Author Topic: Alone in the Woods  (Read 4205 times)

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October 26, 2017, 11:51:57 PM

Offline SportyVictim

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Alone in the Woods
by Sporty Victim
(WARNING!    You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex.  If you do not like such stories, please stop reading.)

Dear Rapyst,
Thanks for your detailed testimonial.  I feel many contradictory things for your victim.  I was very much like her, not that long ago.  But I also feel many contradictory things for you.

I am now faced with the choice of either believing that you actually did rape this girl as you say or that you are an outstanding storyteller and managed to invent all those vivid details just to turn me (and, I assume, you) on.  I feel it should be a difficult moral decision, the kind of acts that you describe being quite condemnable, but I am in a situation where I donít know who you are, have no way of locating you, other than assuming that you are in this city, having answered my ad. 

As a result, I do feel free to pursue this exchange, knowing that I couldnít blame myself for not acting on what I might know about your crime and that I can focus solely on how much the depiction of completely unleashed masculine sexuality that you sent to me is arousing.  I wasnít just troubled, I was incredibly filled with excitement at having access to your pleasure in using this girl to reach psychological and physical climaxes and by your telling of how free you felt, to finally enjoy a girl in a way you had never been able to before.

Itís my turn now, and Iíd like to offer you the following story, which you will choose in your turn to believe is true or not.

My friend Z and I are in a chalet, lost in the middle of nowhere in the woods.  Snow outside, warmth and red wine inside.  Iím drinking faster than she is; I needed the wine.  Nervousness, I guess.  Weíre facing each other on the loveseat, she asks if Iím ok.  An opportunity for me to say something.  A strong ocean in me quiets the scared voice that wanted out, however, and I just stay silent, looking into her eyes.

I end up saying that yes, Iím happy, here, by the fire with her.  It sounds a bit forced, though.

Z is the girl to whom I owe the name you know me under.  CybŤle.  She and very few people use it around me.  Itís a mark of intimacy among my physical friends and, ironically enough, one of distance online, as I use it to mask my real name.  All of this to say that she and I are close.  Not intimately close, but she is important enough in my life to accept a three-day trip in the woods, just the two of us.

She is a tall and thin intellectual with a strange posture, her back kind of crooked a little.  Her breasts, too big for her frame, probably donít help.  Thin, fragile hands.  She has semi-long hair, half of which is already gray, despite being 29 like me.  I like that.  A nice face, a big birthmark under her left eye that kind of grows on you.  Men are attracted to her; I canít say that Iím surprised, but Iím surprised at how many of them are and how often she gets attention.  She looks at me with a twinkle in her eye, asking if I have intimate problems.

Intimate problems.  You could say that, I guess.  You could possibly call me crazy, too; I certainly feel it.

But the wine is soothing me.  Grounding me back to thinking that Z and I are alone here, in this place of all places, that I never saw her naked, that she is both so strong and so fragile.  She is the perfect woman, really.

So that you can imagine me too, Iím short, 5í2Ē, 145lbs, short red hair with a longer bunch on one side of my forehead.  I have blue eyes and the pale skin that you can imagine comes with the hair.  My freckles are diffuse and rather pale too.  I have small breasts, B cups, that fall just a little, but still point forward.  Small nipples with strong texture.  I have a tiny bit of a belly and I donít hate it, but my ass, coming from rather wide hips, does bother me.  I can believe the men who told me that they liked it, but I could have done without.  I have strong thighs, and rather weak arms.  I donít know what else to say, but I wanted you to be able to imagine me.

Soon, you guess, Z and I will be raped.  I want you to see.

There is noise outside.  A car is parking.  My heart jumps.

ďA ranger?Ē, Z asks.  I remain silent.

A man walks in, wearing a ski mask.  I feel Z jump, but she doesnít scream.  Neither do I.  She puts her glass on the low table and stands.  I donít know what she wanted to do, but the man immediately runs to her and launches a hard punch in her belly.  She crumbles to the ground.  I stay there, just next to them, frozen, my glass still in hand.

