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Roped

33700 words

Style: Interracial Bondage/BDSM, Male Dom - M/F

As an ex marine Zoe liked to think of herself as a girl who could take care of herself in most situations. But when two men break into the hotel room where she is "entertaining" a guest, she's in no position to defend herself. Tied hand and foot naked she can only observe as the masked men kill her date. When they don't get the information they want from him they turn to Zoe, who is soon in a situation she had often fantasized about - but for real. She was a veteran of tight bondage, but not the agonizing cut of the whip across her back and breasts. And when her captors decide she knows too much but is too beautiful to be disposed of she is sentenced to work in a Japanese bordello. Unless she can somehow fight back and escape.

Price:  $5.95

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

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EXCERPT

When I finished high school I decided to have some fun. I moved in with two guys and started partying like there was no tomorrow. I’d be up and out partying until five or six in the morning, crash for a half dozen hours, then spend the afternoon at the beach before starting all over again. I learned to surf, to sail surf, to water-ski, paraglide, parachute, and control a motorcycle at a hundred and fifty miles an hour down I-104 at dawn.
I also learned how about fifty different kinds of alcoholic drinks tasted and what kind of a buzz I’d get off them, especially with a little weed or some pills or powder thrown in for good measure.
And I learned about sex.
I started out almost giving myself to Jerry, my sort-of boyfriend, almost as rent. I guess the booze and drugs and my determination to have a wild fucking time helped overcome my inhibitions, and I was soon doing Paul, my other roommate, too. Often at the same time. Then I started doing Paul’s girlfriend as well.
At eighteen, I was the ultimate party girl. I did every kind of drug you can imagine, often without knowing what the hell they were. Someone would hand me some pills and I’d pop them. Shit, sometimes they didn’t even ask, just shoved `em in my mouth or in my drink. I started wearing super slutty clothes, and getting off on how all the guys stared at me and wanted me.
I woke up with a lot of strange guys in a lot of strange places. Sometimes I woke up underneath strange guys in strange places, trying to clear my vision to see up into the face of whoever was pounding his meat down into me. That whole year was a wipeout of wild sex and parties and drugs and booze.
Then I got busted riding in a stolen car with drugs everywhere, wound up in detox, and in front of a judge who took pity on me for being a poor orphan. He gave me a choice of three years in prison or three years in the military. I figured at least there’d be guys I could fuck in the military (I’d gotten to really like that), and wound up in the marines.
After basic training, which I had not liked even though they taught me hot to shoot (which I liked a lot) they’d assigned me office work, as if little else could be expected of a girl who was five feet tall and had a dolls face. Then they’d shipped me to Japan.
At nineteen I knew shit about the world and not much more about life. But I thought I knew it all. I thought I was this incredibly sophisticated chick who’d seen it all and done it all. Japan was like a strange planet to me. Everyone was so - stiff and formal in public. They looked like a very forbidding people whose idea of fun was getting to stay late at work and do unpaid overtime
I was a Marine, but I was still a cocky little slut who loved it that men lusted after me. I flirted and teased a lot of men, especially the officers who didn’t dare touch a lowly enlisted girl.
Then this Japanese general got me assigned as his guide and driver while he visited the base. I thought it was just a coincidence, at first, and I teased him mercilessly.
That’s when I learned the Japanese were a lot less formal than their appearance.
Next thing I knew I was at his place to help him get “documents”, and he was acting very ungentlemanly. I thought at first he was just calling my bluff, and I called his bluff, and, well, I soon found myself in a position I hadn’t intended. That is to say, bent over his desk with my panties around my ankles and his cock pounding into my pussy.
I wasn’t thrilled. In fact, I was a little chagrined. But I was like, oh well, it’ll be done soon and I’ll know better next time. It wasn’t unpleasant, after all, though he wasn’t exactly my ideal of hot, sexy manhood. He was ancient, for one thing, well over forty, maybe even fifty, old enough to be my father, and then some. Nor was he particularly handsome.
