Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Midnite Mugging (rp, nc) By: Beautiful Capture /files/Authors/BeautifulCapture/aboutme.txt Disclaimer: You must be at least 18 and a legal adult to read this work of fiction. This work contains graphic sexual acts which may be objectionable or illegal. The author disclaims any responsibility concerning the use, possession, distribution, or reproduction of this document. If you read and understood the Disclaimer, and choose to continue reading, then enjoy the story! -- She was wandering a dark alley when she heard the click of a gun and a cold barrel pressed against her head. Instantly she froze. The tall man came around in front of her but she couldn't make out his features under the shadow of his fedora cap, nor his build under the matching brown trenchcoat. All of his clothes were clean like brand new, she could even smell the leather and shoe polish. Her attention was drawn to the gun which he was holding close to his body, concealing it from all vantages but her own. It was an old six shooter, crusty and black like it had been painted over many times. He guided her to a secluded alcove and told her to remove her skirt. Frightened and without an alternative, she reluctantly agreed. As she unfastened her skirt, she watched the man oil his gun. She wondered if she could escape while he was distracted, but the chances didn't seem good. Even if she could run, the gun was a Great Equalizer which muted her advantage of surprise. As she studied the gun, she noticed the iron sight had been filed away from the barrel, so perhaps she could have run after all, but too late- her skirt was already below her knees and his attention had returned to her. "What I want you to do," he said in a deep and gravely voice, "is to close your eyes and open your legs." "Please no," her eyes on the verge of crying, she closed them to keep him from seeing, to at least deny him of her tears. "Please, just... just don't." Nothing happened for a long moment. He didn't say anything, and she couldn't hear him over the throb of her own heartbeat echoing loudly through her ears. She could feel a vein in her neck twitching from the heightened vascular flow throughout her body. His lack of reaction had tipped her fight or flight response off balance; she hoped against hope that he had left her alone after all. She started to open her eyes but just as the faintest sliver of light reached her pupils he reasserted himself. "And open your legs." He had changed position and was kneeling in front of her, studying her now-exposed panties, bobbing his head as he examined them from different angles. As she looked down at him, the fedora cap pointing to where his gaze focused, she felt an odd sense of empowerment despite her powerlessness: She had something that he wanted. Of course she had always known that men want what women have, but there was something about this image of her looking down her nose at the crouching man, his head dancing like a hummingbird enraptured with her flower. She wanted to lock her strong legs around his neck and squeeze the life out of him, and she thought she just might until he looked up at her with his hard eyes. His neutral expression morphed into a scowl. He took a clean kerchief from his coat to smooth the barrel of the gun, and it blackened from the recent oiling. Pointing the gun straight up, he held it against her panties. "Lower yourself onto it, bitch." He reached his other arm up around her shoulder and held her in place. He nuzzled the gun into her panties to goad her. "Lower yourself." Aghast, she pressed herself back against the brick wall behind her, palms flat against it and praying to pass through to the other side. "N-noooo...." Any sense of power she once felt had long since vanished. She was pleading, begging, dignity forgotten. "Fuck the gun!" He slapped his hand that was holding her shoulder hard against the wall, sounding a tremendous crack. She blinked a long blink while holding her breath, until she realized that it wasn't the sound of the gun being fired. She swallowed painfully, a stream of tears on the verge of spilling from her eyes. "O-- OK," she choked out. "Just.... just don't. Just don't... please!" she begged. She closed her eyes and grimaced as she slowly, very slowly, bent her knees and lowered her body until she felt the cloth of her panties, tented by the gun shaft, press against her cunt. She tilted her head back against the brick wall and sobbed, "Please stop! Enough!" He twisted the barrel of the gun back and forth, inching it higher until she just felt it begin to open her lips. "Lower yourself," he scowled, his voice deeper and more booming than before, to her heightened senses. His other hand was pressing her shoulder down, urging her onward. She widened her knees some more, now low enough that she had to adjust her posture to her bow-legged stance. She leaned forward from the wall and her blouse and jacket slumphed down her body, having been held up by the pressure between it and her back. Her panties were now scrunched uncomfortably up her twat, the cloth near its breaking point. She suddenly stopped, opened her eyes, and looked at him. "That's as far as it will go," she told him matter-of-factly. Any further and her panties would break. He wiggled the gun side-to-side with a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Alright," he softened. "Then fuck this gun until you cum." "What? That's impossible," she stared at him blankly. She wasn't going to cum on a gun. "You keep fucking yourself on this gun, or else I shoot you. All I have to do is pull the trigger," he threatened. "Here, this might help," he released her shoulder and kneeled back down. With his free hand, he tugged at her panties, moving them to the side. She instantly shot back up to her full height in automatic response, her jacket skidding