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She never invited conversation, and if they spoke to her, she shut it down. When she masturbated, it was never her writhing under black or white thugs, but the worn out, ruined girls who rode the skytrain. If you can track me down, you can rape me, blow your load, whatever. Once or twice, Lynsey thought someone might be following her. Still, the feeling would leave her drenched, cunt clenching, just aching to masturbate to an increasingly intense orgasm, fantasizing that she really was followed and what they had planned to do to her. She'd wear any kind of shit in front of the computer screen, but she was a lot more careful out of doors. They weren't uncomfortable or outrageous, especially around the apartment. But if Mike was there, he would probably be pissy about her signing off. There would probably be someone to play with her.... She might turn a few heads, but she didn't look like a whore. Still, she could feel male gazes like pinpricks that gave her goosebumps, caught glances sliding off her like oil. * * * * * * * * * * * She passed by Jack close enough that he could have reached out and squeezed her nipples. Quickly, with badly shaking hands, Lynsey tore at her jacket top. Hey, you know what gets me hot, seeing a slut bite and suck her nipples. She did as she was told, her teeth tearing into her sensitive flesh. They jammed around her knees, and she had to bend even lower to let them slide past her calves. Finally freed, she reached the street and searched her purse for change and money to call a cab. Now, I want you to take your shoes off, I want you barefoot. He chuckled, imagining the look on her face when she saw his basement. Finding an already hard nipple, he twisted it savagely, stopping her whining and causing her to draw a terrified breath. All the way over here, you could have screamed, and you didn't. He pushed her slacks down to her ankles and caressed the smooth flesh of her thighs, probed the wet folds of her cunt. Fortunately or unfortunately for Lynsey, their agreement meant that he couldn't take her completely apart, the way he did with some of his victims. Well then, just relax, we're going to have a lot of fun. Mike was impressed, at points, she actually managed to lift her torso up completely off the bed, her body straining.

But she loved their sidelong glimpses and the thought of men like these putting their hard meat to the degenerate skanks. Girls who dressed to be fucked (and she'd never dress like that) deserved to be fucked, needed that fucking. On the internet, she one day, discovered skank sites and slut sites, places where worn out whores gained a few dollars selling their pictures. * * * * * * * * * * Which garter belt are you wearing, Mike typed. Lynsey really did have garter belts now, and she was wearing one to command. No one would look twice at her if she happened to be wearing her black bolero jacket. Someone who was outside somewhere and might somehow, possibly, maybe glimpse her in it. It wasn't that she really thought they'd spot her, she just didn't like looking too much like a slut. Deep down, beneath all her clues and fantasies, he knew she was chickenshit. It wasn't nearly as slutty as she had been expecting, or hoping. I want you walking around shopping in this, he said, red dress and fishnets, like a whore taking time off. High heels, for shopping, was waiting for her, those ankle boots. But if she stayed on the net all day, she wouldn't get any shopping done. The stiletto ankle boots she wore outdoors half the time anyway. It made her nipples hard, it made her pleasantly wet down there. So she drifted through, window shopping here and there, and letting herself be window shopped. He could barely restrain himself from glancing into her cleavage. Unable to manipulate a button, she simply tore it off, opening the jacket and then undoing the blouse with hasty motions. A cold breeze slid around her thighs as she realized that she was bottomless, she had exposed herself for them, without even a trace of resistance. But her purse was only full of cheap make up, some scattered ID, and condoms both new and used. He pulled in, waited for the door to shut, and then cut the engine. Cuffed at wrists and ankles, she had no choice but to take it, to accept the indignities he inflicted upon her. For others, it was the rape, the conquest, the degradation, the punishment. Hell, if you keep the rule in mind, you'll even enjoy some of it... Her struggles to free herself only humped her ass up against his hands again and again.

When Lynsey got home, she couldn't wait to masturbate, bring herself to a rich satisfying orgasm. But this one got more exciting each time she played. Lynsey crouched down, unwilling to fully prostrate herself. Finger yourself, he whispered, and watched as one of her hands slid under the wasteband of her sweat pants.

There must be 50,000 girls in Vancouver with her height and build and hair colour, and there was no way that any contact would be anything but totally accidental. She kept thinking back to that internet chat, to the game, and she'd find herself getting wet. Mike was there, revelling in the game, she flirted and dropped a few more clues. * * * * * * * * * * Most internet games wore off, their themes tired, and Lynsey got bored. She wasn't looking at him, so Jack allowed himself a gloating smirk. You're so fucking hot, he whispered, putting his hand on her shoulder and keeping pressure there. Her mouth opened, and she took his hard rod between her wet lips.

