USED GOODS

By Velvetglove

Copyright and Disclaimer

‘Used Goods’ is an original work of fiction and neither events nor characters portrayed are based in reality. Any resemblance with actual persons is entirely coincidental. It is a short story in one part.

WARNING: this story is nastier and less tongue-in-cheek than my usual fiction. It contains gratuitous cruelty and rape. Please do not read any further if such things offend or provoke you. The author utterly condemns such activities in real life. Story Codes are: M/f, non-consensual, heavy, humiliation, S/M, modification. Copyright is asserted by the author and no reposting to other sites or commercial use whatsoever is authorised.

USED GOODS

I watched her lock the front door and walk to her car.

She was smiling, the sunlight glinting off her buttery blonde hair. Her hips swayed in clinging trackpants and her breasts filled the tight yellow top. She climbed into the BMW and moments later I watched her drive away.

I waited while her street continued its quiet suburban rhythm; kids playing three houses away, a girl cycling to school on her bike, a bespectacled man setting off for work in his beaten up Honda.

Gradually ‘rush hour’ – such as it was here – returned to virtual standstill.

The war between the security industry and people like me does not comprise pitch battles, but rather an endless series of skirmishes. One day they score a small victory, the next we grab the initiative back. But the average homeowner is nothing more than an innocent civilian caught between the two opposing forces. Only the mega-rich can afford proper protection. Everybody else is exploited either by salesmen offering crummy systems, criminals taking their possessions, or often both at once.

It took me 27 seconds to enter her house, leaving no signs and setting off no alarms. I wandered from room to room, even though I knew they would all be empty. Her husband had left for work half an hour earlier. I checked out his private stuff, rifling through his closet and desk. She had gone to the gym, after which, as always, she’d buy a Latte from Starbucks and return home. I had between 90 minutes and two hours to wait.

In the kitchen, I found the remains of breakfast. The coffee was still warm. On the table were used bowls and smeared plates, along with toast crumbs, preserves and boxes of Corn Flakes and muesli. I fancied a slug of orange juice but thought better of it. Best keep my DNA off the scene. Instead I went back upstairs to rifle through their possessions with my gloved hands.

I was wrong. She actually arrived back within 88 minutes. She collapsed into my arms inside the kitchen as I enveloped her nostrils in the drug soaked cloth. I even managed to catch the takeaway coffee cup before she dropped it. Her cheeks were still pink with exertion from the gym and there was sweat in her hairline. I gently let her slide to the marble floor.

I guess it would be nice if I could explain that she deserved it in some way. Had maybe done something in her past that merited what was about to happen. But I’m afraid not. Nope, she was guilty of nothing more than being a sexy 27 year old wife I’d spotted a few weeks earlier during a reconnaissance visit to this town 50 miles from where I live. I love blondes, big boobs and super slim waists. When I get all three and they belong to another man’s wife, well, it’s snap, crackle and pop !

As usual, I decided to do the honours on the kitchen table. Many home invaders favour the marital bed as the best place to do it but the ‘heart of the home’ is my preference. I like imagining how much they’ll enjoy tucking into supper here in the traumatic weeks and months to come ? This one was a sturdy, circular wooden table, which could seat six people easily. She was out cold and I swept the breakfast remains onto the floor, then hefted her up onto it. I eased her trainers, socks and track pants off, leaving her in just a skimpy pair of shorts below her waist. Next I tugged her yellow top over her head to reveal one of those lycra training bras underneath.

I ferreted into my travel bag and found what I was looking for. I have special cuffs, chains and straps that are suitable for every shape of table, although they work fine with beds and sofas too. I fastened her up nice, secure and displayed, with her wrists chained and cuffed to the far end of the table, and a leather strap holding her waist and butt over the edge next to me. Finally, I put on double cuffs that fastened her ankles to her thighs, so her knees were up, giving me a nice ‘v’ to aim at, and a ball gag that locked round the back of her neck. I put a black leather hood over her head and zipped it up tight.

She was still out cold but I was bored. I took my scissors and cut her skimpy shorts and training bra open, so that I could peel them both apart and inspect the goods I’d spotted outside her gym three weeks earlier. Her cunt was bald except for a tiny tuft of blonde and I was chuffed to find that she looked clean. There’s nothing I dislike more than sloppy seconds. It’s always a risk with these young wives without kids that they’re still giving their husbands dawn chorus fucks. I inserted my plastic gloved finger between her labia. It slid in easily but when I pulled it out it glistened with sweat, nothing more. She smelt like vanilla, not fishy.

Next, her tits. I flipped open the bra and found the size label. D. I’d guessed right. She needed it too. Her tits were still young and firm, standing proud, although her nipples were squashed flat in their pink surrounds. I pulled my digital out of my bag and snapped a series of souvenir close ups. For the ‘before’ and ‘after’ series. I was pleased to hear some groans that signalled she was coming round. Her wrists rattled the steel chains that secured her arms above her head.