noisily on the brick wall behind her. He stood back up and chastised her, "Do we have to do this again?" His free hand returned to her shoulder firmly holding her in place while gently urging her downward. Now the barrel of the gun held her panties to the side, pointing directly at her vagina, hovering just before the entrance. "Lower yourself..." and the hand urged her down more pressingly. She couldn't help but watch through tear stained eyes. Her knees opened to relieve the pressure on her shoulder and she sucked in her breath as she felt the cold metal of the gun enter her vulva. It was so cold that she couldn't tell if it was wet or cold or both. "Puh-Pl-Please--" her teeth chattered as her body attempted to warm up. He eased off the pressure slightly. Her knees cracked another inch and she felt the heavy oil the man had used to coat the gun. It was thick and gooey like motor oil. Her stomach heaved like she was about to retch as she stood there on trembling legs, watching the man, watching her. "I'm getting tired of repeating myself," he opined. "Keep fucking that gun until you cum or I'm going to blow your uterus out!" She saw a glint of dark joy in his face as he finished his threat, and knew that he would follow through. The sick bastard, he wanted to pull the trigger! A breeze caught her discarded skirt on the ground and she watched it silently flutter away, unnoticed by the man. She had to fuck herself, even if she knew she couldn't cum. His game had to end somehow, but she wasn't going to give up while she still had a move to play. Maybe she could fake it, once she got into a rhythm? She worked her legs apart some more then sucked in her breath and braced herself as more of the cold steel entered inside. The grimy oil disgusted her but it did lubricate the gun, if only a little-- enough that she could proceed, anyway. A glob of thick, but clear, brown liquid wept from her slit where the gun entered it. She looked away. Next she lifted herself back up slowly; the gun was sticky and her muscles contracted abnormally tightly around it. At her apex, she glanced downward at the man but saw only cold-hearted blackness there, so she started to descend on her own, without being told. The man gruffed in approval or scorn, she didn't care which. She repeated the process several times, gradually expanding her cavern, making space for the gun to penetrate her more fully. It was slow, much slower than fucking a man, as the oil which lubricated the gun also made her muscles cling to it, clutching the thing in a deathgrip. She didn't know how she was going to be able to fake it-- nothing would be plausible at the pace she was going. Nonetheless, she was starting to develop a rhythm, which made it less painful. The man suddenly laughed, "Very good, slut! Not many women do what you've just done! I commend your tenacity!" He plucked the gun from her and used the cloth to clean it some more, blackening it further. She watched disbelieving as he took a handful of bullets from his pockets, opened the chamber of the gun, and loaded the 6 bullets inside. The gun had been empty this whole time! "Most women give up before letting this thing inside themselves," he taunted, waving the now-loaded gun in front of her. "Or soon after trying." He low-whistled as he rubbed the barrel of the gun some more. "They offer me a blow job or to fuck their tits, some sort of negotiation to get out of fucking a gun! You know, that was always the part that got me-- when it's the dame's idea. But you- wow! Now I'm intrigued and have to see this play out! Nobody's ever fucked the gun before!" Her face flushed red as she listened to him gloat. Was she really the only slut so dumb that she played along? Why hadn't she thought of offering herself to him? It was so obvious, and she knew her plan wasn't going to work anyway. Had she secretly wanted to give in to his demands-- to fuck the gun? "Don't even think about offering yourself to me now, it's too late for that. I have to see what happens when the dame actually plays my game. Will you have the cumming of your life? Or..." the silence rested a moment. "Do I pull the trigger? I can't wait to see what happens now that it's *real.*" He tapped the cylinder of the gun and spun it for emphasis. She cast her eyes down to her feet. She couldn't look at his face anymore. Sniffling in humiliation, she adjusted herself to her new posture standing against the wall. "You don't really need this anymore, do you?" as he unbuttoned her jacket and slid it off her shoulders. She didn't fight him because she wanted to die in shame instead. Then he unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her as well. The cool night air revived her and she started, "Wait, please, I need those," she sniffled, naked except for her bra and panties. He took a box cutter from his jacket and tore through her panties. They both watched as the tattered remains twisted down her leg, corkscrewing around the dainty limb before slipping to the ground. "Now I can really see you as you fuck up this gun. Beautiful!" and he moved the gun barrel back into position at the entrance of her cunt lips. He held it firmly, with all his fingers wrapped around its handle, leaving the trigger exposed. "Go on," he urged, "You've already done this part! Lower yourself back down!" It was all the more humiliating now, and when she felt the now-warmed metal at the entrance of her cunt she just couldn't proceed again. She was trying to escape into a safe place in her mind. "No. No. Nooooo..." she mumbled. "I just can't do it anymore..." She needed a moment-- a moment to figure out what had happened, a moment to think, a moment to center herself. But she didn't have a moment. He once again urged her downward, and when her cunt lips kissed the gun barrel her eyes popped open and she reactively protested. "Stop! You have to stop! This