She might have known if she'd checked the member logins, but that was her mistake. But worse in his view, she had no respect for the mechanics of a good well structured fantasy. He doubted it, the self absorbed bitch would never really put herself at risk. Then he emailed a few of his internet friends in Vancouver to let them know about this fascinating little game.... She skipped at work, riding the skytrain she couldn't help glancing around, wondering if one of those faces belonged to the someone from her chatroom. He could tell she was still undergoing an internal struggle.Once in a while, she thought of breast implants, but never too seriously. Sex, like the rest of her life, had come easily and well lubricated, easy penetrations by lithe young boys, never wild or out of control. A terrycloth bathrobe and bunny slippers, she typed. Perhaps they would spot her in that article of clothing? The idea that she might be under surveillance, might be stalked, that any minute some rough man might grab her and drag her into an alley, made her stomach flutter and her nipples hard. He typed into a very select chatroom, to a very select group of friends. The Lynsey project united them, it galvanized them, giving them a sense of purpose. And there is an Italian restaurant three blocks away from her bullshit location. Humming, brimming with excitement, almost floating with sexual tension, she left the apartment. I dunno, fucking her mouth I suppose, probably tighter than her pussy. She was shocked into stillness when Ian simply upended the contents of her purse out onto the filthy ashpalt. She lost muscle control, collapsing on the filthy garbage strewn alley. Beaten, without a shred of hope or resistance in her. When she reached him, she looked up a final time, hoping for a shred of compassion. She stuck her tongue out and ran it along the leather toe of his boot... She lapped at the boot, her tongue working away the grit, smoothing the leather. Jack watched her face contort, almost able to read her thoughts as she worked her way through it all. He pulled out, his semen dripping from her lip, her expression dazed, confused and needy. You're going to walk out of here with your pussy throbbing, and all those ideas I put in your head rolling around, and you won't know if you're coming or going, you won't know up or down, you're just going to be so confused you'll swallow every bit of bullshit because I've tied your head all up in knots and your pussy is throbbing. Instead he helped the now helplessly docile Lynsey up, escorted her to his car. She built an island of stability for herself around that point. After a few nights, she had recovered herself enough to return to some of her comforting rituals, her life settling back into her old groove.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.

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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 if once in a while, when her dildo was deep inside, and the vibrator on her clit, if it was her face and body in skank outfits, bent over and on all fours to some gangbanger... She was far too fastidious to do these things, or even to contemplate doing these things. From there, she discovered story sites, which fed her wicked fantasies. So, one night, Lynsey was in an internet chatroom, masturbating slowly, playing with the men. Watch for clues, put them together, find me and..... The game, of course, had evolved, as games always do. It upped the risk level just a tiny bit, and the effect on her was orgasmic, paralyzing, thrilling. And so, the requests, finding compliance, became a little bolder. Why not, she thought, trying one on, it made her ass look good. She might say or do anything on line, and he mostly believed her when she told them about her lingerie. No, she might be pushed a little there, but not too far, not yet. The red knit dress was a party dress, it looked good on her, clinging to the curves of her body, showing cleavage, but not too much, moderately short, but not as short as her miniskirts. It was the sort of dress a woman wore to show she was fire in bed, though not necessarily for anyone. The idea sent shivers up her spine and thrills down her cunt. He could tell she noticed his quickly averted look, he caught her half smile, watched as she forgot about him almost instantly. A flicker of terrifying irritation showed on his face. It was an hour and a half of walking, and one tortuous hitchike before she finally made it home. Alone, she could deal with it, but she couldn't deal with what they might think of her. Then, he stepped out, straightened his jacket, and walked with deceptive calmness to the passenger side back door. He'd seen her naked in photographs, watched her shower and masturbate on computer cam, he'd even fondled and posed her semi-conscious body. Finally, he had her in his unfettered, unlimited possession. He opened the door and pulled her out, gratified by the way she struggled forward, as if to help him. She could only precariously try to keep her balance. More than any of the others, Jack was a genuine sadist. He stepped around her, enjoying the way she dangled from the hook. Mike enjoyed her thrashings, letting her play herself out like a fish on a line.

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