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The Stalker's Victim

33400 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/F

The story of how an infatuation can turn to anger, and how anger can turn to cruelty. Caroline is a wealthy and powerful woman who is used to having her own way. When she spies a beautiful young girl applying for work at her company she instantly wants her. Yet all her efforts are rebuffed, and the girl becomes an obsession she must have. And so one night, she has the girl dragged from her bed and blindfolded, then bound to await her lewd attentions. Those attentions will be cruel in the extreme, yet only serve to wet her appetite. Watching her on hidden cameras, hearing her soft voice, smiling anonymously at her at work, her lust grows ever stronger and her anger ever darker.

Price:  $5.95

Formats Available:   PALM (PDB)  Mobi (MOBI - Kindle Compatible)  
PDF  MSReader (LIT)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  

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It was a beautiful bedroom.
Leah had sacrificed much to get it, and the small but comfortable home which surrounded it.
The four poster canopied bed was the centrepiece, with heavy green bed curtains billowing out from the corner posts where slim golden chains held them open. The sheets were satin, the duvet a bright, flowery green, thick and rich with goose down so that, as she lay in the midst of it, head propped on large feather pillows, Leah felt as if she were sinking into feathers.
Two cherrywood night tables bordered the bed, with a pair of antique lamps sitting in the midst of lacy green table clothes. An antique clock sat on one table, and antique phone on another. Across the room were a pair of dressers, their heavy wood polished and glowing in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. The polished wooden floor glistened as if wet, except where the small Persian rug filled the space to the right of the bed.
Leah had saved and scrimped. While others in their first well-paying jobs had splurged on sports cars, condos, and trips to Rome she rode the bus and lived in a small bachelor apartment, worked overtime, fed money into her investments and waited. She had been able to put away twenty five thousand a year, which had let her buy the small house outright, without a mortgage, after only four years of working.
Now at twenty five, promoted thrice in her Marketing job for Goldstein and Robertson, she was feeling quite comfortable and secure. She had even, for the first time, decided to splurge and buy a car on credit rather than saving to pay the full price, and was cutting back on her overtime as she turned to her previously non-existent social life in search of men.
Certainly there had never been any lack of offers from the opposite sex - or her own, for that matter. She was tall, at six feet, graceful, from the ballet training her parents had forced her through, and quite beautiful.
She had a strong face, with intense green eyes, a firm jaw, high cheekbones, and dark, full lips Her hair was long, too long, many thought, a strange affectation in a woman with almost mannish behaviour and strength. It was a dark, rich, almost glowing brown, thick and light, parted at the centre of her forehead, flowing down around her head to frame her face, then pouring over her shoulders and spilling down her back, and often her front as well, all the way to her waist.
She wasn’t certain why she woke early on a Saturday, or why she had a sudden feeling of discomfort. The room was quiet but for the ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the air conditioning, bright with sunlight, comfortable. She was clad in a pair of loose black silk pajama bottoms and a thin silk tank top, the duvet pulled up around her shoulders against the chill of the air conditioning.
She did not hear the door as it opened, nor the soft tread of heavy feet crossing the floor. She was, as far as she knew, alone in the little bungalow, her eyes closed, trying to find sleep once more.
She gasped in surprise as the duvet and sheets were yanked off her, twisting onto her back, eyes wide as she stared up at the man standing next to her bed. Her head twisted to her right, where another stood, and then another at the foot of the bed. They were all large men, all wearing black ski masks, and she felt a shock of terror as they stared at her and their lips began to curl upwards.
Hands reached for her, and she twisted away, only to be grasped from the other side, hard, heavy male hands clutching her arms in tight, bruising holds and dragging her kicking and screaming from the bed, dragging her across the floor, yanking at her pajama bottoms, pulling them down her legs and off. She screamed and kicked, and a slap threw her head back and made her ears ring. A pair of hands gripped the front of her tank top and tore it open, the thin fabric shredding from top to bottom, and other hands gripped her hair and pulled viciously so that she screamed in pain.
Her head was forced back so far she thought her neck would snap, and then something thick and long was thrust into her open maw, something rubbery which filled her mouth and pressed down on her tongue, which threatened to choke her even as a heavy strap was wound across her delicate mouth and back behind her head.
Struggling frantically, she twisted and kicked at them as she was lifted bodily and then slammed down across a heavy old leather chair. She felt her legs spread, kicked apart by booted feet, felt hands at her ankles, tying them to the back legs of the chair as her arms were pulled forward and down, and more rope wound around her slender wrists.
She burned with shame at her positioning, but the terror of what the men intended was even more powerful and she continued to pull desperately against the ropes as they dug into her soft skin and held her firmly in place. A padded blindfold went around her eyes and blocked her view, and she moaned and waited for the inevitable, her heart pounding, pulse racing.
