From jmauer7782@aol.com Tue Dec 03 13:06:53 1996
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: LEXtext: Tease-Killer (NC)
From: jmauer7782@aol.com
Date: 3 Dec 1996 18:06:53 GMT

Tease-Killer

 Slowly, he emptied the ladle-spoon of hot steaming tar on the young
girl's bruised and whipped back.
 Her bound body spasmed and leaped as the smouldering black ooze rolled
down the center of her whip-wealed spine and she gave out a wild
high-pitched shriek of pain, her blonde head rearing back, eyes shut
tightly.
 The scream reverberated in the cavernous depths of the abandoned factory
and he smiled and licked his lips as the little bitch strained desperately
against the bondage that held her....


 .......The little slut.
 He'd watched her for a week walking past the boys in the parking lot of
the school with her teasing lilt.
 Prickteasing little tramp.
 She always wore tiny skirts that allowed glimpses of her panties, or
shorts so tight that every detail of her luscious young ass was obvious. 
Her legs were long and smooth, deliciously flawless...and she knew it. 
She knew her legs were fine and she loved to show them off. She shaved
them carefully every night and afterwards, languidly, with slow circular
movements of her slender hands, she would spread moisturizing cream on the
warm smooth skin and then spray the knees and thighs with perfume before
sliding into bed.
   He'd watched her sashay around in those black, clunky, high-heel,
strap-sandals that reminded him of the seventies, of the old bondage
magazines which had fired his fantasies as a youth. He'd watched her long
flowing blonde hair riffled by the warm spring breeze and his eyes were
drawn to her purple-painted lips which accented her pale creamy skin and
dark green eyes.  He'd watched and he'd waited. And when the moment was
right he drove his station wagon up behind her, got out, and grabbed her
right off the street gagging her with a big black ball gag that stretched
her painted little slutmouth wide.  He pulled her arms behind her, lifted
her right off her feet, and her school books and green shoulder-strap
purse fell in a scattered heap on the sidewalk as he handcuffed her and
dragged her into the back of the car and tossed her in like a piece of
baggage, her eyes wide with shock, her cries muffled in her throat.
 He'd driven her out to the old factory on Route 24 and he'd pulled her
out of the car to make her walk unsteadily, unbalanced in those clunky
whore-sandals, ahead of him on the asphalt pathway into the shadows of the
dilapitated building.  She wasn't sashaying much then.  She kept trying to
turn to look at him.
 "Walk, bitch!" he'd ordered bluntly.  "Just keep walking and don't look
back."
 On that day she wore a white mini-skirt and he watched her pretty legs
moving in the high-heel sandals as he followed closely behind carefully
studying the way her skirt weaved around her delicious thighs. She had
very white skin. Skin that would mark easily and deeply.
 His cock grew hard.  He knew then he was going to kill her and kill her
slowly.  He was going to take his sweet time with her.  He was going to
make her suffer and pay and then he was going to snuff the life from
her...and he was going to enjoy every fucking minute of it.