He takes handcuffs out of his coat and binds her ankles together, then throws her back on the couch, just next to me.  Her hand slaps my glass out of my grasp and I feel like Iím waking up from a nightmare as it shatters on the floor.  He is coming towards me with another pair of handcuffs.

He handles me with one hand, twisting my arm behind my back and bringing me to the armchair on the other side of the small room.  He is strong; I resist fiercely, and he still keeps control of me.  Soon, I have my hands in shackles behind my back and my left leg folded under the chair, another pair of handcuffs stretching it and binding it to the ones holding my wrists.

I suddenly hear Z breathing hard.  She is apparently just getting her bearings.  The attacker turns to her and rushes her again.  This time, she screams.  My low-voiced friend screams like a child.

He takes a long knife out of his coat and puts it on her throat, pushing her back deep in the sofa.  Her screams become throat noises and she cries, clearly panicking.

He calls her a slut and a bitch, tells her that sheís about to really get it handed to her hard and that it will be worse if she doesnít cooperate.  He rips her clothes off with his knife, the shirt, bra, skirt, panties, then leaves her lying on the couch, ordering her to shut up.

After that, he slows down.  Stares at her naked and trembling figure for a while, then moves away to the entrance, where he leaves his boots and winter coat.  He grabs the torn fabric of Zís clothes and uses it to wipe the floor of the snow he left everywhere.  Most of it goes away, but the floor is still wet, so he comes to me and cuts through both of my shirts.  His movements are rough; I freeze, fearing the blade.  Soon, I am breast naked and he is done drying the floor.  He goes to the stove and adds a couple of logs to the fire.

Z and I look at each other.  There is nothing to say, really.

Our attacker comes back between us and drops his pants.  He is wearing just his ski mask, a t-shirt and loose boxers now and starts to touch himself, clearly hard at the sight of us.  Of her, in particular.  She is staring at him, tense.

Suddenly, he grabs my leg and pulls me closer, right in front of the sofa.  We both jump, startled.  He unties the handcuffs from her ankles and ties her wrists behind her back, then grabs one of her legs to move it apart of the other.  She keeps her knees bent and together.  He hammers his fist on her knee.  She lets a short scream out and drops the injured leg, letting him spread her open as he places the foot of the leg he held between my legs.

ďYou hold her tight there.  You drop her, I drop your chair against the wall, understood?Ē

I obey in silence, crossing my free leg over the other and squeezing her tibia between my thighs, as hard as I can, fearing that she might jerk from him hitting her again.

But he doesnít.  He lays himself down on the floor and spreads her other leg apart, pulling her towards him.  Her neck is bent awkwardly against the back of the sofa.  Her eyes are shut closed, and her lips tremble.

He stays there for a while.  Right in front of me, her vulva spread open next to his immobile head, the regular stroking under his pants.

Eventually, he raises his ski mask a little, just enough for me to see his short black beard, and starts to lick her in odd, long strokes.  She cocks her head in an even weirder position, an air of disgust on her face.  I feel atrocious.

He takes his boxers off and starts to freely masturbate as he licks her.  No-one has said a word in a long time.  The silence is broken by sucking noises from his mouth on her labia and the slapping of his hard dick on his belly, which he regularly pulls away from him and releases.  My thighs and butt hurt.

Finally, he picks her up and tears her away from between my legs, bends her over the arm of the sofa, one hand holding the chain between her wrists, the other on his dick and forces himself in her without ceremony.  She screams, apparently by surprise at first, then obviously in pain.  It takes many thrusts before he is fully inside of her and Zís screams are each time filled with more distress and suffering.

The rapist takes his time, placing his victim in many positions, looking at her under different angles, caressing the exposed skin.  For a long time, I am exposed to the sight of Z, impaled by a cock thrusting violently in her, at times screaming, at times sobbing.  She looks at me only once and immediately looks away.