For the longest time nothing happened, then she flinched as she felt a finger at her sex, felt it move almost gently along her mons. She waited to be pierced, and instead was shocked to hear and feel the snip of scissors, to realize that her pubic hair was being denuded. She felt the small metal of the scissors sliding across her skin down there, or rather, up and back there, gently and carefully cutting her pubic hair, which was already neatly trimmed, close to the skin.
Then came the feel of moisture, and slickness spread over her sex by surprisingly soft fingers, fingers which toyed with her slit, coasting along the edges of her closed lips, then pressing through them, caressing the narrow cleft they opened, rubbing more firmly, spreading her lips aside to circle her sex, and then massage her clitoris.
She was helpless, bound too tightly to resist, unable to protest, or even see what her rapists were doing. Leah could only moan into the gag stretching her jaw, pull against the bonds, and hope against hope that she would survive whatever was to come.
Had she been able to see them, of course, she would not have been comforted. On the contrary, she would have been shocked and appalled. For the three men who had stripped and bound her were no longer present. There was only one person there, a person Leah knew well.
Her name was Caroline Stookman, and she was, several layers removed, Leah’s boss. She had been on her way to a meeting with the VP of Human Resources a years earlier when she had
stopped as if she had run into a brick wall. It had been the sight of Leah MacNeil which had stopped her, the sight of the tall, gorgeous young woman in the pale blue business suit with the mass of thick hair flowing down her back.
She had been helplessly drawn to the young woman, turning to follow her down the hall, staring as if transfixed at the girl’s hair, barely able to resist the temptation to run her fingers through it, to pull it against her face. She had felt a hotness between her legs at the thought of stripping off her clothes and rubbing that beautiful hair against her body. She had seen the girl go into the office, seen the handshake, realized at once the girl was there for a job interview.
A quick phone call had insured the girl would be hired, and placed in her department, but Caroline had been frustrated since then in her efforts to get close to the girl. Caroline was a lowly marketing intern, after all, and had no reason to come anywhere near Caroline, much less work with her, much less socialize with her. Caroline had done her best, of course, to find excuses to bring her near Leah, and every glimpse of the girl caught at her body in ways which made her loins throb with heat.
She had spoken to her as often as possible, in elevators, hallways, at company parties she had insured the girl was not only invited to but advised to attend. She had hinted, flirted lightly, but been unable to do more. Goldstein and Robertson might be a fairly liberal company, but she still could not be seen as preying on young girls decades younger than she. Yet her fascination with the girl had only grown, grown into something hot and twisted and dark and, feeling rejected, cruel.
Caroline would once have been shocked and wildly amused if anyone had told he she could possibly develop into a stalker, into the kind of personality which becomes spellbound on another and unable to control itself. But a couple of years ago she had realized her fixation was getting out of hand. She had hired private detectives to follow the girl while not at work, to take pictures of her, to find out her sexual habits. She had even had two beautiful female private detectives try to seduce her, hoping against hope she would respond and show an interest in the same sex.
Yet they had been politely rebuffed. Leah McNeil had no interest in women. Nothing in her history showed even so much as an experiment with girls in college or high school. And her detectives could not even find any sign the girl HAD a sex life. She seemed to do nothing but work and stay home and read and watch TV. Occasionally she went to a gallery or book store, but that was the extent of her social life. She dated very infrequently, and after four months of following her the detectives had not been able to say with a certainty that she had had sex with anybody during their surveillance.
Caroline was of two minds about that. On the one hand the thought of sweet, beautiful Leah degrading herself by letting ugly, hairy males thrust their dirty, leaking cocks into her perfect body disgusted and even angered her. On the other hand the girl’s unknowing rejection of her was causing Caroline to have darkly excited fantasies about the girl being mauled and brutalized by those stinking men she preferred. She masturbated to thoughts of the girl being raped and abused, having cocks thrust into every orifice.
A month earlier she had made contact through an unscrupulous detective agency, with men who had planted microphones and small video cameras in Leah’s home. The smoke detector in the roof of her bedrooms and living room had both been replaced with identical looking devices which watched her constantly. Another camera had been planted inside the vent in her ensuite bathroom.
The first time she had seen the girl naked Caroline had almost wept with how beautiful her body was. Slender, athletic, with a flat, toned belly and strongly muscled legs, yet with well-rounded hips and full, firm breasts. Leah’s breasts were not large. No one would have described her as busty, yet neither would anyone ever disregard them or consider her flat chested. They seemed perfectly proportioned to her chest, so firm that her small pink nipples were actually slightly turned up..
