Cybersex aim chatrooms

Every now and then, some weary slut would finish the night too dragged out to wipe, and Lynsey would catch the pearly gleam of semen on a thigh or a blouse. They even knew several areas where she occasionally went to shop or relax. Sometimes, when one of them had a day off, he'd spend it hanging out, frequenting some area where they believed she hung out. It was a Saturday morning, she was within her patterns. She was mostly just window shopping, she didn't need to buy anything in particular. His grip on her hair was tight and painful, the odour of his crotch filled her nostrils, and his hard rod stabbed and tore at the back of her throat. She'd become one of those worn slags that she used to watch. Lynsey's face was pressed into the harsh artificial carpet in the passenger wells. Get stopped by the cops, and the whole thing would be up. Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally arrived at his house. Her body goes into fight or flight mode, all the blood goes to the limbs, she's pumping out adrenalin. So, in a real rape, a woman is incapable of orgasm, hell, she can't feel anything down there hardly. Well, I shouldn't say a lot, but you know, a definite percentage, a minority... Find out if she was confessing to some sexual stimulation, have a nurse go off and check if they're wet. He really does believe that I was totally into it, that I was into everything he did... His last sight was Lynsey stumbling home in a daze, her nipple rings poking through the thin cotton of the dirty T-shirt, the crotch of her absorbent sweat pants slightly but visibly darkened with moisture. After that, she stumbled around the apartment, bathing, laying down, cooking and doing dishes automatically, trying to make sense of her experiences. The memories and incidents were fresh and graphic, but so were her physical reactions. The hooker thing, that was just an abberation, another fluke. She had know way to know it, but her explosive waking was the effect of a methamphetamine suppository countering the narcotic drugs in her system. Her mouth was constricted by some sort of gag, it pushed her jaws open and leather straps pulled tight against her cheek. In her confused, disoriented state she could not even put together the thoughts to wonder why or how she was trussed in this position.

To say this turned her on wasn't quite right, rather, it heated her, raised her temperature, fascinated her with its consequences and implications. She caught herself, but I don't want to make it easy, so if you want me, you have to work for it. There was a slim chance she might be passing through on that day. Find a traffic point where everyone had to pass through, find someplace comfortable and wait and watch. Always a little short, a little tall, a little heavy, the earings not quite as described, an article of clothing close but not quite. Fifteen minutes later, she came and as usual, signed off the net. There were six of them to stake out the four areas. If she wore even part of the outfit, hell, even if she didn't wear, there was still a chance they might spot her.... She smiled to herself, her outfit attracted a lot of attention, she was very conscious of being window shopped herself. Lynsey smiled, working the skirt down over her hips. Not looking at them was easier, she clutched her breasts and stared at the brick wall. Hook your thumbs into those panties, it ordered, roll it down really slow. As she performed, Peter asked Ian, So, how you want to do it? Between them, Lynsey gagged, her body heaving, but she was trapped and helpless. They forced another orgasm from her body before Peter came. Her expensive, conservative skirt and blouse and jacket was now smeared with dirt, torn, soiled with urine. Passengers got on and off, she came to her stop, but when she tried to get up, Ian shook his head. Now, put the other pair of cuffs around your wrists. She was almost completely compliant, with only bare hesitations. All that subliminal training in obedience on the net? He activated the door opener for the attached garage. The only thing that mattered, as she was going to find out, was what he wanted. It's like the opposite of a big meal, you know, all the blood goes to internal organs for digestion, your arms and legs feel tired. They were what we'd call rape after the fact.' Some girl does it with her boyfriend and you know, stuff happens, she freaks out that she might be pregnant, she gets an attack of the guilts, he turns out to be a jerk, she gets caught by her daddy or husband... He paused and looked expectancy at Lynsey, putting her on the spot. That's what the physical exam is really for by the way, to see if there's sexual arousal, or if its really rape. * * * * * * * * Lynsey returned home to an angry message on her answering machine from her employer, asking about her whereabouts and why she hadn't shown up for work. The next couple of days she stayed home as well, calling in sick, and ignoring the increasingly frustrated messages left by her office. But now, she looked at her bodies reactions, and could not be sure that they had really happened the way she though they had. She found it difficult to work through, difficult to think. Shame on her for dressing like a hooker, she'd deserved it. The two combined to leave her jangling and disoriented. Lynsey was only aware of her bondage in the center of her own home, and her weak pointless thrashings to free herself. Up to the moment that the strange hands took possession of her, it had not even occurred to her, in her drug and fatigue addled state, to even suspect that she might not be alone.