Now, she is on the floor on her belly, his body crushing her, her cheek weirdly compressed against the floor.  After a short moment of steady fucking, his rhythm changes and we all know he is about to make himself come.  As he reaches climax, he raises his upper body by crushing her head on the wooden floor with both hands.  Her hands move strangely, tied behind her back, then stiffen as he starts groaning and pumping her face against the floor.

His orgasm is the most powerful display of masculine pleasure I ever saw.

When he is done, he crumbles onto her again.  Her hair is all over her face and getting bloody.  She is shaking with tears.  She eventually tries to crawl from under him, but with her hands crushed by his belly behind her back, she can barely move, and he holds her still, apparently content to stay like that.

I suddenly feel fear for my own fate.  He was brutal with her, but how will he be with me?  He probably will be a bit jaded of just raping andÖ

He turns his masked head towards me as if he just heard me thinking and fearing.

Staying inside of her, he picks Z up by the hair and raises her on all four and then kneeling straight up.  He then puts his arms behind her knees and picks her up in a small bundle in front of him, his half-soft cock popping out of her.  Itís red with blood.  The man raises her in the air, cunt first, and brings her to me.  I try to avert my face, but he uses her crotch to push my head backwards and rubs her sex against my face, blood and semen dripping all over me.  The smell is intense.

When I get my sight back, she is kneeling at my feet, her bloody face turned to the floor, unable to hide her shame.  She is immobile, docile, defeated.

A knife comes back.  The process is long and difficult, but the remains of my plaid pants and white panties eventually litter the floor.   I am pushed, back arched over the arm of the chair under which my folded leg remains, my thigh screaming from the stretch.

He lifts my other leg to look at my sex, like he had done with Z.  Then laughs.

He sees my short red hair, brighter than my head, my thick outer lips that used to hide all my inner lips except for the hood and folds of flesh at the top of my vulva, that were visible even with my closed lips.  Now, though, he has access to all the twisting and paler skin of my labia inside.  And another detail that makes him laugh.

He picks my friend up by her hair and shoves her face in between my legs, ordering her to lick and eat me deeply.  Threatens her that if it doesnít look erotic and convincing, he will snap her neck.

My bent thigh hurts, my back hurts, but nothing is so bad as the shame that I feel.  Z canít miss it, I am not just wet, my sex is soaked in arousal.

Also, I cannot hide from myself how receptive my entire vulva is to her reluctant licks.  I dare not look at her, I look at him instead.  He has started touching himself again and his penis, full of dried blood, is getting hard.

Z just stops, apparently unable to continue.  New movements of handcuffs, she ends up tied to the stove and itís my turn on the sofa.  I am mentally ready to be penetrated, but I fear everything else around that violation.

I donít resist as I am positioned on my knees on the seat, head resting on the back of the couch.  He penetrates me slowly, gliding in and out of my vagina.  He isnít completely hard at first, but I soon feel him get there.  I think of all that is currently mixing in me, knowing that he never washed his cock after fucking Z and I should be disgusted, but I am aroused.  I canít help but look in her direction, bundled on the floor just in front of me, her eyes lost apparently looking at nothing in my general direction.

I feel that he is really hard in me now.  A few rougher thrusts and he exits me and places his cockhead on my anus.  I reflexively contort to protect myself, but he pushes me forward, forces my legs to spread wide and pushes my body against the back of the couch, twisting my arm behind my back, and pressing his entire mass against me.  I canít move an inch, aside for my head that I let drop, trembling.

I donít have anal sex of any kind.  The idea repulses me.

He moves his body back a little and I hear him spit, feel the wetness drip between my butt cheeks.

And just like that, he repositions himself and pushes hard against my butthole.  I tighten, itís already painful.  His push becomes thrusts, violent, hammering at the entrance until the tip, then more and more of his cock digs inside of me.  The pain is excruciating.  Eventually, my sphincter abandons me and he can push all the way until Iím completely impaled and I feel his balls on my vulva.

He fucks me hard, with violent thrusts separated by a pause deep inside of me.

I was almost going to get used to it, but he withdraws completely and quickly pushes back inside of me, renewing the pain.  Now, itís just a series of vigorous ins and outs that are all as painful as the one before.  And it just doesnít end.