 He'd begun by establishing complete ownership over her.
 He'd begun with the rape.
 Raping a young teenage girl was an act of savagery that demanded almost
artistic concentration.  He was like a bullfighter in the arena and this
was brutality elevated to its most sublime manifestation.
 Once he'd walked her past three large halls and they'd entered a shadowy
smaller room where stucco had crumbled away in places to reveal the brick
underneath and huge dark metal pipes ran the length of the ceiling or
erupted from the ancient cracked walls, once there, he grabbed her
shoulder and turned her around to face him.  In the dim light from a
cracked window-pane high up near the ceiling her wide-eyed fear was
delicious.
 He yanked her close to him, her arms helplessly handcuffed behind her,
his hand at the small of her back pressing her slender body against his
stone-hard erection.  Her face cringed away from his and he leaned down to
whisper in her pretty ear.
 "Feel it, cunt? Huh? You feel that?"
 With his other hand he grabbed her face by the chin to turn it back to
him. She smelled so clean. So goddamned sweet.
 "You feel how big and hard you make me, whore...Well...I'm gonna stick it
up you, you bitch, and you're gonna feel it INSIDE you..."
 While he continued to press her against him his free hand trailed up her
bare silky smooth thighs, up under her skirt, the tips of his fingers
bumping up against the snugly cupped mound of her warm virgin cooze.
 Her eyes opened in horror now and she gasped.
 "Yeah! Yeah! That's right way up inside this little fucking twat...
You're gonna find out what a real man feels like, you little ball-busting
tease...I'm gonna own you.  You're gonna be mine.  All mine..."
 "N-nnngg!" she grunted into the gag, her shoulders jerking as she tried
to pull her wrists from the metal grip of the handcuffs.
 She stopped struggling immediately when he pulled out the long serrated
combat knife.
 "Stand still," he ordered coldly.
 Then, when she obeyed he just watched her and smiled, his mouth almost
sneering, teeth biting his lower lip and her eyes fixed on his cruel lips,
big lovely doe eyes awash with fresh young tears of terror.
 Yeah, he thought to himself. Breaking this little cunt's gonna be real
real easy.
 Taking his time and with measured patience he sliced off each button of
her turquoise blouse working his way from the neck of the expensive
garment down toward her waist, reaching forward to pull it out from where
it was tucked into her skirt. His move made her take an unwilling
half-step toward him and now she felt his hot breath on her face. She
quivered with each slice of the knife and gave out tiny gasps as each
button was sliced free to drop to the filthy wooden floor. Once or twice
she felt the cold metal tip graze her warm skin and her eyes fluttered and
her heart raced.
 Finally he had her blouse open in front exposing her black bra
underneath.  
 The girl was about sixteen but she already had a fully developed bust,
big ripe melon-shaped tits held in the lacey lingerie.  He put the knife
at the junction band between the two bra-cups and with a quick motion he
slit it open.  Her big paps bounced free and she sighed and tried to back
away instinctively.
 He took her by the neck.
 "I told you not to move,  you little scumbag!"
 His eyes glared into hers and she sobbed a little and nodded and looked
down.
 Yeah. It was gonna be a real piece of cake.
 And killing her....that was gonna be real sweet....
 He pulled the ripped brassiere and the open blouse back off her shoulders
and began to cut them off her in strips.  She stood motionless, paralyzed,
eyes downcast, as he tore her blouse to shreds and then her bra.  The
tatters of cloth fell randomly around her to the floor.  Black
tear-streams of mascara ran down her angelic face, dripped down her long
graceful neck and on to the tops of her mammaries.
 When he finished with her blouse and bra he pulled out the waistband of
her skirt, slid the knifeblade between her belly and the soft cloth and
sliced downward, ripping the seductive garment completely in half.  As it
slid to the floor he took her small panties and with a savage yank ripped
them off her. She cried out in surprise and shame then stood tottering on
her high heel sandals, naked, her face flushed, helpless, the way he liked
it...just the way he liked it.
 He grabbed her by her hair angling his face to study it carefully, like a
sculptor who is about to attack the stone.  His cold eyes brought her to
the edge of mindless terror.  He was studying her the way a lion stares at
the zebra before leaping from the grass.  Still holding her by the hair he
forced her to move slowly backwards into the shadows.  She took uneven
steps almost losing her balance as he walked her in reverse across the
wooden planks that creaked and groaned.  Her butt came up against a wooden
object but she could not see it because he kept her turned to him.  All
she could see was his wicked face, his terrible sneering smile and her
eyes kept jerking from side to side to avoid his.
 "Get up on the table, bitch," he said softly.  His voice was so cold.
 She struggled to do as he ordered leaning back on the heels of her
handcuffed hands to raise herself on to the wooden surface.  He helped by
pulling her upward by her head, his fingers snarled in her blonde curls. 
It took a few moments and she grunted with exertion, her soft delicate
skin scraping on the splintered and filthy surface of the table.
 When he had her up there he let her hair go and it tumbled on to her
