No Messing

[THW]

This is a story that I haven't posted at The Harsh Writer site - because I judge it's too harsh for (most of) the audience there. I'm not sure how it will be received here. Goes beyond most BDSM, but no gore/crux stuff. Please tell me if it shouldn't be here.

No Messing - Pt 1

Please, Chloe, sit down"

I was a little nervous - I had no idea why they wanted to see me, the partners. It was not a huge firm, and I'd been there over four months, but I hadn't really had much contact with the two guys whose brilliance, aggression, skill and sheer chutzpah made the outfit such a powerhouse, made them so rich, and made it so cool that I'd got a job there. Not that it wasn't hard work, and stressful, too; constantly pushing, pressing, constantly trying to keep all your performance indicators out of the red, and hopefully most of them through the green zone, towards the gold.

Now, here I was, in the huge and overwhelmingly male boardroom - all heavy, dark wood, library shelves, old leather chairs, a billiards table; high ceilings, money, money money.

I was perched on a high stool, while they lounged in heavy wood office chairs behind a wide, imposingly solid oak table. Somehow even the lighting felt powerful, and I was nervous; worrying about that time last week when two indicators had gone red while I was at lunch, and so had stayed that way for half an hour. I hadn't taken a break away from my desk since. Was I about to be fired?

If I'd had more notice, I would have dressed up more - as it was, I was in my normal office mode - smart, conservative - a little subtle sexiness - heels, stockings, a high, tight-ish waist to the skirt - but nothing over the top. I would have worn my sexy underwear - which, even though invisible, had the side-effect of helping me feel confident, in control, a power-dressed woman.

But here I was, shifting nervously in my seat, smiling at them, hoping they liked me.

They left a long silence, watching me carefully. I figured it was some sort of test, and tried to keep calm. In the end, though, the pressure of their cool, amused gazes wore me down, and I let out a foolish little giggle, and did a sort of involuntary wriggle, looking down, then up, then down again, flushed, immediately embarrassed, knowing that I had shown weakness.

They still said nothing.

Another long silence. I was getting so uncomfortable, and still they just watched me, calm as you like.
Somehow my mind began to run on sexual lines. I became acutely aware of my breasts, my legs, my mouth. It was a power thing they were doing to me - a young woman, alone with her two rich bosses, in their territory, after hours. My skin began to tingle, to tremble.

Just as I began to feel I had to say something, anything, just to break that intimidating mood, T spoke;

"We're going to rape you, Chloe - right now. Quite violently. "

It took a little while for me to realise what he'd said, and even then, I put a silly half-smile on, trying to think it was some sort of joke, feeling really weird , frightened, but somehow utterly unsure of what my response should be, feeling my heart patter, getting all nervous.

"It'll be like this, pretty; we won't hold back. We like to see lovely girls frightened, hurt, humiliated, degraded. That's what we're going to do to you; now. It will be harsh, and it will be violent, and afterwards, you will go onto your knees and kiss our shoes, and say thank you, and tomorrow you'll be back at work. Until we decide to do you again."

It took me a few seconds to properly react; then my whole body went into overdrive. I was up, out of the chair, hearing my shouted "No" hanging in the air as I rushed to the door. I never made it. They shot me with some sort of taser, or stunner - I don't know - it hit me in the arse, and jolted me with pain and heat, and I fell flat on the floor, only just managing to save my face with my arms. They were laughing.

Within a second, I was up again, even though my limbs felt numb, only to be yanked backwards by a fist in my hair, and thrown to the floor again, then kicked fairly hard in the stomach a couple of times, so that I was winded and dry retching at the same time - utterly incapacitated.

They stood over me, talking about my tits, my legs, my lips, all in the dirtiest locker-room terms, while I feebly wriggled on the floor. The tears were flowing, soft, helpless; all the fight was gone out of me. I was terrified. When I could, I gasped out;

"No. Please, don't"

"Please! Now that's a word we like. Pretty girls should always beg; never expect anything without very pretty, submissive begging."

That was N; behind me, T dropped a choke chain over my neck, and yanked it tight, lifting my body with it so that my neck was squeezed hard; I couldn't breathe. My hands were too feeble to do anything but grasp at the chain. He dropped me then, shook the chain, so I could cough a few breaths.