isn't right! I can't do--" "Oho!" he laughed. "But you already have! Now just do it again!" The gun felt different inside her with the oil rubbed off. The crusty paint, if it even was paint, felt rougher and more scabrous. As the object pierced into her, it wasn't as difficult as she had expected. Her body had lubricated itself to wash away the greasy oil soaking her vaginal walls. Her muscles, however, still squeezed far too tightly for an object of its girth, to the point where she was starting to develop a cramp from the involuntary exertion. She realized the gun was no longer moving as he stopped pushing her down onto it. He gazed in her eyes, silently communicating for her to lift herself up and drop back onto it again. She followed the order as she had followed every other. The work was much easier with her own natural lubrication than with the oil, and she was able to get into it a little. "Remember you need to cum," he reminded her, as if she had forgotten. She lowered herself and raised back up, quicker than she had been doing before, but still slower than normal sex. "My my, you do enjoy this don't you?" he mused, watching her exposed body bounce as she fucked herself on the gun. "Need I remind you this is a live gun?" He extended his finger parallel to the trigger of the gun, as if he was getting ready to shoot. He pushed the gun deeper into her, until he could just barely feel her cunt lips at the bottom of her downstroke touch his extended finger. "Careful now," he warned. "If you do it then it's suicide. I can't be held responsible for that!" She was losing her grip on reality, though, and didn't hear him. She was really getting into it and wanted to get off now. She felt the edge of the tip of his finger and wanted it's warmth in her body. She fucked herself more violently, aiming to get enough depth to engulf the warm digit. That was what she needed: a nice, warm thing in her cunt. Though this solid, hard thing worked too. She dropped her weight out from under her and groaned as she sank onto the metal cylinder as deep as she could, getting one knuckle of the warm finger she wanted inside. She arched her back as she sat on his hand and groaned in gutteral delight. He watched in stunned silence as she had succeeded and beat him at his own game. He couldn't believe the slut had actually done it. He was utterly deflated. A moment later, though, a malicious smirk cracked on his face. He cocked the hammer spur, which chambered a round and rotated the cylinder inside her cunt. She spasmed and got a fierce look in her eyes as she redoubled her efforts to fuck, the veins on her neck and face bulging red. She pistoned her hips with such frenzy that her tits popped free of the bra, and they spun in wild shapes as she gratified herself on the makeshift phallus. The wicked man refused to lose the game and gripped his finger over the trigger, a grizly smile as he waited for her to fuck it hard enough that the gun fired. The cunt would fuck herself to death. She kept intensifying throughout, trying to reach an orgasm she would remember for the rest of her life. She fucked it vigorously while gazing into the mans eyes, boring into his soul. At once, he felt impotent and ashamed beneath her stare, but knew his power would return when the dumb cunt shot herself. He tried to look down at her wildly swinging tits, but her gaze held him in place, dominating him. She was the one fucking for pleasure, and he was merely her toy. The smell of sex wafted over them both, but he was the one to flinch. At last she screamed out in gratified delight and a moment later bottomed out the deepest she could, crashing into his trigger finger and squeezing the trigger. Nothing happened. She moaned in ecstasy as she bounced on his trigger finger several more times, causing him to squeeze the trigger more forcefully each time. "What the fuck? It's a fake!" He pulled the gun out of her and tried firing several times. "I can't believe this gun is a fake! How did I get a fake gun!" He ignored the girl in his misery. "You idiot! How did you buy a gun and never test to make sure it really works or not!" he admonished himself. He fled the scene, gun in hand, trench coat billowing in his wake. A police officer was parked nearby on the main street and immediately apprehended the man for illegal possesion of a firearm. Perhaps this suspect was the source of the recent reports of muggings and rapes in the area that created this unfortunate night shift. They would later discover that the gun had been gummed up with so much oil that it was rendered completely inoperable. Even after leaving it in a soap bath to retrieve the serial number, forensics never got all the stickiness off that gun. One tech said that when he picked up the gun to move it, it was so sticky that his fingers clenched it and he couldn't let go. He had to pour copious liquid soap over the grip to release his hand from its lockjaw. Meanwhile, the woman relaxed in fading bliss in the dark alleyway. She watched as her blouse fluttered up into the wind and was swept away, joining her other clothes in the endless abyss of the city. Her only garments remaining were her bra, which she hadn't yet fixed to cover her breasts, and her jacket, which was heavy enough to stay on the ground despite the wind channel hurtling between the tall buildings of the alley. The jacket had rolled along the slick pavement, soaking up street water througout. She knew she should make an effort to get up and grab her blouse before it flew out of sight, but she just didn't have the energy. She looked up and saw a slice of the full moon between the buildings, the sky unusually clear for the midnight city. She would remember this night for the rest of her life. She wasn't yet sure if it would be a terrible nightmare or a secret delight, but in the afterglow of her orgasm, she hoped for the best.