Until, to my horror, he lines up my vagina and penetrates me with his sullied dick.  And then, itís a series of thrusts alternating between both of my holes, his grip on my arm and body becoming firmer and firmer.  My arm, my neck, my thighs; my entire body aches.  I let my head drop down to rest.  He punches me in the jaw, I hear Z yelp, startled; I feel at least one tooth break and fall.

I purse my lips and keep my head high and my eyes shut, hoping that he wonít punch me again.

In the end, he pushes deep in my vagina and squeezes both of my breasts so hard, I feel theyíre about to implode.  Immobile, but constantly augmenting the pressure, he bursts in me, groaning.

After a while, he picks me and Z up and cuffs us to one another, brings us to the bedroom and also cuffs each of us to the solid headboard, leaving us together lying on the naked mattress.  My thighs are filled with his sperm, still weeping from my vagina, my ass is probably extremely filthy and bloody.  The pain is almost worse now, deep, unceasing.

He leaves us alone for the entire night. 
We donít really sleep. 
Zís silence is killing me.  I donít dare take her in my arms.

*  *  *

He comes back at dawn and the day makes the whole thing feel too real.  He unties me first and brings me to the bathroom, staying with me as I relieve myself.  Shitting makes me cry and I hate that he is here with me to witness it.  He orders me to shower and I hate that I obey without even wondering what it is exactly that I fear, if I donít.  The water is cold after a cold night without blankets; I shake as he brings me back to the bed, where he ties me down again and itís Zís turn to be escorted away.

We are given water to drink, nothing to eat.  He grabs a chair and places it at the foot of the bed, undressing down to just t-shirt and ski mask before sitting down, touching himself while watching us, breathing hard, in silence.  He comes to untie us both and sits back down, asking for a pose.  We hesitate, then comply.  Another, another, then licking each other, then I just say no.  Fuck you.

Z looks terrified.  Iím afraid too.  But he will do whatever he wants with us whether we cooperate or not, so fuck cooperating.

He just smiles, a broad grin, and leaves.  Comes back with a metallic snow shovel, rests it casually in the corner of the room and starts slowly jerking off, still standing, as he speaks.

ďNot long ago, I was released.  A fucking long time inside for raping a woman as a repeat offender.  Came out with my dick burning for cunt, and cunt is hard to find when you donít care for whores.  But then I get an email from some dude who wants me to rape two bitches.  Sends pics and all, when they goní be in exactly what cabin in the woods, everything.  Apparently, one oí ya two cheated on someone who knows how to organize a good revenge.  He made me promise to rape both oí ya really hard and without mercy for all three days.Ē

ďYou wan me to torture them?  Killíem?Ē I ask.  Just says he wants that I have fun and the rest is up to me.Ē

ďSo my job here is to have fun aní Iím gonna have a shitload.  Aní if it donít get fun enough and I get fuckiní pissed aní I feel I might get more fun kill one oí ya with a shovel, thatís exactly what Iíll do.  Get it, Ginger?Ē

I just shut up.  Z Is looking at me shocked.  She did cheat on her boyfriend recently and she probably canít believe it would be him.  Her eyes look like theyíre begging me to tell her that I also cheated on my boyfriend.

An order brings us back to the moment.  We almost cry, for a second, I feel it.  But we just obey.

The rest of the morning is spent posing for him, licking and French kissing each other and begging him to fuck us or pee on us or whatever he asks that we ask.

Often, he forces one of us to hold the other down while he fucks her.

Sitting on Zís face, feeling her nose on my sex, holding her legs open for him, I watch him fuck her slowly, from super close, his hand grabbing me by the hair and holding me right next to their intertwined genitals.  He pulls out and jerks off on my face, the cum dripping on her vulva, and forces me to lick it all up and swallow.

I hadnít tasted sperm in a long while and it feels like a strange realization, to be thinking about my boyfriend and how alike all of our intercourses are now.