"The chain is fastened to the pillar. You're a chained piece of pussy now. Want another kick?"

I didn't! I shook my head;

"No!"

A second later, I got another kick. Another two, in fact. Winded again, I almost blacked out from pain, fear, lack of breath.

"Just told you to always beg, pretty. Always beg, be very respectful; sometimes it might even work."

God ! They were lunatics! They might kill me! I was semi-hysterical now, desperately trying to control myself.

"Sorry. Sorry, ... sir . Please , p.please .. I beg you, please don't .. don't kick me any more" It was desperate, bitter to humiliate myself by begging these bastards, but..

They laughed; such relaxed, easy laughter - no stress at all. They had done this many times before, I suddenly knew - which only increased my fear.

"On your knees, pretty; face down , ass up, knees apart - you're gonna get raped"

"I wailed; :No no-o-o , please p.please sir nO!"

T made as if to kick me again, and I curled into a ball, shrieking, but the kick never came;

N said;

"She asked nicely not to be kicked, give her the cattle prod instead."

And the next second my right breast exploded - or so it felt; my whole body was a jolt of pain, centred on my poor breast, which I thought must have been shot, or something, I was screeching, until they threw a bowl of water on my head., and I realised that my blouse wasn't even torn - some sort of electrical shock. I was hysterical now, and they waited for me to calm down, which I did, as quickly as I could, forcing myself. I had figured out that I wanted to co-operate - the pain was too much, the terror too much; and when he nodded at me, I wailed again, but made myself get into position, face on my fore-arms, knees spread, but tucked in, so that my ass was high; I was sobbing, but I held myself like that while he lifted my skirt. I wished I could die. I felt cold metal and flinched - he cut away my panties. If I could have died of shame, then, I would have; my most intimate parts, exposed so lewdly to this pair of rapists.

It was only a few seconds later that I screeched as a big cock was slowly but relentlessly forced into my tight, dry pussy. It hurt, and it shamed, and it destroyed me; a terrible deep, hoarse wail of despair came from me as he thrust deep inside me, slow and steady, deep and hard.

"fuck, this is a nice pussy. just the .. way .. I LIKE it - !" And he thrust himself completely into me.

I wailed in awful despair but all it did was make them laugh.

He increased his pace now, still steady, but insistent, bumping onto me at each thrust, pounding me, making me gasp with each stroke, however little I wanted to, grunting a little to himself. God, but he seemed to be huge inside me, and so calm; it went on and on, and then I felt, with horror, that my body was responding - lubricating, at least. He felt it too, and sped up a little, until I was horrified to know that I was wet; slick with my own juice, easing the rapist's passage.

Suddenly, he pulled out;

"Fuck..king gorgeous! Gotta save myself , though. Your turn, N. Go for it. Little bitch is hot, hot hot!"

I was sobbing into my arms, as my pussy involuntarily surged, looking for the filling it had grown used to. God, I would see them rot for this, I promised myself, all the time knowing it was impossible; men this powerful don't do things like this without having it all sewn up.

N was at me, then. He was super strong - a real workout guy; he pulled me upright with the chain, spun me round and lifted under my thighs, hoisting me and splitting me, then lowered me onto his fat cock, making me moan in shame and despair. I was facing him, just inches away, as he worked me up and down until he, too, was deep into me, my own weight making sure I was thoroughly penetrated. He too, was slow and steady, merciless, relentless, mashing my pussy regularly and powerfully, until I heard a moan that sounded like a girl who was aroused, until I realised it was me, and the moan turned into a wail, and stopped as I bit my lip. N laughed and just kept on, and a minute later I was moaning at each stroke, and my head lolled back, until he, too, pulled out suddenly, depositing me on the table, where I slowly curled up, sobbing.

Not for long, though, another atrocious shock, and another, and another, until I rolled off the desk, onto the floor shrieking;

"Please! please I'll do anything! Please sir, I .. I beg you.."

.. to be continued, if appreciated.

 

[THW]

No Messing - Pt 2

“More begging! More grovelling! Excellent. Keep it up, girly.”

“And since you asked so nicely, here's something you can do for us. Put this in your mouth."

I looked up, trying to calm myself - here was something I could do for myself, not just be a passive victim of this horror. Something - however bad - at least something, not to be just a body getting fucked and hurt.