Again and again she had watched the girl dress, watched her bathe, sometimes spending all evening watching Leah on a giant television screen, watching her watch TV, watching her read, watching her on her computer, or on her phone, showering, and, one delicious night, masturbating.
That had been in her bath, where, with her head laying back against the back of the tub, she had spread her legs, and her fingers had rubbed herself slowly and methodically until with a sudden gasp she had arched her back and shuddered as she climaxed.
And then, three nights earlier, she had watched Leah have sex with a man.
They had begun petting on her sofa, and she had both urged the man on and urged Leah to stop him as his hands had made more and more free with her body. She had been literally shaking with sexual heat as the man had stripped her to the waist and licked and suckled at her beautiful breasts, and had watched Leah come with his hand under her skirt. Then, disgusted, but dazedly aroused, she had watched the girl take his filthy cock into her mouth and bob her full lips up and down its length, watched her turn and present herself like a bitch in heat, watched her being mounted, being ridden, hating her for the pleasure she was clearly feeling from such a perverted, disgusting act.
She had climaxed repeatedly as she watched the girl, her body gripped by an indescribable heat even as her mind was swirling with rage at both the girl and her lover.
She was so beautiful. If only she could have been more open minded, more interested in experimenting, more willing to bend her stiff necked sexual attitudes and help Caroline through her fixation. If they had had sex a few times perhaps she would have become sated, less obsessed. OR better yet, perhaps they could have found love.
Caroline was the same height as the girl, though her shoulders were wider and her hair was dyed blonde, cut very short, and a little spiky up front. Her breasts were large and firm with the silicone inside them, her waist slender, if not as slender as Leah’s, and her legs just as long. She kept herself in excellent shape in both gym and plastic surgeon’s office, looked closer to thirty than the forty two which was her real age.
She was seventeen years older than Leah, and, she knew, coming unglued. She had to have the girl, for the sake of her own mental health, had to be able to play out her fantasies on the girl before she went insane. And so she would, and so she was, kneeling alone in the room with the unknowing younger woman, gently caressing her sex as she shaved the pubic hair from it so it would match her own.
She let her fingers slide along her opening, then gently inserted one, pinching the pussy lip and stretching it as she ran the razor along its edge, wanting every last trace of stubble removed.
When she was done she patted the girl’s sex dry and stared at it with a mixture of gut churning want and self satisfied pleasure. She laid her hands on the girl’s bottom, gently stroking the skin, running her hands down to the tops of her thighs, then in beneath, spreading her buttocks a little to show her wrinkled anal opening. She eased her fingers lower, spreading open her soft pussy and revealing the gleaming pink beneath.
She sighed, then kissed her gently on the soft, pale mons. Her thumbs opened the girl again, and her tongue began to tease its way up and down each side. The girl’s bottom wriggled and jerked and Caroline squeezed in delight, pressing her face in tighter, opening her mouth as if to envelope the whole of the girl’s sex, thrusting her tongue into the small hole and wriggling it around inside, pumping it in and out as she ground her mouth into the girl’s sex.
She pulled her mouth lower, easing in beneath the girl, mouthing the top of her pussy, letting her wet lips catch her hooded clitoris and massage it. Her hands moved gently up along the girl’s sides, then eased in beneath to run along her trim belly and forward to where her full breasts hung beneath her. She caressed them gently, lovingly before squeezing up and in, kneading her delicious flesh as she continued to mouth and now suck gently against the top of her sex.
She drew her hands back, letting her thumbs ease back the hood covering the clitoris, staring at it in awe and delight, then rubbing her lips across it. Her tongue flitted out, teasing and taunting, circling and dancing over the swollen little button. She moaned for the lost pleasure she could have given the girl if only she could have cooperated. Yet even now she was determined to show her how wrong she had been.
She thrust a long middle finger down into the girl’s sex, feeling her soft flesh slowly give way, sliding her finger through it as the muscles squeezed around her. She pumped it in and out slowly as she licked at Leah’s clitoris, then began to pull it between her lips and suck gently. She wanted to make the girl come, to make her climax with her tongue and lips. And yet she also wanted to cause the girl pain, pain for the pain the girl had caused her in rejecting her, in not being open to a lesbian romance, in destroying her dreams and fantasies.
She sat back on her heels, a dark smile on her face as she raised a hand to her naked breast and squeezed it. She had had many lovers, and was a well-known figure in the city’s leather and bondage community. How many times, she wondered, had she struck pretty young things, imagining they were Leah, punishing Leah for her insolence, her arrogance?
Now the slut was right there before her, helpless!


This book had so much more potential. I am not sure why her boss did not enslave her in the end. I think that would have added to the story tremendously. I have debated between a 3 and 4 for this book. It is really in between.

3/5- Chicago



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