap on dildo behind me. Even I managed to work out what was going to happen next.
There was no ceremony. The policewoman knelt down behind me and rammed the thing up my arse. Funny thing was that it felt rather nice. And my balls stopped aching, and Diane started wanking me. And there I was being raped and really enjoying it.
I had an excuse for coming over the carpet almost straight away. I’d been excited as hell most of the day, I’d been on an enormous emotional roller coaster and well – no more excuses.
“Oh, he’s spunked all over my carpet – gallons of it,” Diane said.
“Already?” the policewoman said.
“Do me, do me now,” Diane said. She rolled over onto her back, hitched up that sexy black skirt of hers and pulled her knickers aside inviting a good fucking.
The policewoman was out of me, onto and into Diane in a flash, leaving me slumped and hurting on the floor.
While they humped away beside me and congratulated each other for being so darned clever I twisted around and sat with my back to the radiator, enjoying the show and trying to work everything out.
And then one penny dropped, at least.
“You’re the hairdresser, aren’t you,” I said.
They whooped with mirth at this.
“The monkey has a brain after all,” Diane said. “He’s trying to figure it all out, I can almost hear the cogs turning – very slowly.”
Ha ha. But I was indeed trying to figure it out. How the hell had the “policewoman” managed to get behind me like that. She can’t have been on the stairs and I was sure the lift had been empty when I passed it.
Rape Nightmare www.erotic-fiction-stories.wanadoo.co.uk/rape-nightmare.htm Copyright MR 2009
“Where did – sorry, I don’t know your name,” I said.
“Agnes,” the policewoman said.
“How did you get behind me like that? You weren’t in the lift.”
“Not so smart,” Agnes said.
She hadn’t been on the stairs or in the lift and there was nowhere else on the landing to hide.
“Oh, one of the other flats,” I said.
They laughed again. “He’s got there,” Diane said. “Number 31. Agnes’s flat. Directly opposite.”
Agnes’s flat. Agnes’s flat six feet across the landing. Agnes’s flat that must overlook the approach to the block.
“Right,” I said.
“Come here, monkey brain, put your head up my skirt and lick my pussy and taste your arse and we’ll explain it all to you.”
Agnes dismounted, found the key to the handcuffs and freed me. I pulled Diane’s skirt down almost to her knees, then put my head up there and tasted her – and me. She tasted womany, sweaty and bottomy. I licked her arse too – fantasy fulfilled. My pecker was well and truly up again now.
“Now fuck me bareback, rape boy,” Diane said.
At last. I was on her and in her and started giving it to her good and proper when she lashed out at me with her fists.
“Get off me, get off me!” she said.
OK, she wanted to play rape. I pinned her arms down and shagged her as hard as I could and soon she was smiling and purring and coming and when she’d come I pulled out of her and came all up her front, over her skirt, blouse, face and even over her head onto the carpet.
“Nice cum, big boy!” Agnes said. She was lounging on the sofa watching us and playing with herself.
“On your back,” Diane said.
I lay on my back and Diane sat on my chest.
“So, have you got it all worked out yet?”
“I suppose Agnes saw me yesterday and so you were ready for me today.”
“Pah, I spotted you weeks ago, in McDonalds.”
“Eh? How did you know it was me?”
“Listen, monkey brain, when I walk into a room what happens? All the guys check me out. And what did you do?”
“Looked the other way.”
“Looked the other way. Of course I wasn’t sure it was you but if it was, what would be the obvious thing for you to do next, knowing where I was going to be for the next half hour?” She put a finger to her cheek as if trying to solve a really difficult puzzle. “I know, go round to my flat. Right? So I rang nice Mrs Melchett who lives in 25, said I was expecting a parcel and would she look out for the postman. And when I got home, what did Mrs M say? ‘The postman didn’t come but a nice man in a suit called but I didn’t go out in case he was selling something’. So you were rumbled mate. Was that the first time you’d been to spy on me?”
I nodded. And I though I’d been so clever.
“So I knew it was you. And then, apart from McDonalds, where’s just about the only other place you can sit and spy on my office?”
“The hairdressers,” I said heavily.
“The hairdressers. And sure enough, two days later where do you turn up, heavily disguised in a pair of sunglasses? The hairdressers. Surprise surprise.”
“Yes,” Agnes interjected. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that bloody great erection when I took the cape off you.”
“Ah,” I said.
“Then next morning there you were in that flash BMW parked where you knew I wouldn’t walk past. And after I’d left what did he do, Agnes?” Diane asked.
“Came up and rang the doorbell,” Agnes said. “In case there was a boyfriend?”
“Then you must have come back the next day and taken some pictures – we didn’t see him that day, did we, Agnes? Then you disappeared while I was on, then yesterday evening Agnes saw you waiting for me in your car and we thought you might have a go so we got ready just in case, but you didn’t. And today, well, here we all are. Did we miss anything?”
“No, those were the only times I came here. Every day, every time, you had me clocked.” I was shaking my head in disbelief. And I thought I had been so clever.
“And you though you had been so clever,” Diane said.
“But I could have attacked you anywhere,” I said.
“Oh yea, where?”
She had me there.
“And even if you had managed to outsmart me, unlikely though that is, and surprise me and rape me, well, that would have been good too. Win win.”
We fell silent for a moment.
“Tell you what though,” I said. “I was nearly shitting myself when I thought I was about to be bundled off to the cop shop.”
“Yea, pissed yourself didn’t you. I enjoyed seeing that.”
Still sitting on my chest, she reached behind her and started to knead my cock.
“Come on, Agnes,” she said. “Your turn.”
Agnes squatted down on my rapidly hardening cock. Diane planted her cunt on my face.
Having come twice I now had one of those erections that threatens to last for ever so I just lay back and thought of England while Agnes used me.
When eventually Agnes had pumped the spunk out of me she shifted forwards and squatted on my face and made me eat the cum out of her.
Finally we all lay on the floor shagged out and glowing.
“And why me?” I asked. “You must have had hundreds of replies to that ad.”
“A couple of hundred, yes. But when you’ve weeded out the illiterates, the guys whose profiles say they live in Scotland and all the other time wasters you were one of the few smart enough to work out how to leave a trail. No psycho would do that. And you write like a nice guy. So you were in.”
“Am I the first then?”
“You are. We’ve got another idea for the next one, haven’t we, Agnes?”
Agnes smiled broadly. “Oh yes, we certainly have.”
So guys, careful which ads you answer. Assuming their next target is a guy, of course.
. . . . . .
A week later Diane emailed me again and roped me in to help with her next victim. But that’s another story.
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