So I took it, the thing, and put it in my mouth, even though I had some idea it was awful. I even begged for it, crying, like a little dog, while they laughed,

It was like two gumshields, joined by a spring, that fit at the sides of my mouth; then he reached in and flicked the catch; the springs opened, and my mouth was instantly, irresistibly stretched obscenely, painfully wide; I yelled, inarticulate, horrified, and they laughed.

Shortening the chain against a leg of the table, T casually stuffed his cock into my mouth, and then immediately on, into my throat. I was utterly incapable of resisting; all I could do was fight for breath, fight not to puke on him which I was sure would result in more horrible pain; fight to survive; squealing and grunting into his cock as it slammed deep into my throat again and again, my whole body writhing, in the attempt to avoid this unspeakable foulness. A shorter session this, until he pulled out, a little pause, for sobbing, retching, pathetically trying to beg in a pretty voice, nothing but gurgles coming out; more laughter, and then N's cock is pushed into me, without any more ceremony that a satisfied sigh.

He is slower, more leisurely, interested in whether I will pass out or not, pleasuring himself more sensuously, enjoying my squirming. Thankfully, he too pulls out after a short time, preserving his orgasm for god knows what evil. I am frantic to have the thing removed from my aching jaw, but they leave it there for what seems years as they discuss what to do next with me. At last, N seems to remember;

"Oh yeah, bet that hurts, doesn't it, pretty?"

He almost caresses me as he throws it aside, then kneels and casually rips open my blouse, cuts my bra away, and laughs happily at the sight of my tits, which are firm, large, all natural, and tipped with pretty, perky nipples. I close my eyes as he mauls them, but I cannot hide from myself the feeling that I get - my breasts, my nipples, always having been a source of sensuous excitement to me.

Then his other hand is at my pussy and he leans in;

"Kiss me: kiss me nice, pussy, or I'll shock your cunt"

And so, desperate, despairing, shamed, I kiss him as he mauls my pussy and breasts, tears flowing softly all the time.

"You're very wet, for a girl who is hating every minute of this ... slut" he whispers in my ear, then kisses me more. It is hard to kiss a man who is groping you, whom you urgently wish will keep kissing you in case he does something more dreadful - so hard - because if you don't kiss him well, he may hurt you, and when you kiss him well, your body reacts as it is used to doing, and you feel your pussy surging for him, feel your thighs spreading, feel yourself moving to give him your breasts, and you shake, and cry, and then force yourself yo kiss him even more carefully, even more seductively, in case the shaking and crying makes him angry...

And he pulls away, laughing, and you sob helplessly, hopelessly, shamed, degraded.

But you dare not close your thighs, and something in you is thinking about the picture you present, chained, semi naked, sobbing, breasts and sex on display, and it is a powerful image... and you moan as you feel complicit in your own rape, as you remember the times in the office when you had noticed N coming, and looked for some pose which would catch his attention, to emphasise your backside, or your bust, and you moan again.

"We're going to whip you next, girly; with real leather whips - old style, so you know what thorough, careful, hand-crafted pain is like. It'll help you, believe me, it will. Then again, what do I care if you believe me - we're going to do it anyway. But for now, I want you to take off your skirt, and fetch us some drinks."

T loosens the chain, and pulls me to my feet.

I almost collapse again, sobbing, but fear helps me pull myself together; I bite my lip, hard, tell myself there may be less pain if I am helpful, and shyly unzip my skirt, let it fall. I am naked now but for the remains of my stockings, the ripped blouse and a chain around my neck.

He stands back;

"You are really a very lovely girl; a gorgeous piece of fuck-meat. No, don't close your thighs - or I'll have to shock you. That's it! Open for me, accept me - always - anytime, anywhere, anyplace - this pussy is mine!"

"Ah!" he has three fingers in my pussy and I am almost hysterical again, tears spurting from tightly closed eyes but I keep myself open, and jerk when he caresses some sensitive spot;

"Oh, a high sprung filly, indeed" he laughs; "On your knees, quickly. Suck me!"

