Taras Game

Tara’s Game

Or

Never Talk To Strangers

*

It was about seven in the morning, and Tara was in the kitchen, scrubbing away the dirt left by her morning chores. Tara lived on a farm. Not a quaint family farm, as one sees in many “coming of age” type movies. Tara’s farm more resembled a small compound; the type favoured by religious cultists and private militias. Tara was neither, though. Tara was a Southern California sweetheart that simply did not care for city life of its trappings. She used the land as her private grocer, growing her own vegetables and raising her own meat. She even slaughtered her own animals. This last fact kept many potential suitors at bay, much to Tara’s relief.

At 30, Tara was still quite a stunning woman. Attractive in the way those women of the 1940’s were attractive; she had a full figure, but was by no means fat. Her body formed a near perfect hourglass, and her natural breasts were still as perky as they were at 25. Her creamy pale skin did nothing to tell a casual onlooker of her rough existence, and her medium brown hair contrasted her skin tone perfectly. For all of her attractive features, Tara did little to showcase them for the world. Her taste in clothes was simple; blue jeans and a tank top, with a long sleeve camo shirt to keep her arms from getting sunburned. Tara had never had much luck with men. All of the men she had previously been involved with had been abusive, some to an extreme. She had no intention of dressing to please anyone but herself.

As she was drying her hands, the telephone rang. She walked over to pick up the telephone, and a stern male voice on the other end instructed her to play a game of solitaire. Tara’s countenance changed at the suggestion. Her face became neutral, and her eyes fixed straight ahead, as though she were in some sort of trance. Tara had no idea that the reaction was all part of her programming, a post-hypnotic suggestion.

She hung up the phone; pulled a deck of cards from the junk drawer in the kitchen, dealt and played as instructed. As she drew the Queen of Hearts she stopped playing, awaiting the next portion of her task.

Within a minute, the telephone rang again, and she dutifully answered. The same voice instructed, simply, "Open Eyes". Tara hang up the phone and left the house.

She had no idea why, but she was compelled to stand near the barn door. Her next sensation is darkness and the smell of sackcloth, followed by a sharp pain in the neck. Her stomach tensed, as she knew she was being attacked, but the drug that had entered her body worked fast; her body was going limp and she was powerless to resist. She allowed herself to be dragged to who knows where by God knows who, as reality begins to fade away. She felt herself entering that state between wakefulness and sleep. She was aware that she had walked into a dangerous situation, and her instincts reacted as they should, but her limbs were powerless to act.

She was aware of the grip on her arms as they were twisted behind her back. She felt and head zip-ties being applied to her wrists. She heard a sound she recognized as the back gate of her own truck being lowered. She was placed in the bed of the truck and covered with a tarp, and the lift gate was closed behind her. Anger filled the pit of her stomach as she began to realize that some bastard was kidnapping her with her own truck. The truck began to move forward, as she tried to struggle against her bonds. Unconsciousness crept up. Finally, she was completely unable to resist, and she moved into complete blackness.

When she came to, she was aware that she was laying on something that felt like a gym mat with a sheet over it, and her wrists and ankles were bound so that she was in prone anatomical position. She was also aware she was naked, except for the head bag.

"Look who's awake?” boomed a stern male voice, a voice she thought she recognized from somewhere. But where?

She felt as though she had just come out of surgery, and was in that uncomfortable state of wakefulness where the nurse keeps waking you up, but you just want to go back to sleep. Tara tried desperately to struggle against her restraints, but was unable to move a muscle.

"That will do you no good, my dear. You were re-administered a lower dose of the drug you were given before you arrived. You reacted more acutely to it than I had expected."

Tara was terrified. Who had her? A government? Someone she had chased off her farm at gunpoint? She knew her lifestyle attracted some attention, and pissed off a lot of people, but this situation seemed an extreme reaction.

The platform to which she was strapped began to move, her head was being elevated, her legs lowered. She felt at about a 45-degree angle when the head bag was removed.

Tara could see nothing except for a bright light aimed directly into her eyes.

"You know of me, but you do not know me. Don't speak, Tara. The experience will go easier if you just relax and allow it to happen"

The man who was attached to the voice moved forward, but Tara could only see his outline. As he moved closer, she could see that he was completely naked as well, except for a black balaclava.

There was no longer any question of what this mystery man wanted.

Tara was no stranger to rape. It had happened once before, at a college bar, very soon after turning 21. She was not aware of what had happened at the time. All she remembered of that night was ordering her first drink and going to the bathroom. She woke up the next morning in a ditch on the side of the road, her pants tossed on top of her, a sore crotch and a throbbing headache. Fortunately, there was a state trooper passing that she managed to flag down, and she was taken to the hospital. It was there she learned she had experience a "date rape". The man must have drugged her drink when she went to the bathroom. As her rapist was careful to cover his tracks, no evidence was extracted, and nobody was ever brought to justice. Tara decided all those years ago that she would kill the next one who tried where he stood, and shove his freshly severed genitals into his mouth.

