Rape Toys

Chapter 8 – Bound to Please

Pablo lounged in his van by the side of the road, lazily taking in the sights. The Columbian drug dealer was back in the United States, having generously donated his tongue-clipped bitch to a charity fuck-a-thon back in Columbia. Serious money was riding on her as the fluffers worked on their knees, hardening cocks to open Yvonne's fuck-hole for a long series of brief, brutal invasions.

Pablo was confident that Yvonne would cum up with a winning performance. If she succeeded in fucking a thousand men, Yvonne would be allowed to keep her fingers and toes and a local hospital would get a generous donation, a perfect win-win situation. Thus, he made sure that Yvonne was properly motivated and also that medical personnel were working to keep her at it. Eager for the donation, teams of handlers were pumping her full of amphetamines and antibiotics to keep her going, keeping her fluid levels up by scooping up the cum and making her swallow it, icing down her swollen labia, monitoring her progress, ensuring that the naked, clit-less, tongue-clipped bitch on her plastic-covered, frequently-hosed-down mattress was humping hard for charity.

Back in the good ole USA, land of opportunity, Pablo was looking for some tender American meat to amuse him. The women in Columbia, a land of ultra-violence and quick death, tended to be tough. The gently raised, parentally pampered and thoroughly spoiled American Beauty was a much more tender flower. He derived great pleasure from uprooting these flowers and plucking the petals, one by one, from the rose.

It was Jennifer's misfortune to saunter past Pablo's parked van in a halter-top and shorts. It was even worse luck that she chose that moment to fix an undone shoelace.

Unaware of Pablo, watching in deadly silence behind her in the van, the twenty-five year old American-born Asian beauty bent over to tie up her running shoe. As the back of her shorts pulled down slightly, Pablo was treated to the sight of the word slut tattooed in small black block letters just above her tight oriental buns.

It was a warm, bright, sunny spring day. Small, colourful birds fluttered in and out of the dense branches of the trees lining the street. They landed and puffed out their small feathery chests, warbling beautifully as they sought to attract a mate with skilful trills, cheerful chirps and carefully preened plumage.

Pablo used a more take-charge approach to mating.

After a quick glance to make sure that no one was paying attention, partially hidden anyway by the body of the van and the trees, Pablo eased open the door. Sensing movement behind her, Jennifer tugged the knot of her shoelace tight and hurriedly straightened up. Pablo clipped her across the back of the head with his spring-loaded sap. Her shoulder length black hair with burgundy highlights fluffed prettily, as if ruffled by a strong breeze. He caught her as she fell. He lifted her, putting an arm around her shoulders like one helping a drunken friend, and smoothly muscled her unconscious body into the van.

He drove off, a powerful predator fresh from the kill, eager to feast. He pulled into a secluded nook and got down to business.

Her unconscious body lay facedown on the floor of the van. He untied Jennifer's running shoes and peeled off her white socks, revealing small perfect feet with carefully buffed and polished toenails. He ran his hands up her slim legs, feeling the firm youthful muscles, massaging her pliant flesh, enjoying the feel of her smooth, unblemished skin under his palms. He squeezed her tight buns through the fabric of her shorts, raised her arms and tugged off her halter-top. He unhooked her white bra and flipped her over.

He pulled off her 34B bra and was delighted to see erect nipples pierced with small silver rings. The navel on her smooth flat belly was also pierced with a silver ring. He removed her delicate earrings and nipple rings. Heavy-duty steel rings would replace them. On a hunch, he opened her mouth. Sure enough, a silver barbell pierced her tongue. With growing excitement, he pulled down her shorts and panties. Her smooth cunt was pierced with small silver labia rings.

Pablo was in love.

He hogtied her, peed on her panties and jammed them into her mouth. As Jennifer's eyes fluttered open, he taped her lips shut. As his urine trickled tastily over her tongue and down the back of her throat, she squealed in distress. He slapped her hard in the face.

"Shut up, bitch! You speak only when spoken to."

Jennifer stared at him, her brown eyes huge, the imprint of his hand burning on her cheek. Excited, he pulled out his rock hard dick, gripped it firmly and pumped it briskly. Gripping her painfully by the hair, he quickly came in her face. He tilted her head to one side and ran his fingers firmly along the underside of his penis from the base to the tip to squeeze out the last drops off cum into her ear hole. Then he relaxed beside her, slipping a couple of fingers up her cunt as he rubbed his thick, sticky peckersnot into her pretty face with his other hand.

"There's lots more where that came from, cunt."

He wormed his thumb into her asshole and froze her very soul with a chilling prediction.

