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(CW: piss, extreme)
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Amelie got up in the morning and, while still nude, made her daily video for Gary Sands.
“My name is Amelie Raimes,” she said, “and I am a sex offender,” as her phone filmed her face and her naked tits. She was becoming used to those words. She sent the video to Gary.
Gary was very much on her mind today, because it was his day for an appointment. The prospect of seeing the “Lightning Rapist” again terrified her – but also, perversely, excited her.
But almost as soon as Amelie had sent Gary the video, she received a reply from him.
“Can’t make my parole appointment today,” he said. “Too busy to chat with you, bitch. Other fish to fry. Tell your office I was there, and ensure that everything that would normally happen during our appointments happens. Send me proof.”
“Yes, sir,” she texted in reply, even before she had thought through what she was doing.
She had just agreed to lie to her work about the location and behaviour of a sentenced criminal. She was sinking deeper into corruption every day, and not only could she not find a way out, much of her mind and body didn’t even seem to *want* to.
By the time she got to work, that phrase – “everything that would normally happen” – was stuck in her mind. A casual reader might interpret it to mean that she should simply fill out her normal paperwork for Gary and ensure that nothing seemed suspicious.
But that wasn’t what normally happened in their meetings. Normally Gary humiliated and abused and dominated her.
He couldn’t mean that she should do those things… to herself, could he?
But of course he could. There was no limit to Gary’s cruelty, and he seemed to take deep enjoyment from her humiliation and pain.
She considered it, as the day progressed. She took other appointments with other parolees – less problematic ones – and thought about what she was contemplating. Gary would have been her last appointment of the day, at least, with the hour after his slot and before home-time reserved for her to do admin and paperwork.
At lunch she went downstairs and stripped naked in the alleyway behind the dumpsters so that she could piss, shivering and praying that nobody saw her.
She knew that if she simply reported that Gary had not attended his interview, a warrant would go out for his arrest. The police would find him, and he would likely go back to jail, and Amelie would be rid of him.
But when they caught him, he might say that Amelie had entered her own name on the sex offender registry. He might show the police the videos of her, bare-titted, happily confessing to being a sex offender, that she had willingly sent him every morning. They might investigate how Gary had “borrowed” her credit card and her phone – and she still had no idea what he had done with them.
She decided to check her credit card statement. It was a cause of some relief to see that Gary’s purchases on it were relatively mild – some meals, some petrol. He appeared to have paid a small power bill with it.
But it was less of a relief to see some of his other purchases. An electric cattle prod. A roll of duct tape. Sleeping pills.
There was also a $100 donation to an organisation called “Legalise the Rape of Women”, and a full-year subscription to a site called “Rape That Bitch dot com”.
Amelie cautiously Googled that website on her phone, and was horrified to discover that not only was it a porn site, but that most of its videos appeared to depict actual real rapes, featuring amateur production values and women who were crying and pleading and clearly not consenting as masked men slapped them and held them down and shoved cocks into their mouths, cunts and anuses. Amelie shuddered, and quickly closed her web browser.
Just another thing that would surely get her fired – and maybe investigated by police – if anyone ever found out. Amelie’s life was a guilty mess.
But the investigation reminded her of just how deeply in Gary’s power she was, and by the time his appointment drew near, she had made up her mind.
She was going to obey.
With ten minutes until Gary’s scheduled arrival, Amelie set up her phone to film her, with a good view of the office generally. Then Amelie undressed, stripping down until she was naked. She took her clothes, opened the office window, and dumped them in the garbage bin far below. Once again, she had brought no alternate clothes, and had no plan for escaping from her office or getting home in the nude.
Which was exactly how Gary like her – naked, broken, humiliated, vulnerable. Her clothes belonged in the trash.
Then she knelt in front of her closed office door, looking up at where Gary’s face would be if he were to walk in, like a pet waiting for her master, and she began to masturbate.
Her thought was that when the time of the appointment arrived, she would pretend Gary had attended, and crawl around submissively as if he were in the room with her.
But at the exact moment when Gary should have arrived – but was not expected to – there was a knock at Amelie’s office door.
She jumped with shock. It had to be Gary. He had come after all. This had just been a test to see if Amelie would be a good slut in his absence.
“Come in, sir,” she said. “It’s open.”
The office door opened… and it was not Gary on the other side.