Again, we are shackled to the bed and he leaves.  We still have one day and a half until our reservation is over and we are supposed to leave.  I wonder, though if we will be allowed to.  If he goes back in jail for rape, itís probably going to be for as long as if it were a murder, right?  But he keeps his ski mask on, so maybe he intends for us to live?

I fear he probably doesnít even know himself. 

Z stays silent.  I wonder if she is thinking the same thing.  Or if she is losing it slowly thinking that her boyfriend might have done this to her.

Late in the evening, I am startled awake.  He has come back with food, picked from what Z and I had brought for the week-end.  We both try to ignore him as we eat and as he tells us about his sexual exploits, the women he got in jail for raping, the ones who never dared to speak.

After a while, apparently bored with monologuing, he starts asking questions, trying to make conversation.  Weíre both not really in the mood, so we stay silent.  He gets angry.  Slaps our food away from us, looking like he is about to really hit us hard, but then stops in his tracks, a smile clearly visible behind his mask.

ďYouíll fight for me.  Really fight, not some sissy fake fight.  I want blows, fists.  The looser, I screw her.Ē

We donít move.  How could we even do that?

He gets really threatening, though, and with blows from the flat of the shovel, he gets us to fake a fight, though our hearts clearly arenít into it.  His aggressive insistence intensifies, and we start hitting each other harder and eventually, weíre actually fighting, hitting through each otherís guards as he screams at us.

I end up on the mattress, Z on top of me beating down punch after punch at my face, my arms trying to deflect her hits.  She is screaming too.  And itís stronger than me, I start crying.  It feels like an ocean has been released, I cry and cry; my nose and lips are bleeding, my entire body is aching, but most of all, Iím weeping loudly.

The man grabs Z and shackles her in the corner of the room and comes back to me.  I feel him spread my legs and enter me; me, his defeated, beaten toy, already crying.

It hurts, yes, but itís also a relief.  I am the one taking his violence, not Z.  And I just took hers too; the whole experience was incredibly cathartic.  I am battered, in tears, exhausted, relaxed, crushed by his weight and all of this soothes me.

He fucks me for a long time, missionary style, licking my face with all the blood and tears that are accumulating, his rocking motion slow and regular inside of me.  After a while, my face has dried up and I look at him eying at my breasts as he caresses them to work himself up.  He notices that Iím staring and stares back, maybe in defiance, but I donít look away.  I lose myself in his brown eyes, offering the blue of mine.

The decision comes calmly and clearly in me.  If he tries to kiss me, I will kiss him back.  Deeply and passionately, I will give him all of my tongue and mouth.  The revelation is intense.  Z could be watching, what would she think?  But the feeling I have decides to ignore even that.  I want a long French kiss even if my lips hurt and are bleeding, even if he were to take that opportunity to bite me and hurt me even more.

But he doesnít kiss me.  He places both of his large hands on my face and fills me with deeper and harder thrusts.  Itís painful.  Quickly though, he pulls out and comes to kneel next to my head, holding it with one hand and turning me towards his dick in his other hand, his imminent ejaculation aiming for my face.

I open my mouth and, when he starts to climax, I close it around the head of his penis, swallowing everything that he offers me.

* * *

The last day is filled with more of the same.  Iíve been feeling the whole time that he desires Z more than me.  It shows in the way he looks at her, the way he takes her.  The worse moment for me comes when he duct tapes us hands to hands and feet to feet in a star shape facing each other and takes my ass while staring at her face, crushing me on her under him.  The pain is even worse than the fist time he raped me.

That moment is also the moment of truth.  Having come in my ass, he gets up, picks his things and leaves.  To come back?  We wait in fear.  No noise.  Eventually, Z snaps out of it and orders me to cooperate.  We make it to the kitchen and find a knife to free ourselves.

Our car is still there.  We get dressed and exit, leaving everything else behind.  She drives, Iím curled up on my side on the back seat, my ass hurting too much to sit on it.  My underwear is dripping wet with blood and semen, the flow seems unending.

My boyfriend is at home when I arrive.  I explode in tears in his arms.  It doesnít take long for him to know what happened.  Iíll give him the broad strokes, but never the details.  He will never know.