"With a bit of excruciating surgery, you're going to make the perfect fucktoy."

Meanwhile, Star and Kirstie were enjoying challenges of their own.

Each stood, barefoot, handcuffed and hooded, between two sturdy posts which would hold and support a victim during her ordeal, facing tall mirrors to enable the victim to view her own torment. The posts between which each prisoner stood were five inches in diameter and were set in the floor three and a half feet apart. The two sets of poles were at right angles to each other, so that each victim could see what was done to the other as well as seeing her own torment in the mirror. The poles were equipped with brackets, holes and cleats so that their interrogators could tie them to the poles in a delightful variety of deeply vulnerable positions.

Achmed and Mohammed did Star first. A well-practised team, they uncuffed her wrists. Each took a wrist firmly in hand and attached it to a leather cuff on a rope fastened to a pulley on top of the post on either side of her. They pulled the rope through the pulley, shortening it until Star's arms were pulled wide apart and she was standing up ramrod straight. They cleated the ropes to hold her in place.

Working quickly and expertly, the two men pulled her feet apart and roped her ankles to the bottoms of the posts. After she was spread-eagled between the two poles, the kneeling men ran their hands up over Star's calves, working under her dress to caress her inner thighs and, finally, delving between her spread legs to stroke, fondle, pinch, and finger their helpless victim's panty-less pussy and bare buns.

They pulled off her hood. Her pretty toes curled as they groped the goodies, feeling her up. Star groaned and moaned into her gag. Her body writhed and squirmed under their probing, intimately invasive hands. Achmed grinned.

"Let's strip her for action."

A few snips of the scissors and Star was spread-eagled stark naked, the most intimate and sensitive portions of her delectable flesh exposed and vulnerable. Achmed nodded at Kirstie standing barefoot in her t-shirt and jeans.

"Let's see what the other young lady has to offer."

Kirstie's long blond hair flowed out the back of her hood to her waist. Her flesh had crawled as she listened in horror, imagining the torturers' hands stripping her and fondling her own flesh. Now it was her turn. Nevertheless, she felt a frisson of excitement. She never imagined that being an Internet researcher could be so dangerous.

In no time, she too was spread-eagled between the posts. They removed the hood from her head. The first thing she saw was a nude, totally exposed Star, eyes bulging, panting hard. The news anchor had really first class tits and perfect nipples. A shy, intensely modest person, Kirstie wondered if she could measure up as she felt the scissors snipping away her clothes. She wondered anxiously what the two metal rods sticking out of the pot of boiling water were for. Nothing good, she felt sure. Flickering torches, the only light in the dark dungeon, made for spooky illumination of their nude sweating bodies.

She saw the glint of anticipatory pleasure in Achmed's snakelike eyes. Mohammed's dark eyes glistened fiercely as he drank in her lithe beauty. Pale pink nipples capped apple size breasts. A golden wisp of pubic hair did nothing to cover her tight slit. She had a runner's legs and the flat muscled belly of the dedicated fitness addict.

Kirstie cringed as she recognized the feral cruelty of the two men. A shudder of horror ran through her body like an electric current as she realized that they were looking forward to abusing her. It was going to be fun for them. A small shiver of delicious anticipation flickered beneath her feeling of absolute terror. This was a LOT like some of her secret sexual fantasies: the public humiliation, the hard cruel men possessing her, breaking her to their will. She scanned the savagely expectant faces of the men surrounding her, ostensibly there to learn interrogation techniques from the masters, and understood that they too were looking forward to watching her suffer.

Kirstie's cheeks reddened as it sank in that she was fully exposed in a room full of men. Totally naked, completely vulnerable, she couldn't cover or protect herself in any way. All she could do was steel herself, bluster bravely and to try to give them as little as possible. Other people's lives were depending on her. The people she had contacted over the Internet had wanted guarantees of confidentiality, guarantees that she had personally given. The proud beauty, young and idealistic, seeing herself naked in the mirror, tried to reassure herself that she had what it took to protect her sources from these evil men. The mirror was angled up slightly so that, as she looked into it, it looked like she was a pair of tits and a cunt.

Kirstie's blue eyes grew huge as Achmed and Mohammed donned executioner's hoods and several video cameras were produced. Fucking over a famous American news anchor while the cameras rolled would be a publicity triumph for the Arab terror machine. They would be spitting in the face of American Homeland Security and President Bush's War on Terror, which was beginning to look a lot more like a war of conquest in search of Arab oil. After all, Osama was still free and Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11. While Iraq's Weapons of Mass Destruction didn't exist, their possession of the second largest oil fields in the world was an established fact, well known to George W. Bush's financial backers (which include, curiously, the Bin Laden family! This may help explain why, at the war's peak, there were fewer American troops chasing Osama in Afghanistan than there are policemen in Manhattan).

