Even as the words left his mouth the man raping Lisa felt he’d committed to something. Something unique. Something he’d fantasized about with a dozen other victims.
“…and in that way you’d be assured of not being physically hurt. Just as I’ll be convinced that no risk will accrue to my situation as well!”
The blonde at present running perilously close to being ‘physically hurt’ half-winced, half-grunted her assent regarding her tormentor’s proposal. He was - after all - discussing a scenario that may or may not transpire in the distant future. And Lisa was hell bent upon precisely that. Having a future wherein she wasn’t raped three (sometimes four) times a day.
“Yes…y-yes sir. I…I mean, sorry s-sir…I mean I could see myself submitting to that.”
The rapist gained a bit more purchase - a tad more leverage - as his cock continued to shove home his degrading message of control over Lisa Stamp. He was very close to yet another climax at the expense of his thirty-four year old prisoner. But he was adept at holding a detailed convo with Lisa throughout the duration of any lengthy rape session. He felt it was a fine way to humiliate an innocent woman.
“Good girl.” (more deep, partially savage fuck strokes) “Move your left leg off the bed. Yes…like that. You’re such a fine whore.” (floorboards beneath the futon mattress groaning from the excess) “Of course, we can plan on it happening a good six to nine months down the road. I desire that you be forced to think about it for a period of time. A period of time of my own choosing. Agree, slut?” (still more crippling rape strokes of his cock up into Lisa’s naked, spent body…)
“Ugh!! Yes! Yes…of course, sir. Yes! Ugh…ugh. Yes s-sir…th-that sounds p-perfect. Ugh!”
He was hammering away at Lisa’s vagina since - according to what the pair had just tentatively agreed to - it would be one of the last times he’d be able to fuck her senseless. Prior to the implementation of what he had planned for Lisa’s nice little body moving forward.
“Can…can I fucking trust you whore?”
(EXTREMELY close to cumming)
Lisa panted with exhaustion. And prayed her nipples wouldn’t be bitten this time. Having this man inside of her over the past several months had become second nature to Lisa. As though it were seemingly her task in life to be used, enjoyed and kept in a constant state of fear.
“Sir! Yes…y-yes…that will w-work. We can go with th-that plan Master. Yes…I submit. UGH!”
It was becoming more and more difficult to communicate. His sensations were becoming frantic with the need to release inside of Lisa yet again. And the blonde at his mercy was equally frantic to retain a sense of having acquired some ‘middle ground’ with a sadist who selected, imprisoned and punished attractive females as though it were nothing more than a harmless pastime.
“Good girl! Filthy slut……”
That’s when the Controller ejaculated inside Lisa Stamp. And coincidentally when Lisa Stamp began to sob uncontrollably. There’s a poem to be found somewhere inside those previous two statements.
*************
(many days later)
Which is how Kenneth Myers came to fuck Lisa Stamp several times a year. Every year. In Lisa’s house. Under her own roof. Atop an extremely expensive mattress that had been gifted to Lisa from a former boyfriend. The same boyfriend who once-upon-a-time had paid for Lisa’s breast augmentation. When she’d turned twenty-nine. Long before Lisa had been kidnapped, raped and enslaved.
The blonde held to her portion of the ‘bargain’. For Lisa’s part there were no cops, no plots of retribution, not a single vigilante group lying in wait to spoil the Controller’s regular visits to her bedroom. So that usage could be made of her fine, wonderful body that admittedly had very little value elsewhere.
And for like only the second or third time in the history of his criminal legacy the Controller kept HIS word as well. Lisa sustained no more beatings. Her nipples were only occasionally gnawed upon…and the Controller restricted to whipping the soles of his slave’s bare feet to every other visit.
It was still ‘rape’. Each time. Every time. Lisa Stamp was well suited to being a victim. It meant very little to the blonde that she was accommodating a long desired fantasy of the Controller’s by willing herself to being abused in her own bed over a long period of time. Consensually, as it were. All Lisa was dead certain of was that very nearly all of the girls who’d gone missing in the greater Denver area over the past two decades were never seen again. Being (borderline savagely) raped inside her own home was a small price for Lisa to pay. In hopes of avoiding the fate of so many.