But you, you now know everything.  Does it turn you on?  Do you think that Iím a monster?

I knew that Iíd regret it.  I knew it as soon as I started my research.  But at each step Ė when I found the right candidate, when I wrote to him, when he answered, when I drove to that chalet, when I hesitated on the couch with Z, a glass of wine in hand Ė at each step, a force out of my control held me down and prevented me from putting a stop to it all.

And I do regret deeply.  Yet when I think back on some momentsÖ  Seeing him rape Z for the first time, the one that was the most painful to watchÖ  Feeling him come inside of me with all the pain of my torn vaginaÖ.  Wanting to kiss him and receiving his hands on my face and his sperm in my mouth as an offering just afterÖ

Fearing death.

Now, as I write to you, I feel all the fear that I should fear in understanding that the calculating part of me has already thought of a friend with whom I could stage something similar again and a scenario that would probably work.

If you do not think that Iím a monster, maybe you are the man that I need.  I do not know who you are, I have no way of retracing you.  I just need to give you information and let events unfoldÖ

But maybe you donít believe that I actually lived this.  Maybe you choose to believe that Iím making this story up to arouse the both of us and that I am not the monster I depict.

If so, what do you think if the woman who describes herself as precisely as possible, hoping that youíll want to rape her, describes her best friend Ė that she really calls Z Ė without her consent, without telling her that she is encouraging men to fantasize about raping her?  What do you think of the woman who begs you to tell her how you would use her and her friend and gets wet whenever the entire fantasy gets really plausible and palpable?

The woman who fears that she actually wants this to really happen?   Who ends on this line as a clear opening?

October 30, 2017, 01:55:59 PM
Reply #1

Offline vile8r

LOVED this Sporty! Good job!

October 30, 2017, 02:29:15 PM
Reply #2

Offline SportyVictim

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LOVED this Sporty! Good job!

Thank you!

I wonder, was it at all arousing?  To me, it's so cerebral that I kind of almost lose sight of the sex in it, but I don't know what it is to other people.

October 31, 2017, 01:43:06 AM
Reply #3

Offline vile8r

I found it very arousing. Especially when Z was getting fucked and the other girl was being made to watch, and then the fist fight......that was Hot! And how the rapist was playing each of them off the other, making one feel they were less desirable than the other!

October 31, 2017, 01:50:30 AM
Reply #4

Offline SportyVictim

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I found it very arousing. Especially when Z was getting fucked and the other girl was being made to watch, and then the fist fight......that was Hot! And how the rapist was playing each of them off the other, making one feel they were less desirable than the other!

That is fun to know, thank you.
Note that I doubt that Z is jealous of CybŤle.  One can assume that she is being raped and not enjoying any of it and not interested in getting more than C.  One can read it however they want though, as the story doesn't tell us much about Z's state of mind, aside from her silence, which has to mean something, but that thing is left for the reader to imagine and decide.  CybŤle, however, is more developed and indeed, I feel that she is sensitive to not feeling as desired.  It is part of just how twisted the character is and how intimate the story is.

Thanks again for reading and letting me know that you liked, it is appreciated.  Particularly for this story (if one were to assume that I'll write others).

Edit: I just reread your post and realized that you didn't say that Z was jealous, but that the rapist was manipulating her (and C) to be.  I like that you read that when I didn't: to me, the rapist being oblivious to the origin of this opportunity that he has, he never assumes that either girl wants him at all and it wouldn't come to him to try to make them compete for attention.  But then again, I don't know him that well.  I assumed that the reader would follow the character in the first person and I didn't give either other character much development.  I love having the perspective of someone who entered the skin of the rapist.

I did wonder how he felt about CybŤle swallowing his ejaculation without being asked, at the end.

October 31, 2017, 02:01:16 AM
Reply #5

Offline SportyVictim

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...and now I'm suddenly wanting to read the same story from the perspective of all three other characters, like 3 different stories.  If anyone wants to write either, I will read with fascination!