Two cameras were focussed on Star who was obviously to be worked on first. One was on Kirstie to record her reaction and capture every detail of her nudity, from the small birthmark on her left breast to her fine wisps of almost transparent pubic hair.

Kirstie's long blond hair was tied around a steel ring attached to a rope over her head. The rope was pulled up. It felt like the roots of her hair were pulling out of her scalp as she was forced to hold her head up, achingly erect. The video camera captured the panic in her flushed, fine-featured face.

Star lowered her head in shame. Her hair swung forward, partly covering her face. Achmed's mocking voice dripped with false sympathy.

"Is the famous American anchor woman a bit camera shy? Awww, poor baby!"

Achmed wanted the anchor bitch's features clearly visible to the cameras so that they could capture every twitch and flinch; the pulsing arteries in her flushed face, her bulging baby blues, all of the tears and each dribble of snot. He wrapped a wide leather collar around her throat, forcing her chin up, compelling her frantic, bloodshot eyes to stare out at the cameras. He buckled the row of straps along the back of the collar to eyeball popping tightness.

"Now, let's see what you have to offer."

Star struggled as Achmed, who had moved behind her, reached under her arms, grabbed a breast with each hand and snuggled up close. As she struggled to pull away, Star felt something long and hard rolling against her back. With a shock she realized that it was Achmed's erection. He was huge. Star wondered why she'd not noticed it before. Feeling his erect penis against her bare buttocks, she squawked frantically, desperately trying to plead through her gag.

He began fondling her tits, gently at first. Embarrassingly, her nipples hardened and stood erect under his expert manipulation. He grasped her breasts and mimed milking a goat. His violence increased. Before long, he was crushing and squeezing her succulent snoobs. He whispered mockingly into the struggling beauty's ear as he tugged at her titmeat, a stage whisper for the cameras.

"Stupid goat girl! Big-shot know-it-all American pig-dog news anchor! See how helpless you are! We Arabs are not so weak and powerless after all! I can do what I wish to you, in your own country! You are no longer a smart-mouth newswoman blabbing foolishly about things you know nothing of! You are now a lowly animal, fettered and displayed before your betters. Your private areas, your udders, your cunt and, the part of the body that you think with, your asshole, are completely unprotected and available to all."

His audience sniggered appreciatively. Hefting her breasts, Achmed mugged for the cameras.

"This stupid woman must be half camel - a two humper! What big milk bags you have, not that anyone but the depraved Israeli's would drink cow's milk. If these udders were full, you'd have enough to start feeding the children your country has forced into starvation in Iraq and Afghanistan, not that they would sicken themselves by sampling such worthless offal."

The cameras focussed on her crotch as Achmed jammed a thumb and forefinger from either hand deep into Star's honey pot. Star shrieked as he pinched the pink painfully on either side of her love tunnel and pulled outwards, opening her cunt agonizingly wide for the viewers.

"The American Beauty is a pretty rose, eh? As everyone can plainly see, this unmarried female is not even close to being a virgin! Let's heat her up and see what sort of performer this shameless whore is."

Stepping back and grabbing a torch, he dipped it between her legs, skilfully cooking her inner thighs and cunt to a bright red with no blistering and no destruction of the pain receptors transmitting the agony to her brain. Star shrieked high and hard. Strong gloved hands prised apart her tightly clenched buttocks, exposing her rectum and the crack of her ass to the flickering flame of Achmed's torch. He roasted her armpits to a bright red and then allowed the flames to lick up her belly and toast her titmeat.

"Everybody thought that remark of the Iraqi Information Minister about grilling American bellies in hell was a joke. This stupid American, with her hot red belly being cooked in the flames by an Arab devil, isn't laughing."

Red faced and screaming, tears streaming down her congested face and snot streaming from her congested nose, Star shrieked even higher as her slapped her reddened asscheeks. Her eyes bulged as he wormed a finger into her incandescent asshole and rubbed her bright red belly.

"Pretty funny, eh?"

