The following is a FORCEfantasies2 Adventure tail!
My latest "victim" shares her diary entry with me; and now I share it with you.
Dear Diary:
Ok, I never meet guys from online. Never. Never ever. But this guy, after a few E-mails, pretty clearly had my deepest, darkest, most secret fantasies figured out to a "T". He was quite perceptive.
Rather than insist that I meet him, he just told me where he was gonna be hanging out a few times, and if I wanted to see him, I could just drop in to this bar or that one, etc. ---or send a friend to check him out, or whatever. Very non-pushy.
One night, I did poke my head in a bar, just to see if he'd be there like he said he would, and he was. And he was hanging out and chatting with friends, and he looked pretty much like he said he looked. I watched him for a while, and then left without even introducing myself. I e-mailed him when I got home and told him I'd "spied" on him. Other than seeming a little bummed that I didn't introduce myself, he was cool.
I pretty much decided then that I was gonna have him help me act out a long-held fantasy...and so we talked by phone, where I gave him a few details about what would turn me on.
I told him that I used to hitchhike quite a bit when I was young and foolish, but that of course I don't any more. And that whenever a lone guy---especially in a van---would pick me up, if he were even remotely cute, I'd fantasized right then and there that he would pull over on a deserted road and "have his way with me". I'd of course heard all the horror stories, but not once did anything remotely like this ever happen while I was hitchhiking.
And it just so happened, he drove a van. A black one, with deep tinted windows. So it was supposed to go down something like this:
I'd park my car at a nearby car-pool site near the expressway by my house, and pretend that I'd run out of gas. I'd start walking down the road (not the expressway, but the less-traveled road intersecting it.)
He'd pull up, and like a good Samaritan, offer me a lift. We'd make small talk, and he might say a few things to make me nervous: "You sure are pretty....I sure am lonely....etc."
Suddenly, he'd pull off the road to a farmer's cornfield access trail, grab me, and restrain me. If it was raining, or cold out, he'd "take me" in the back of his van....but if it was a nice night, he'd pull me into the field, in a clearing amid the tall corn, and stake me out on the ground and rip my clothes off (I'd be wearing "expendable", easy to tear garments.)
I authorized him to use whatever force was necessary, but I have a few rules, and so did he.
1. No biting, hitting, or kicking.
2. No blood. If either of us caused a drop of bloodshed, the game was over.
3. a "safe word" or signal. If I said "shucks" (get it?) or made the Vulcan greeting with either hand (You know, what Spock used to do when he said "live long and prosper"....not many people can make their hand do that, but I can.) EITHER of those things meant we were done.
4. This was to be a one-time thing, he still didn't know my full name, my address, my phone number, where I worked, nothing.
But I knew most of those things about him. And if anything got out of hand, it was all on a 'puter disc, tucked into the envelope which holds my last will and testament.
But no need for all these precautions, really. Everything was going very smooth. I "ran out of gas", he picked me up, right on schedule. He remembered to say a few things to "make me nervous", then whipped the van into the cornfield.
It was a beautiful, moonlit night. He dragged me away from the van to a clearing in the tall corn, and wrestled me to the ground. He flicked open a knife---nice touch, a little scary for a second, since we hadn't discussed any weapon. But he just used it to cut four lengths of clothesline from a roll he had stuffed in his pocket.