white shoulders. He put his hand on her chest between her lovely firm
boobs and pushed.  She gasped and slid back to lie across the rickety
table, her legs bent over the edge of its surface.  She heard him moving
about but dared not look and after a while he returned and she felt him
wrap the hard leather bands around her ankles.  She heard him go to the
opposite side of the room and heard the loud click of a switch and the
soft hum of machinery.  From the shadows above her two chains dropped
slowly downward.  When they hovered just above her she heard him hit the
switch and the motor stopped abruptly.  She heard him returning to her.
 Handling her like a piece of meat he lifted her lovely legs and connected
the leather bands to clip-hooks on the chains so that she lay on the table
with her sandalled feet pointing upward to the ceiling and her thighs far
apart.  Her cuffed wrists were trapped under her and the weight of her
body was making her arms numb.  The factory was cold but she shivered more
from dread than chill. 
 Again she heard him walk toward the wall and hit the switch.  This time
the soft whirr of the motor began to pull her legs upward and apart.  She
began to cry, then sob, then whimper as she was pulled into an impossibly
wide and beautifully vulnerable position.  It was like being on a
gynecologist's chair, her legs above her and wide apart, her back on the
pressing into the wooden surface of the table.
 Now his steps as he moved back toward her were slow and heavy. She heard
him stop and raising her head from the table with difficulty, her chin
pressed to her chest, her hair falling loosely over her eyes like a
threaded curtain, her shoulder bones jutting upward, she looked at the
towering shadowy figure of her attacker as he slid silently and quickly
out of his flannel shirt and jeans and work-boots to stand naked over her.
 She felt raw fear hollow and quaking in her belly and her gagged lips
trembled around the black rubber ball.  Her mascara-streaked face twitched
and her brows arched and she made muffled pleading sounds as he stepped up
to her.  She could not make out his features in the shadows, only the
slitted glare of his dark eyes, as his hands gripped her upflung legs at
the knees.
 The sounds she made reminded him of an infant who has not yet learned to
speak but whose inflections are all perfectly understandable.  She was
like a little baby now, unable to move, unable to speak, laid out before
him in tender helplessness as he went up slightly on his toes to put the
head of his huge prick to her soft red slit, his calves rippling, the
sides of his hairy legs flexing, his strong bare feet slightly apart on
the wooden floor-slats.
 The little bitch really took care of herself, he thought.  Her pussy area
had been hot-waxed free of hair in preparation for summer, less than three
weeks away.  He could imagine her picking out the flimsiest of bikinis to
stride up and down oceanside for the boys and men to drool as her eyes
sparkled mischievously.  He could imagine her trying the bathing suit out
in her bedroom mirror, her little shaved slut-puss getting wet just from
thinking of how the hungry eyes would stare.  Because he knew a little
bitch like this one got turned on from seducing and not from delivering
the goods she was advertising.  The more she turned men on the more she
got off and the more she denied them what they wanted.
 He gripped her strong legs firmly,  warm pliant flesh in his hands, and
he aimed the head of his huge erect prick at the base of her gaping slit.
 She gave out a breathless squeal as the cockhead touched then entered her
 dry pussymouth. Her head dropped back on the table.
 Yeah, he could see her alright, strutting about the mall with her airhead
friends, choosing all the right lipstick and eyeshadow, the
perfumes...charging it all on her daddy's plastic...CD's, posters,
nail-polish, pink silky lingerie.  Laughing so carefree...so innocent...He
could see her grinding and bumping as the latest idiotic musical drivel
thumped on the stereo speakers in her bedroom after school, alone or with
her dimwit companions, her half nude body shiny in the kaleidoscopic
collage of colors from the TV screen, her eyes glassy, distant, lips
studiously pouting, as she imitated the high-priced models on the MTV
videos.
 He pushed the hard prick-meat up into her dry tight cunt-sheath.  She
shook her head trying to look up at the shadow-man between her wide raised
legs. A single shaft of sunlight which poured in from a crack in the
ceiling cut diagonally across her gagged face, across one tear-filled eye
slightly blinding her.  His fingers squeezed into the soft thighflesh with
bruising pressure as he came up hard against her hymen.  She was so warm
and tight.  Her head shook back and forth faster knowing she was about to
be taken, knowing this monster was about to finish her virginity forever. 
The wooden table creaked under her as he pushed slowly forward. Slowly.
Forward. Slowly. Slowly. Forward.
 "...uh-ughhhh!" she grunted, her eyes sliding shut suddenly. And again:
 "U-uh-uhhghhh!"
 "Yeahhhh!" he whispered savagely, hoarsely. "Yeaahhhh!" as his prick
broke through now.
 "E-eeiiiiiiihhhh!" she cried pitifully.
 "Fuckin' cunt!" he spat, spittle from his snarling mouth drizzling on her
heaving belly.
 And he continued to slide slowly forward. Slowly. Forward. Deeper.
Forward. Blood from her speared virginity now lubricating his merciless
penetration of the teenage bitch.

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