Kirstie stared bug-eyed at Star's sweat-slick form writhing in the light of the torches, the firelight flickering beautifully on her glistening naked body. She did seem to be a sinner being roasted in hell by hawk-nosed demons. Achmed looped a rope around each of Star's knees and passed it through a waist-high hole in the corresponding pole. He loosened her dainty ankles and pulled firmly on the ropes attached to her knees, spreading them wide. Attempting to ease the pressure on her hips, Star splayed her legs sideways as he lifted her toes from the floor. Displayed obscenely, hanging by her slim wrists, her chest compressed by the strain, Star was breathing in short fast pants, her tits aquiver, moaning in fear and pain, her lovely blue eyes pleading desperately.

Thoughtfully, Achmed placed an inverted bucket under each foot so that Star was able to achieve some support on tiptoes, just enough to cause her calves to cramp agonizingly in short order.

She screamed as the first rapist penetrated her, rubbing painfully against her toasted tits and burning belly. She screamed even higher as her rosy red buttocks were parted and a greased dick slithered into her roasted rectum.

Star fainted, only to be awakened, shrieking wildly, by the next penetration. Hanging naked in the firelight, Star alternated between fainting and screaming as the men lined up, back and front, for a series of agonizing violations.

Kirstie's bowels contracted as Mohammed ran his finger thoughtfully along her exposed slit.

"Achmed says that you are more sensitive than the famous anchor woman and so must be handled more delicately."

Like Achmed, he plunged his thumbs and long, strong fingers into her cunt. He pinched either side, pulled outwards and opened her vaginal passage wide for the cameras. Kirstie whimpered as he exhibited her most intimate orifice to the cameras.

"What shameless hussies these American women are! Not a virgin in sight! Another goddamned media whore! Creatures of the war-mongering arch-fiend George Bush, pious hypocrites, cursed by Allah!"

He put on an oven mitt and pulled one of the steel rods out of the boiling water.

"We know exactly how to treat such depraved bitches. Water boils at 100 degrees Celsius, or 212 degrees Fahrenheit as you Americans say. A rod kept in boiling water for very long heats to exactly the boiling point of water, allowing for a controlled scald."

Kirstie shrieked insanely as he rammed the scalding hot rod up her cunt as far as it would go. As she jiggled and quaked for the cameras, he kept an eye on his watch, a master chef timing the cooking of the cuntskin lining of her prick pocket carefully. He pulled the rod out and put it back in the water. He waited patiently while Kirstie screamed her brains out. When the noise died down a bit, he pulled out the second, smaller steel rod from the boiling water and wormed it into her asshole. Red-faced, her voice screeched even higher, sounding barely human. She jerked frantically but futilely against her bonds. A small trickle of blood dripped from her nostril onto her bare, bouncing breast as her blood pressure sky-rocketed.

Mohammed grunted in satisfaction as he withdrew the rod from her rectum.

"A much smaller burn than your friend, but I think you'll find it just as effective."

The eager rapists lined up front and back and began to open her hot holes with their uncircumcised dicks. Kirstie shrieked wildly with each thrust, struggling dementedly sandwiched between two hard humping rapists. Their penises were gripped tightly as they slithered in and out of her badly swollen fuckhole and aching asshole. Each deep reaming thrust burned agonizingly between her legs.

Much later, Achmed and Mohammed got down to the nitty-gritty of interrogation. Ice cuts the pain of a burn. Profoundly grateful for having ice rubbed over their burns and all raped out, they caved in completely. There was no pious nonsense about a newswoman protecting her sources while often giving away that same source by the very news she reported.

Achmed rubbed ice over Star's belly, buns and breasts. In Kirstie's case, Mohammed lovingly inserted small ice chips up her cunt and into her asshole. At the smallest hesitation, the ice was removed and a quick, brisk rub of their burns had them once more pathetically eager to please, imploring, wheedling, whining, praying, begging, and giving them all of the nitty and every bit of the gritty. Beaten bitches, they gave up names, addresses and telephone numbers. They eagerly surrendered their bank accounts and PIN numbers. They screamed, slobbered and sobbed out descriptions of their co-workers in the smallest detail: hangouts, hobbies, habits, moles and scars. Big, flowery descriptions flowed from their eager-to-please ungagged lips. They would have confessed to the Lindberg kidnapping, burying Jimmy Hoffa and helping Hitler to escape the bunker if it had been asked of them. By the time they were done, Achmed and Mohammed had everything important down two different ways.

Achmed and Mohammed ball-gagged and hogtied their two naked bitches. As they were tossed, squealing like pigs, into the portable dog kennels that would be used to transport them, Achmed chatted amiably with Mohammed.

"They'll heal. We broke the bitches with no permanent damage so we can make a few bucks peddling their asses on one of the Middle East meat market. Celebrity skin and blond bitches bring top dollar."

Mohammed nodded and grinned.