Perhaps, it was because her life had been so smooth that she harboured a secret little hunger. Yeah, Mike challenged, what are you wearing right now? Once or twice, in the middle of the day, she even had to sneak in to some bathroom and quickly masturbate. They were the Linsey project, and there were six of them. After all, guys with identical interests, the same sorts of nasty, misogynous tastes in women, it was nice to go to a strip club, tip a beer and fuck with some desperate stripper. A black steelworker, a computer nerd, a mechanic and so on.... Mike had introduced some real time friends to the chatroom. Hmmm, Zacc said, we should put that one in the maybe category. They had, by this time, a very detailed description of her appearance, not quite enough for a police sketch artist, but getting better all the time. * * * * * * * * * Ian had been sitting at the skytrain gate to Metrotown reading the same damned newspaper for four hours. All the things he could be doing today, instead, he was here wasting his time on the off chance that some blonde bitch might be passing by. A tall blonde, maybe 5'7" without her heels, paused on the platform. Her gaze swept over him, indifferent, didn't linger. Keep fucking dancing you stupid cunt, Peter yelled. Over her, she heard Peter and Ian chuckling and felt shame. He reached down and loosed a stream of pure urine that landed mere inches from her face. It was dirty, she could feel the dirt, the grit on her tongue. She wanted to vomit, but instead, she obediently licked away, sticking her tongue out and giving the filthy boots long wet licks. She studied his face, searching for any hint of deception. He shifted in his chair, his cock rigid again, as an iron bar. He had the stupid bitch just about convinced that it wasn't rape at all, that it was her fault. Her face was ashen, but she nodded, barely registering him. He had her lie with her face in his lap, another deliberate humiliation, explaining that he didn't want her to see his neighborhood... He let her out on the busy street, and then, just as she took too steps away, he called her back, to demand a kiss. She didn't masturbate, of course, she didn't dare confront that.So of course, they commanded, describing slutty outfits, ordering, sending her searching. Their long length wrapped in fishnet, the slivers of garter belt and bare skin around the stocking as he dress had ridden up before being unconsciously pushed back down. Still, she was keyed up and excited from her experience. Grabbing her hair, he yanked her upright, then lifted her cuffed hands quickly, setting them into a hook hanging from a cord in the ceiling. A dry sound died in her throat, and she nodded quickly, never taking her eyes off him. You do every fucking thing you're told, and you do it like you like it.... Then the clasp snapped and the bra flopped open, exposing her heaving breasts and hard nipples. He took two fingers of lubrication and smeared it liberally between her ass cheeks.Linsey would dress the part for her computer screen, making herself look like a cheap whore, even putting runs in stockings, sloppily applying make up... And when she got breast implants, she even mostly believed it was her idea. Maybe even a glimpse of pussy as she'd sat down, that would be too lucky... He flipped open his cell phone, Target is lost, he announced. She dropped a handful of worthless, mostly false, clues, and reached a satisfying orgasm. It all happened so fast, Lynsey barely registered the hook clamping shut on her handcuff chain. He slid his hand into her blouse, pulling her breast out, pleased to note the hardness in her nipples. Lynsey was panting harshly, partly fear, Jack thought, partly lust. Lynsey gasped, not quite understanding this new cold sensation.And, once in a while, she'd lie about what she was wearing, or what she was going out in, just to throw it off, although in those moments, she'd tell herself that she was just bored with the game and who cares anyway. Many of the shots were junk, or of her backside, which wasn't bad because she had a clearly fuckable ass. The fabric tore with a ripping sound all the way up to the waist, where the heavy stitching held. Still crazed with arousal, addled with the combination of narcotics and amphetamines in her system, helpless in her bindings, Lynsey moaned with confusion, she didn't fully understand what was going on. Mike rolled the head of his cock back and forth between her butt cheeks as she squirmed. He bent forward, laying his hips across her ass, his cock resting against her hungry lips, so near and yet so far. Her mind had ceased to function, and she was now all animal fright and sensation.So, although they were steadily closing in on her, she remained safe and oblivious. * * * * * * * * * * * Her undoing came on a Saturday morning. There were a few standout shots, of her breasts, of her face and profile, and one very provocative shot giving the most tantalizing glimpse of her pussy. He worked his fingers into the wasteband and pulled, yanking her off balance and making her shriek. He swung her around, her wrists twisting painfully. Good enough, now Lynsey, he said, I'm not good at counting, so you'll have to count. She thrashed wildly, never acknowledging her helplessness. Lynsey knew it was her rapist's huge cock trying to breach her. She squeezed herself shut with every fibre of strength in her being.

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  1. "It would just be me they'd arrest—not the women—and Kristin knows what to do if that happens," he says as he packs up the car. I felt like I had to do something, as an artist and a woman.