I tore the wrapper off the condom and rolled the superfine ribbed special onto my eager erection. You must spare no expense with protection; a rip would be dangerous but you want to feel as close as you can. She wriggled as much as she could but that wasn’t much. The mewls from within the leather helmet were amusingly indignant. I adjusted her by the knees so her butt hung over the rim of the table and eased my shaft into her entrance. Pleasingly it took a bit of time and effort to wedge myself in all the way. With luck her husband was on the small side. But eventually I was in up to my balls and I had her plump tits in my hands to steer her by.

It’s a very different feeling. The previous night I’d made love to my own wife as usual. I’m always horny the night before a hit. She’s mid-thirties and has had our two kids but that’s not what makes the difference. It’s something to do with a victim’s vaginal muscles contracting as they try to resist the invasion, even though there is nothing they can actually do about it.

I like to think of myself as a good fuck. I’ve generally been able to make girlfriends and the missus cum pretty regularly. But those stories where the unwilling woman climaxes on her rapist’s cock are baloney. I mean, it’s probably happened, but mostly it’s just guys like us trying to make ourselves feel okay. No sir, an orgasm was the last thing on this 27 year old bimbo’s mind I can assure you. But it was way at the forefront of mine. I always like to get the first one out of the way. Let them hear you grunt and groan as you collapse across their heaving chests.

I peeled off and knotted the condom carefully, then cracked open a can of beer from my bag. Her body tensed. Most victims retain one last hope at this stage. That it will be over quickly and you’ll be gone. The cracking open of a can and a satisfied belch is a neat way of crushing their optimism. Time for a little mind-fucking monologue.

“Hi doll. You have a fucking nice cunt. For now.”

Give her a few moments to mull that over. Another swig of beer.

“Nod your head if you heard what I said.”

Watch the leather helmet rise slightly and then fall.

Then stick the end of a switchblade into her cuntlips. Not enough to draw blood but a sharp, shocking prick.

“It would take me thirty seconds to slice your cunt up so that it could never be put back together again.”

She could barely move, but if she could have, she would. There was a muted, moaning sound.

I pressed the steel tip against the rim of her anus. “Hold still.”

She froze, silent.

I teasingly slid the knife up her thighs. Her skin goose-bumped with fear. “That’s it, good girly !” I spoke to her like she was a dog. The canine sort. A bitch. “Now spread your thighs as wide as you can. That’s it. Push out your hips. Show me your cunt.”

I reached into my travel bag and picked out my portable branding iron. It was in its charger and the end already glowed bright red. The end was a metal circle with 4 iron letters mounted inside it.

She seemed to sense something bad was happening.

“Hips out !” I snapped. “Present that clit to me.”

She wailed inside the claustrophobic leather hood. Helpless, she could obviously feel the heat of the iron inches from her mound.

“Shall I burn your clitty off ?” I asked her. “You’ll never cum again.”

I jumped back. There was a hiss. She’d pissed herself in fear. An arc of urine had splashed the end of the iron making it sizzle. I watched her bladder emptying onto the floor. Then I plugged the iron back into its charger. You can delay, lady, but you can’t change the ending.

“Nice shot !” I mock-congratulated her, patting her mound. “Don’t worry. Sex can be good without having any orgasms. You and your husband will learn to enjoy it. Nice and gentle, romantic, cuddly. Maybe you’ll both prefer it if you blow him in future rather than use your mutilated cunt.”

Her head rocked from side to side on the table in desperation.

I picked up the iron again and blew on the end. It was nice and hot.

“Let’s start with those big hooters, shall we ?”

I used the switchblade against her chest to hold her still and banged the iron into the meat of her left boob. A quick stab and out, like a good cowhand.

She made quite a ruckus even through the gag and hood.

Four letters were seared into the soft white canvas of her breast:

U S E D

I’ve found it’s a highly effective word. It plays havoc with a couple’s mind. After a few weeks, it’s healed to just a hard, dark scar. Overtime the colour fades but it remains unavoidable and legible for life.

I stood back and admired the USED on each D-cup tit and a third USED on the centre of her pubic mound, where it had singed through her tiny tuft of hair. It was true too. I had used her cunt.

I’d spared her clit. Call me a softie.

Then I took a series of digital photos. In the months to come, once they’d started to get over the worst of their ordeal, I’d send them anonymous postcards out of the blue. She’s at home opening a bill.  Whoops. Out pops an ‘after’ photo. He’s at his office opening a letter. Damn. His day’s ruined.

Then I turned her over.

It was time to complete the set.

I heated up the iron and popped two more USED logos into her buttocks. She took them surprisingly quietly, her body slumped semi-conscious on the table, her mouth undoubtedly dry and exhausted.

I rolled a condom onto my dick and ripped her newly scorched cheeks open. She made a rather pathetic effort to resist but I was soon embedded into her anus up to my balls.

This time I took longer than the fuck. I dragged it out, enjoying myself, humming a little tune, slapping her tender loins.