I hesitate for a second, but only a second, and then I am down, and I am gently sucking his fat cock, tears on my cheeks, but trying hard; boyfriends tell me that I am good at this, and it's a fact that I have been proud of my ability - and enjoyed doing it, too, liking the feeling of power it gives me; but this situation is so different, I can hardly manage it. Of course, the thought comes to me that I should bite him, have my revenge, but I am so terrorised that I am even frightened of the thought, and immediately try even harder, so that I feel him stiffening in my mouth, and for a second I forget the situation, and I am pleased and do a little trick, and he gets harder, and I am suddenly feeling again as if here is something I can actually do, when he grabs my hair, slams my head against the desk, and pushed deep into my throat, grunting in pleasure. He jerks faster and faster, and pulls away just as I felt I would black out, and spurts his come in my mouth, so that I choke again, and it comes up through my nose, and as he shouts his pleasure, I am spluttering and snorting and crying noisily covered with sticky, demeaning come, as N laughs at the both of us.

T says;

"Fuck, that was good - she has the loveliest mouth. Don't you gorgeous? Proper little oral expert! Fuck!"

I seem to have run out of tears now, to have become passive. I just kneel, wiping my mouth with the back of my arm, spreading his come over my face, numb.

"Go and clean your face, sexy, and come back here quickly - I need a beer and a scotch both!" N orders, taking the chain off. Somehow, I find myself obeying.

In the luxury executive bathroom, I am at first an automaton, then the tears come back, and I collapse, but five seconds later I remember the need to hurry, and I am terrified; fear keeps me in motion. Heart pounding, I see a lipstick and mascara, and find myself trying to improve my face; a degraded rape victim, trying to look pretty for her rapists. But I carry on - it is something I need to do; try to fix my hair. I have no clothes to fix, and again, I sob, but I find myself, as I exit the washroom, trying to walk prettily, gracefully. I should be making myself ugly, unattractive, hoping they'll leave me alone, but I can't allow myself to do that. I need to be together, somehow. My shoulders are back, and my swaying breasts shoulder their way out of the ruined blouse, nipples catching at the edges of the cloth. I am aware of pleasure at the sensation, and again at the obvious appreciation in N's voice as he remarks on my reappearance to T.

"We chose a right one here!"

I want to cry, but I blink back the tears, and go over to N as he beckons;

"Do we still need to chain you, pussy, or would you rather wear this pretty choker?"

I remember that I have to beg, and so, full of fear, desperate not to be chained again, I go down to my knees, hating myself, and softly beg for the choker, which earns more laughter.

I am to stand, to put it on myself. Of course, my breasts sway as I lift my hands to fasten the catch.

"You have lovely breasts, pussy, but they will be even lovelier soon, splashed with tears and striped by the whip. God, but I love my life! Drinks now, pretty, and bring the vodka bottle too - time you had a drink!"

I fix beers and whisky for them, asking them in a meek voice if they will have ice, soda, unable to believe that I am here, but just as unable to think of anything else I can do but try not to anger them. I cannot bear any more pain, I cannot.

They pour vodka down my throat, making me retch. More laughing. Then, their beers finished, they get serious. It turns out the choker has a snap for a chain, which hangs from the column. They adjust it, tightening, until I am on tiptoe. I am begging, but they tell me to shut up, and I do. My hands are lifted to cuffs on the chain, and they both pick up whips. I piss myself with fear, and they get angry, or seem to, and then, without any particular fuss, I am being whipped. Whipped, for real, for the first time in my life - an unimaginable insult - they are using long leather whips that crack just like in a cowboy film, and it hurts like nothing else in my life has ever hurt - the mental multiplying the physical multiplied by the horror and then by the shock, so that I am almost immediately hysterical - beyond crazy - an out-of-body experience.

I scream so much they stop, and gag me, then start again. It is very strange to realise, looking back, that it actually wasn't much of a whipping, but as a first time, it was utterly devastating. It is impossible to endure it, and yet, there is no choice. The whips cut between my legs, smash into my tits, cross my thighs, my belly, my arse, my back. When they stop I cannot stop jerking from the pain for a good minute, while they, of course, laugh.

At last, they let me down. They leave me in a heap on the floor for a little while, before N says;

"I need another beer, pussy!"

And somehow, I find myself standing up and trotting to serve him. I cannot meet their eyes, but they have no inhibitions at all about touching my pussy, my breasts, and apart from instinctive little flinches, I dare not pull away.

