1. Nice Things Come in Small Packages


    Date: 11/14/2017, Categories: Dark Fantasy, Bondage and restriction, Rape, Author: Mario Caliente, Rating: 76.9, Source: sexstories.com

    women only knew how much their sounds excited me—be they whimpers or screams—they might choose to remain as quiet as they could. As I headed to a road leading out of town, I drove with an extreme caution that would have made my Driver’s Ed teacher proud. I always make sure that every headlight and taillight and turn signal on the van is in proper working condition so as not to draw the unwanted attention of a bored cop. I could not afford being stopped by a police officer who might decide to search the van and discover a bound and gagged woman in the back. Stopped at one traffic light on this night, a squad car pulled up beside me. The officer looked over at me. I nodded to him politely and then stared straight ahead through my windshield, desperately wishing the light to turn green. The little bitch in the back was making as much noise as she could through her gag and hood. I was afraid it might be too much noise. At last I was in the country and proceeded to drive about fifteen miles to a secluded place that I had reconnoitered several weeks before. It was a place where I knew my girl and I would not be disturbed. I parked in the secluded clearing and killed the engine. I sat there in what seemed at first to be total quiet. There was no longer any sound coming from the back of the van. I imagined that the girl was quiet now because she was listening desperately for a clue as to what was happening. Let her stew for a while, I thought to myself. Eventually, the sound of ...
    crickets filled the air and grew louder and louder. I think they had shut up when the van’s headlights disturbed their evening, but now where back at their endless, nightlong song. I turned on the dome light in the back of the van and looked back at my prey as she lay on her back on the mattress, her hooded head toward me. Her arms were pinned beneath her, with her elbows pulled outward by the handcuffs that secured her to the body frames on either side of her. She legs—bare to her crotch by the way her mini-skirt had hiked up—stirred languidly. Her high heel shoes still adorned her feet I did hear sounds coming from her now that I listened intently. They were sobbing sounds. She was crying softly. I now rifled through her purse, which I had tossed onto the passenger’s seat beside me. I found her driver’s license in a wallet. I like to know a little something about my victims before I rape them. This girl’s name was Sandra McPherson. 5’1’’, as I already indicated. Brown hair. Green eyes. Doing the math—subtracting her birth year from the current year—I knew she was 24. I was ready for Sandra. I wondered if her friends called her Sandy as I crawled into the back of the van and positioned myself at her feet. I could tell her body tensed up as she know sensed she was not alone on the mattress. When I touched her ankle, she cried out into the gag and hood and kicked her feet in protest. I roughly spread her legs and moved between them on my knees. She mumbled a squealing sound into ...
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