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LYNSEY'S GAME Lynsey was bored one night, which isn't the best reason for your life to change completely. It was now a customary ritual, she would sign on, chat, flirt, cyber or role play, but somewhere along the line, she would drop another clue or two. A few fake ones, because, after all, she wasn't stupid. She was always careful not to give away anything critical. No big deal, I'll just shoot my load down her throat. Ian grabbed her soft lanky blond hair and yanked her to her knees, forcing her head down. He didn't know if she was truly aroused, or merely obedient, and he didn't care.
But then, she didn't realize how far it would go or how much she would lose. For my clues, I want you to answer a few questions. I won't make it too easy by giving you an address, she wrote. It would be a restaurant she'd eaten in, or perhaps a favourite brand of coffee, or a description of an article of clothing. His pants were stained, she could smell his crotch, thick with the odour of sour urine. Oh man, you should feel this, as he rudely used his fingers to violate her cunt. I bet she likes it a little rough, gets her going really good. She felt ashamed of herself, immeasurably dirty and filthy. He understood instead, that even as his cock fucked into her face, that his words had fucked into her soul, penetrating her more deeply than she had ever been touched.
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.
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Trisha enjoyed hot sauna and then called the masseur.
She was surprised to see a new guy, but just relaxed waiting whilst he starts kneading her sexy body.