When A Rape Goes Wrong

Carlos Hoffman wasn't a noticeable guy. He wasn't tall, but he wasn't short. He wasn't light, but he wasn't dark. He wasn't fat, but he wasn't thin. He wasn't handsome, but he wasn't ugly. In fact, he wasn't much of anything. He was just average. Forgettable. And he tended to use that to his advantage. If a crime happened, no one took notice of the average man with an average build wearing average clothes.

It was something he relied on. Especially when satisfying his needs. You see, he wasn't much of the lady-killer variety. Truth is, girls didn't tend to gravitate towards Carlos. He was just too plain. Too ordinary.

So, what is a man to do if he has raging hormones and no place to put them? Drag a girl into an alley and rape her, of course. But as we all know, not all girls are the same innocent, wussy, screaming, scratching little girls. Some girls are women. And some women tend to have a different reaction than most. So, what happeneds when a hormone-raging man pulls the wrong woman into a dark alley to rape her? Sit back and find out.

Carlos was exiting a bar one evening, silently following the woman he had been admiring for some time. She was tall, slender, and drop-dead gorgeous. Her long, raven hair blew in the soft breeze with each of her supermodel-catwalk steps.

I have to have her

, he thought to himself.

He made his steps soft as to not provoke her, but he had to quicken them in order to keep up with her long leg's long strides.

The way the light hits her smooth skin

, he thought,

I need to get my hands on that

.

Soon, he noticed an alley up ahead. No lights in it.

Perfect

, he thought.

As soon as she came within distance, he quickened as fast as he could, shoving her with his shoulder into the alley. She lost her balance in her four-inch fuck-me-pumps and tripped, landing on her side, her already-short skirt riding up a little higher to give him a clear view of her black panties.

There's only one reason why a woman wears back underwear

, he thought to himself.

He unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation.

"What the hell?" the woman exclaimed the moment his shoulder had made contact with her. After hitting the ground, her head snapped to the side, taking in the appearance of her assailant.

She jumped to her feet faster than he would have thought anyone capable of in those heels.

His hand wrapped around her throat as he pressed her body against the brick wall framing the alley. It was a light slam, but not to her liking.

"You call that a shove? You expect that feather-tap to do anything?" she asked him, wiping the twisted grin from his face, replacing it with sheer confusion.

I mean, here he was, about to rape her, and she's questioning him on his tactics? Before he could process the tone in the question, he was on his ass before her.

"Now

that's

a shove," she said, standing with hands on hips. "On your knees, bitch," she ordered. "I demand satisfaction."

Only three words could fully be expressed in his mind at the moment:

What. The. Fuck?

"I said on your knees!" she demanded, pulling a two-foot leather stick from her side. "Did you not hear me?"

He was still completely shocked, unable to grasp if this was reality, when he felt a sharp pain on his thigh. Another following on his chest. He soon did what he was told and got to his knees.

"Good boy," she cooed to him in the same manner you would a dog. "Now, licke my boot, Rover," she ordered.

Hesitantly, he reached out to her knee-high four-inch boot, bent down, and licked the toe of it.

Without warning, she kicked him in the mouth.

He fell to his back, holding his bleeding lip. His eyes snapped up to her, his earlier vision of her being an enchanting suductress in silk and pearls now replaced by the wicked witch in latex and leather. Her wicked smile as she enjoyed the blood-flow she caused him scared the shit out of him.

"Back on your hands and knees," she said in that same demanding tone. She hit him with the whip again and he jumped to the demand like a monkey in the circus.

He stayed as he was as she walked around him, stopping at his rear where she gave him another hard crack with her whip-stick.

"Bark!" she ordered, smacking him again. "

Arf!

" he said, not wanting to get smacked again.

"Louder!"

Smack!

"

ARF!

"

Wince

.

"Louder, dammit. You're

my

bitch tonight."

She stepped to his side, put her heel to his ribs, and kicked, knocking him to the ground without breath. She stood before him, a foot on either side, a hand on her hip, and the other around the handle of her whip-stick.

"You think you can have your way with women? Well guess what? I make a career out of having my way with men. And I'm damn good at it."

She commanded him back to his hands and knees. She went to his rear again, pulling his pants down to his knees and shoving the whip-stick up his ass. Now he really did look like a dog.

And for the rest of that night, she made damn sure he was her bitch.