N says - "I want one of those lovely blow-jobs like you did for T, then I'm going to come in your fine little asshole, baby. On your knees now. Quick! or it's the prod!"

I sob, in desperate despair, but after a fleeting glance at his cruel smile, I am on my knees before I can think, tremblingly taking his cock in my mouth. It takes a long time, this time, to get going at all, but he seems not to mind, taking it easy. I don't want it to happen, but it does; a point at which my ability to give pleasure becomes a refuge from the madness, and I start to really serve his cock. It is a magnificent cock, and I find myself going far down on him - further than I ever have for a lover, pushing past my limits - knowing that if I don't I may be slammed against the desk, desperately needing even a small amount of control, even if it means co-operating, pleasuring my rapist, until he suddenly throws me off;

"Not so fucking fast, slut - I said I would come in your ass, and I will - don't you try and beat it! Now, one knee up on the table, spread 'em, hurry"

Leaning back against the table, arms huddled in front of me, I begin to plead with him not to fuck me in the ass. But begging has ceased to entertain him, and he reacts badly, grabbing my hair and pushing me backwards down onto the desk.

"You do what I fucking want, when I fucking want it, cunt! " He says, "You've earned this!" and he pushes his lighted cigar right inside my pussy. I scream as if I am dying. I realised later that it hadn't hurt so very much - bad as it was - the moisture there puts it out fast, and the mark healed much more quickly than the weals from the whip. But the psychological impact is immense. They think nothing of burning me - right in my pussy!

In the wee small hours of the morning, when I am back at home, it is this casual relaxed unthinkably cruel and unforgivable act that replays in my mind as I try to tell myself that I am going to the police, that I am never going back, that I will have my revenge even if it means telling all the shameful details in a public court. But - again and again - the evidence of that appalling act - which must surely alone be worth twenty years in prison - meant that they were prepared for any attempt at whistleblowing, and that the retribution, if they caught me, would surely be dire. that's what stopped me. That's what held me. That's what made me go back. That's what made me understand that I would have to accept their regime - accept their conditions - dress and act sexy or be penalised, even in the knowledge that dressing and acting sexy will get you raped more often.

I writhe and wail, but he simply manhandles me into position, brings some lube from his pocket and squirts it onto his cock before commencing to push at my poor asshole. It is hard, and maybe hurts him; it certainly hurts me, far more than the short, sharp burn in my pussy had, and I wail and screech with the pain and shame of it, but he is relentless - getting T to gag me after a while, thrusting away, until he is in, and then going deeper, getting faster, becoming more violent with every thrust, and again I think I must surely die from this. And part of me wishes I could, to be honest.

But I am still alive, still hurting, still jerking with despairing misery at every thrust as, after ploughing into me for what seems eternity, he comes with a shout and I am cast aside, weeping and shaking, devastated.

They leave me again, taking turns to go for a shower. At last, I am made to stand up, then dropped into a chair.

"That was good - which means that you still have a job here, Chloe. You'll come in tomorrow as usual, and - just this once - we'll give you an easy ride on performance. Of course, we'll be fucking you again - whenever we want to. Maybe you'll be pleased to hear we aren't always as violent - helps at the start, we find, to get the point across; the point being that you are cunt, and we fuck cunt as and when we like. But you have a talented mouth, a pretty face and pretty manners to go with 'em if you get the hang of throating soon you may even get away without a whipping sometimes."

"Oh, one thing - you will never wear panties again - or pantyhose. Naked pussy at all times under short skirts - neatly trimmed pubes, of course, with sexy stockings. And your appearance begins to count for performance. You look extra sexy, you'll get yourself raped more often, and then you’ll find your performance is extra high. You look dull, you're going to find yourself slipping into the red real easy. So smarten up, little lady! We'll be putting a nice little bonus and a generous clothing allowance into your account, so don't think we haven't recognised your contribution. Now, on your knees, kiss the feet of your masters, and thank them for their attention, you worthless little whore.

Trembling, terrorised, I obey, as prettily as I know how, my voice a thin reed.

"Right, then, you can fuck off - and don't even think about any fuss. Goes without saying, I hope, that talking about this will get you dead, yes? Painfully, slowly dead, with maximum time for regret."