It was a male courier, maybe 20 years old, in a courier uniform and holding a box.
He looked down at the naked slut in front of him.
“What the fuck?” he said.
Amelie’s first reaction was to jerk her hand away from her cunt, and try and cover her tits – but as she did so, she had a sudden image of what Gary would do if he were present.
“Don’t you dare stop, bitch,” he would have snarled.
And so Amelie didn’t stop, despite her humiliation. She kept masturbating. “I’m sorry,” she said – her default response whenever a man made her feel embarrassed or uncomfortable. “I’ll take the box. Please don’t tell anyone.”
The courier put down the box, and held out a digital pad.
“You’ve got to sign for it,” he said.
Amelie, still masturbating with one hand, used her other to sign for the package.
“Please, seriously,” she said. “Just… pretend you didn’t see me.”
The courier turned to leave – and then stopped.
“I’ll stay silent,” he said. “In return for a blowjob.”
Amelie blushed bright red – but she nodded, and moved back so the courier could enter her office. He followed her, and closed the door behind him. Amelie reached out and began undoing his pants.
He looked down at her naked body, and then across to the coffee table. Amelie knew that he was seeing the report she kept there – “What It Felt Like To Piss On My Clothes In Front Of A Man”. She usually kept it hidden under a pile of other magazines, but she had moved it to the top just now knowing that Gary would have wanted to see it.
“Jesus,” said the courier. “What kind of slut *are* you?”
Amelie didn’t reply. She just took his hard cock into her mouth and began to suck. It felt good to think of nothing except serving and pleasing this man. His cock was warm and soothing in her mouth, and his pre-cum tasted salty and pleasant.
She looked up at him, keeping eye contact, so she could see the contempt and disgust in his eyes as he looked back at her.
As she felt him nearing orgasm, she prepared herself to swallow his cum – but instead, the courier pulled out, and began to spray his sperm across her face and tits. Amelie flinched, but then pushed her chest out to better capture and display his spunk.
“Fuck, that was good,” said the courier, when he was done. He pushed his cock back in her mouth so she could clean it, and then he tucked it back in his pants, turned, and left, without a further word.
Amelie knew that Gary wouldn’t approve of cleaning the courier’s cum off her skin, so she let it drip down her face and boobs as she crawled back across the floor to examine the box.
Upon opening the box, she found it contained several items. The first was a stack of glossy printed images, each about A4 in size. They all depicted Amelie nude, and they were taken from the videos she had sent Gary in the mornings when she “admitted” to being a sex offender. There were five in all, and each had different text printed across it. They read:
- I LOVE BEING RAPED.
- MY NAME IS AMELIE RAIMES AND I AM A SEX OFFENDER.
- WOMEN ARE FOR RAPING.
- I’M A DUMB CUNT AND MY CLOTHES GO IN THE GARBAGE.
- I DESERVE TO HAVE MY TITS SLAPPED
Next to the posters was a collection of used condoms. There were seven of them, each completely filled with semen and tied off at the neck. And there was a note.
The note read:
“Posters for you, bitch. One goes in a frame on your desk. One goes in that stack of magazines you keep in your office. One to hang in your bedroom, one to hang in your toilet at home, and one to hang just inside your front door where every visitor will see it. You choose which is which.
As for the cum – you know what to do with it.”
It wasn’t signed – but it was clearly from Gary.
She had to keep two of the posters in her office. Which two were the least worst? Clearly she couldn’t have the “sex offender” poster here.
She chose to shuffle “I deserve to have my tits slapped” into the pile of magazines, beneath her pissing report, and she kept “I’m a dumb cunt” for her desk. She would buy a frame for it tomorrow on the way to work. The other three would go home with her. “Sex offender” would go in her bedroom where it was least likely to be seen. “I love being raped” would go in her toilet, and “women are for raping” could go by the front door.
Then she looked at the condoms.
She didn’t know whose cum they were. Was it Gary’s cum? Someone else’s? Gary was cruel and sadistic enough that, for all Amelie knew, this cum came from someone that Amelie knew personally. Maybe a family member. Maybe even an animal.
But she knew what Gary expected her to do.
She shivered. She shouldn’t do this. She wasn’t on contraception anymore. She really could get pregnant from any load of cum that went up her pussy. If she kept her back to her mobile phone, she could moan and rub her cunt and act like she was obeying Gary while secretly protecting herself, and he would never know.