Today Tara had no such control over her circumstances. She was naked and strapped to a board, though the straps meant nothing -- she couldn't move no matter how much she wanted to. Tears of anger rushed to her eyes in response to the fire that was building in her belly. She was about to be raped again, this time fully conscious, but still unable to do anything about it.

The mystery man in the mask moved closer, his genitals just barely touching hers. How she wanted to tear off his cock and force it up his ass, see how he liked it. Instead, she had to lay there as his body began to eclipse hers, his filthy hands and tongue moving all over her inert body, touching her every crevice, every curve, every naughty bit.

He wasted no time in going for the prize. Tara felt intense pain as his member forced its way into the most private part of her body. Moving in and out of her vagina, tearing the delicate membranes as he forced his filthy “manhood” back and forth, and in and out, grunting like a pig as he did, holding onto her soft, natural breasts as he dripped sweat all over her body. The pain in her crotch was intense, so much worse than the first time. The pain in the pit of her stomach was worse. She wanted to throw up, but found herself unable to. Her face burned with shame and anger. Her teeth clenched. When she spoke, she only managed to do so in a low tone, an angry tone. The coloring of the room began to change as she literally began to see red.

"Get it done motherfucker. And enjoy it. Go on! Fuck me! Cum in my pussy! When you're done, you'd better pray you live to go to prison. I will fucking kill you" she managed to grunt through her clenched teeth.

The mystery man seemed to be taking Tara's advice. He was thoroughly enjoying her delicate tissues, thrusting with more force after she said what she felt she needed to say.

“Oh, you like that?!? This the only way you can get laid, bitch?!? If I let you live, you’re going to prison, motherfucker! I’m going to tear your fucking dick off! Give you a pussy! Yeah, then you can get raped by the animals in the little cage they let you live in! Wanna be someone’s bitch?!? Enjoy my pussy! It’s the last you’ll ever have!”

Tara had regained some muscular control over her vagina, and began to tighten those muscles in the hope of forcing his intrusive member out of her body. Instead of the desired effect, it only seemed enhance the mystery man’s enjoyment of her body.

"That's it, just try and fight it, bitch. When we’re done, I’ll put that pretty mouth of yours to better use. You asked for this." His tone was even and chilling. It took the fight right out of her. In an odd way, she knew he was right, though she was sure he was in the wrong. The conflict was too much with what was happening. She knew she had no choice, and so she gave in. She tried to loosen her vagina’s grip on his penis, lessen the pain, and just allow it to happen. She found she could not. She found comfort in pretending she wasn’t really there, and that this wasn’t really happening.

His thrusts quickened and went deeper. She realized she had given him some sort of sick thrill. Tara was sickened as the man's words sank in, and her body reacted as was natural. Tara was beginning to cum.

The phenomenon had been explained to her all those years ago, when she was in therapy for the last rape. It is not unnatural for a rape victim to experience orgasm at the hands of her rapist. It did not make her any less disgusted with it though.

As Tara's pussy went through its waves of involuntary orgasm, her rapist began to cum, too. Tara felt his penis swell in response to the orgasmic contractions of her own vaginal walls, and felt the familiar sensation of spurts of semen splashing against her cervix.

As her orgasm began to subside, her consciousness did as well. And so Tara passed out with her rapist's dick still inside of her, finishing the last of its purpose.

Tara awoke to twilight, wrapped in a beach towel, lying on the dirt floor of her own barn. Her clothes were folded neatly beside her, a freshly cut white rose atop the pile. Her hair was damp, and she had the feeling of being freshly bathed. She would have wondered if the whole experience had been real were it not for a dull ache in her womb.

Tara involuntarily picked up the white rose and inhaled its sweet scent. As the scent filled her lungs, impulses began to come alive in her mind. Tara was aware of her next task. She began to unfold and dress herself in the clothes that had been laid out for her, in systematic fashion. After she was dressed, she smelled the sweetness of her rose and began to walk toward her house. The closer she moved to the house, the more blanks filled themselves in. Then it hit her.

Some months before, she had met a man online, on an S&M site. A man like no other she had ever encountered. Abusive and controlling, to be sure. As all men were. But different. She had spent many late nights writing back and forth to this man, and in the last few months had started speaking to him over the telephone. She had come to trust this man completely, and told him her darkest fantasies, this fantasy. She was fascinated when he told her that it could easily be done without chemicals, which was her preference. Tara hated hangovers.

She quickened her pace back to the house, to put the rose in some water and fall into the loving arms of the talented hypnotist of so many late night conversations, her afternoon "rapist", determined to put her pretty mouth to good use as instructed. For the first time in her life, she felt secure enough with a man to be truly happy.