But eventually I filled the condom and dropped onto her back.

“Swallow.”

I’d knocked her out with a mild anaesthetic for five minutes, sufficient time to flip her back over, remove her hood, take out the gag, then refasten the hood on her head but with the zipper over her mouth open.

When she came round, I used my gloved hand to squeeze the contents of both condoms slowly between her lips. I was careful to make sure every drop disappeared down her throat. Not even the most advanced detective work can identify semen that’s passed through a woman’s digestive tract.

It completed the set; cunt, anus and mouth.

Even with the hood on, I could see the curl of distaste on her lips.

“Here.”

I carefully placed the open flap of the carton of orange juice from their breakfast onto her lips. She sipped thirstily, washing away any last traces of DNA evidence in her gums and teeth.

“Well, darling.” I said. “That was an unexpectedly fun way to fill the morning, wasn’t it ?”

“Please … d … don’t kill me …” she whispered.

“Kill you ? On no, that’s not my scene. I take such care, precisely so that I don’t have to kill you. No, I want you to live a long, long life.”

“ …why …”

“No ! Don’t torment yourself with that question. Why ? Why does anything happen ? It could have been a car crash instead. Whoom ! A big truck and you’re dead. Or crippled. Or you could have felt a lump in that boob of yours and gone to see the doctor this morning. Boom. Sorry, dear, you’ve got cancer.”

Her tongue licked her dry lips. Her glistening teeth really were perfect.

“But instead, this happened. Bad luck I guess but, all in all, better than death, or being crippled, or diagnosed with cancer, huh ?”

She had no answer to that. She just started crying so I gagged her, this time with the gag outside the helmet so she could breathe slightly easier.

I tidied up, repacked my travel bag, wiped down surfaces. I left her puddle of urine. I was wearing a pair of her husband’s camping boots that I’d found upstairs. They were a size too small for me. I’d take them with me and destroy them. But his prints would maybe occupy the detectives a while ? That’s if they decided to call the cops. Not everyone did.

My last act was to set up the remains of breakfast around her. Broken bowls from the floor, shards of smeared plates, cutlery and preserves.

Only serial perfectionists like me give any thought to how they want their victims found. Her husband would come home, as usual, about six. He’d find her there, a naked living-sculpture, splayed out, across the middle of the breakfast table he’d left her sitting at this morning.

Finally, my signature.

I plonked the boxes of Corn Flakes and muesli either side of her used flesh.

Guess what. The “Cereal Rapist” had struck again !

THE END

By the same Author:

Completed Novels:

“After the Pestilence” – a long (80,000 words) novel set in the near future, involving numerous characters and containing, as one reviewer said, ‘something for everyone’ (most of it is non-consensual and the humiliation is extreme, although the actual violence is mainly moderate).

“Five Words” – a long (70,000 words) Fem-domme novel, starting with just five words that changed his life. The handful of words that turned him from a husband, father and businessman to something else entirely’ (a bdsm romance).

“Best Enjoyed Cold” – A medium length (35,000 words) ‘Rape and Revenge’ thriller (non-consensual and emotionally cruel).

“Priceless” – A medium length (32,000 words) ‘Blackmail Saga’, originally conceived as a short-story, that grew into a novella punctuated by advertising industry taglines (consensual becomes non-consensual).

New Short Stories:

“Credit Crunch” – a two part Male-dom short story (M/f), September 2008

“Loaning Lucy” – a single part Fem-domme, lesbian short story (F/f), September 2008, that may continue depending on reviews and reader feedback

Completed Short Stories:

“A Special Relationship” and “A Special Weekend” – A fem-sub story and its sequel set in present day England of an Anglo-American relationship, involving a submissive British woman whose boundaries are pushed to their very limit by her younger dominant boyfriend during two turbulent weekends (a consensual story involving cuckqueening, female chastity and humiliation). This was originally intended as a ‘trilogy’ but due to reviews of A Special Weekend, the third instalment was canned.

“Son-of-a-Gun” – A male-dom short story set in both the mid-nineteenth century and the present day recounting the fate of two young ladies at the mercy of a desperate ship’s crew stranded on a remote island (part non-consensual and part consensual involving moderate bdsm and humiliation).

“The Ballad of Lara and Gemma” – a Fem-domme, lesbian spin-off tale from ‘After the Pestilence’, in two parts, describing the infatuation of a Domme and her unwilling female slave (all non-consensual scenes and extreme humiliation, including scat).

Unfinished Business:

“Hard Labor” – intended as a multi-part novel set in the near future but I’m afraid writer’s block has prevented continuation of this story for the moment (non-consensual)

“Short n Sweet” –  a Male-dom story first posted at the same time as “Five Words”, with an invitation for readers to choose which novel was continued. Five Words won ! (consensual, at least for now ?)

“Hors d’oeuvres” and “Amuse-Bouches” (both written in English by the way !) – two collections of three ‘first chapters’ that were never continued.