A sudden vivid image came to her – of Gary slapping her, again and again, until she was bruised and crying, and then slapping her tits until they were bruised too, and then kicking her cunt repeatedly, before shoving his new electric cattle prod up her cunt and discharging it.
He would know if she didn’t obey. He would *know*. It didn’t matter that there was no way for him to tell. He would know it the second that he looked into her eyes, and saw the lies written on her soul. And then he would make her regret doing anything other than submitting to him wholly.
She went to her desk drawer and got the stun gun and a roll of duct tape, and from atop her desk she got a small teacup, and then she returned to a kneeling position on the floor, this time facing her phone to give it the best possible view. She set the stun gun down next to her, and placed the teacup between her legs, under her cunt, and then took out the first condom of sperm.
She carefully untied it, opened her mouth, and poured it onto her tongue. It was cold and slimy. She kept her mouth open so that Gary could see that she wasn’t swallowing it, only holding it in her mouth. She then repeated this with a second condom, to give herself a nice pool of sperm in her mouth for her tongue to bathe in.
With her mouth still open, she took the next condom, opened it, and put the entrance against her pussy. Then she turned it inside out, pushing the tube of anonymous cum up and inside her twat. Then she began to masturbate it up inside her.
She felt so slutty, fingerfucking a stranger’s cum into her unprotected fuckhole. And feeling slutty made it hotter, and made it feel better. She moaned around her mouthful of cum as she fingerfucked herself.
After a bit, she took out the next condom of cum, and pushed that up into her too, before resuming her masturbation. She kept her mouth open so that Gary could see that she wasn’t swallowing her mouthful of cum, only savouring its taste.
One by one the remaining condoms of sperm went into her pussy. She had a significant quantity of semen inside her now, and it kept wanting to leak back out, so she had to fuck it up inside herself hard using her fingers. Some still leaked out, and dripped into the teacup between her legs. She gargled her mouthful of cum and focused on how pleased Gary would be to see her degrading herself.
When she felt her orgasm approaching, she grabbed the stun gun and jammed the nozzle into her fuckhole, and began to masturbate with it, and when she felt her orgasm hit, a few moments later, she pulled the trigger, discharging its agonising electric charge directly into her cunt.
Her brain switched off for a minute as she twitched and jerked in the throes of her agonising, sadistic, humiliating orgasm. Her cunt forcefully squirted out a small amount of the cum inside her in, into the teacup. She felt lucky she didn’t lose control her bladder too.
And then it was over, and she had control of her body again.
Quickly, she picked up the teacup, and spat the cum that had been in her mouth into the cup, to mingle with the sperm that had dripped out of her pussy. Then she rolled backwards, supported on her shoulders, to bring her groin up into the air. She used one hand to part her pussy lips, and with the other she tipped the contents of the teacup into her rape-tunnel.
Then she grabbed the duct tape and quickly taped her pussy closed.
Seven condoms full of anonymous cum, trapped inside her pussy, to give it the best chance of impregnating her. She would leave it taped in place until dinner time, whereupon she would remove the tape and allow the cum to drip out of her twat and onto her dinner, which she would then eat while masturbating. That was what Gary would want for her.
She looked at her phone, filming her. How to end her performance for Gary?
“My name is Amelie Raimes,’ she said quietly, “and I deserve to be raped.”
Would Gary like that?
No. There was no one here to hear it, and she had still whispered it. He would want her humiliated.
“Louder,” she could almost hear him say.
“My name is Amelie Raimes, and I deserve to be raped,” said Amelie again, louder.
It wasn’t enough. Gary would slap her for such a poor performance.
“My name is Amelie Raimes! And I deserve to be raped!” she said. It was far louder than a conversational volume. It would have felt like yelling if anyone had actually been in the room.
“Louder,” she heard Gary insist.
She cringed. There were offices next door to her. Someone might hear her.
That was exactly the point, though. She was a slut. Preserving her privacy and dignity was irrelevant.
“MY NAME IS AMELIE RAIMES,” she yelled. “AND I DESERVE TO BE RAPED!”
Had anyone heard her? She didn’t know. Maybe she never would.
It didn’t matter.
The only thing that mattered was that it was true.
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This is good