The following dark story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read. Also, the author would like to thank everyone that's ever read his stories as this is his one hundred and fiftieth story published at Literotica.
"Tell me, is it true?" the timid eighteen year old woman asks the older man again as he tries to walk away from her. As he tries to get away from her, he has a very puzzled look on his face. The man, who is in his late fifties glances back at the woman as she follows him, thinking that this has to be a joke of some sort. That one of his friends is putting her up to this as it can't really be happening.
"Look chick, I don't know what you are talking about," the older man tells her in his best "I'm innocent" tone of voice. Right after saying this he looks round the park to see if anyone has noticed the girl confronting him. He's incredibly happy to see that no one has noticed and that the park is almost empty.
"You are the one. I know you are," the woman says, refusing to let the topic die as she follows him like a bloodhound, even if she is very much smaller than the man.
It's here that the man can tell that whomever the woman is, she doesn't have the best social skills. In fact, he's wondering if she might be on the spectrum, or possibly have Asperger's or something. After all, she's confronting him, not knowing what weapons he may have, in the middle of a near empty park with no backup what so ever. Confronting a man that is basically twice her size without a gun or something else to give her an edge. That's pretty dangerous...and stupid.
"I didn't do anything to your friend," the older man tells her, heading for the edge of the park. This neighborhood park is surrounded on nearly every side by a huge forest. The only side that isn't surrounded by the forest is the only entrance to the large park.
"It's your gait. Your walk. That's why I know it was you," the woman proclaims loudly, still following behind the man. This causes the older man, whose name is Pete, to finally stop. He sighs as he stops as he knows the gig is up. Words are one thing, but mentioning his gait is basically evidence.
"You have a small limp on your right leg," the woman points out, stopping along with Pete. She goes on to point at his leg, not scared in any way that the man may attack her.
"Vanessa described it when telling me about you. I then found proof of it in the footprints you left on the ground," the woman explains as Pete still faces away from her. He does notice that there's no pride in her voice as she says this. It's just a fact to her. Not something to use as blackmail but proof to make sure he knows she's sure.
"Footprints?" Pete asks, turning to look at the woman that came up to him as he was sitting on the bench reading a newspaper. This woman came up as if she knew him and started saying how she knew he was the one that raped her friend. It was rather shocking so Pete did the only thing he could think of, which was to leave.
Pete's confusion grows as he can't remember leaving footprints. In fact, it should have been impossible due to most of it happening on grass. Grass is pretty durable so any footsteps should have bounced right back leaving no trace that he walked on it. It wasn't rainy or anything, so he doesn't see how there were footprints.
"Yes, footprints. I took digital photos of the ground where you dragged Vanessa into the forest where I captured a partial footprint. I used a data modeling program to recreate your entire shoe print, where I was able to determine your height and weight along with your gait, which was confirmed by Vanessa," the woman states matter-of-factly, making Pete's mouth drop open.
For the briefest of moments Pete considers attacking the woman. She clearly has information that could land him in jail, again. If she found him using that CSI shit, there's no telling what else she knows about him. And all she has to do is give one tiny piece of evidence to the cops and he's fucked.
"I just want to talk, that's all. I swear. I won't turn you in or tell anyone," the strange woman declares, sounding rather excited. To look at her excited face you might think it's Christmas or her birthday. There's still no thought that she could be in danger to her, even if Pete's balled both fists.
It's only now that Pete looks the woman over, truly looks her over. She's a slightly overweight black girl with her hair braided wearing rather boring clothes. Pete gathers that she's basically a nerd or a late stage tomboy that doesn't really care about girly stuff like makeup. She's not really his type as she's pretty thick, but Pete can't deny she has a lot of tits. Her body type is short but big, which makes her breasts look like they have to be FF or G's. Pete prefers petite women, but he can't deny there's something about her body type that does stand out.
"Talk about what?" Pete asks, not liking this at all. His eyes keep darting around as if some undercover group of cops are about to rush him. The only thing that is keeping him from attacking her or running off is that he is rather curious about the girl. If she isn't here to turn him in for what he did to her friend, what could she want?
"Why? Why did you rape Vanessa?" the girl asks, her eyes wide showing she really wants to know the answer. Only there's no accusing tone, nor anger. The way she asks is like asking someone why they wore the shirt they are wearing instead of something else. Like she can't understand human thought or something.
Pete doesn't answer. Instead he looks her over, trying to think of how to reply. The entire situation is very strange and he doesn't like it. It makes him feel too vulnerable.
Considering how to answer, Pete almost tells the girl that it was her friend's fault. That she had been flirting with him for a while, even sitting on his lap on the very bench she found him on. But when he asked her out, she laughed at him. She revealed she was being a bitch and never intended on sleeping with him. Only the girl didn't know he was a serial rapist with one hundred and forty-nine victims to his name. So he decided to take what he thought he was owed.
But Pete doesn't say this. Nor does he mention that Vanessa, which he had forgotten her name, wasn't the first woman he's raped here, nor would she be the last. This park is visited by a lot of people, and there's no shortage of idiot women that come alone. Sure, every so often he's had to spend some time in jail due to his actions, but that was only if he was stupid and left some evidence or picked the wrong girl.
"What's your name?" Pete asks the woman, finding he really wants to know.
"Ali. I'm eighteen and go to the same college as Vanessa. She's my best friend. We've been friends since the ninth grade. We met in Biology class. We met because she needed tutoring," the short black girl responds, saying more information that what Pete wanted. This again makes Pete see that she has some social interaction issues going on. He doesn't think she is on the spectrum, but for sure has poor social skills.
"Well Ali, I did what I did because I wanted to. It wasn't the first time, nor will it be the last," Pete tells her. He figures saying it like this is good enough because he isn't saying he raped anyone, but it is also not denying it. Afterall, this could be a trick or something. She might be recording him.
"You...you like raping women?" Ali asks, her eyes wide with excitement as she leans forward.