He was pumping at me, having just gotten my panties down and bent me over, and I had just passed from being surprised, a little outraged, and then grudgingly accepting. That took about two minutes, which is about as long as I figured he’d last. But he was just getting warmed up.
I had been wearing a military issue skirt, blouse and jacket. As he fucked me he tore away at my clothes, not talking, his movements brusque, efficient, and forceful. He pulled my jacket and blouse off me, undid my bra, and yanked it loose, all the while thrusting smoothly and efficiently into my pussy from behind.
He undid my skirt and yanked it down, then yanked my leg up one at a time, and kicked the skirt and panties away. Then he slapped my bottom with a stinging, open handed blow, and when I yelped and started to rise, he thrust me forcefully back against the desk so that my soft breasts pillowed out beneath me, squeezed almost painfully between my ribs and the hard desk.
He slapped my bottom again, then yanked on my legs, spreading them wider. I yelped a protest and he slapped my bottom a third time, then as I started to rise, buried his hand in my thick hair and yanked my head back even while shoving downwards. Again he slapped my bottom, and now he began to thrust into me with hard, deep, powerful strokes that made me gasp and grunt again and again.
I’d had a lot of sex, but my mind had been at least partially clouded for most of it, and most of my partners were laid back, casual druggy types like me. I could not, at that point, remember being just - ridden - as General Akito was doing.
He started slapping my bottom, calling me a dirty girl, a bad girl, a naughty girl, twisting and pulling at my hair all the while, and pounding his cock into my pussy with unrelenting ferocity. He often stopped slapping my bottom to run his hand over my bottom and beneath my chest, groping and roughly fondling my bare breasts, pinching and twisting my nipples.
And he just kept at it! I was being done! And I mean DONE! And despite myself I began to get off on it. Some dark, masochistic side of my brain began to revel in the rough treatment, in the way he was completely controlling me, dominating me, using me. And fucking me. Hard. The fuckin’ desk was shaking.
And then, panting, my lower body throbbing with excitement, I felt him pause. I thought he’d come, and knew a sudden wild disappointment. I felt him pull my left hand back behind me, pressing my wrist against my back. Then he took my right wrist and pulled it back, crossing them behind me. I had no idea what he was doing, at first. I heard a drawer open, then a thin rawhide cord was wrapped around my wrists, looping again and again and tying off.
I had done a little bondage before, of course. But again, the guys I’d been doing had all been my age, teenagers. The bondage was playful, silly, giggly. Having my wrists tied behind my back by the stern, Japanese general was something else again, and I felt a hot thrill of wild excitement run up through my body even as he yanked me back off the desk by the hair.
I cried out in pain, but then I was on my knees, swaying, gasping as he continued to hold my hair, pulling uncertainly at the cord around my wrists, and staring into his glistening erection.
Then he thrust it into my open mouth and I gagged and choked and gurgled as he used his grip on my hair to control my head, and my body. My eyes looked up the long length of his body at his stern, scowling face, and I shuddered as a wave of dark masochistic hunger rolled over my mind. I was totally dominated, totally defenceless, helpless, his to do with as he chose.
He fucked my mouth, fucked my face, like no one had done before, pumping his cock through my lips as he twisted and pulled on my hair and demanded I suck, demanded I lick, curtly and coldly instructed me in how to please him. When I failed he pulled out and I saw stars as he quickly slapped my face and swept the back of his hand back to slap me again. I was so shocked I said nothing, only cried out in pain. Then his cock was filling my mouth again and his stern countenance was glaring down at me.
I redoubled my efforts, a little scared, still a little dazed, my cheek stinging.
Then I was being pulled roughly to my feet and bent over the desk again, shoved down hard so that my breasts slapped against the surface. My legs were yanked aside as his cock rammed up into my pussy. He pounded into me with ferocious speed and power, and I gasped and groaned partly in pleasure, partly in pain, filled with excitement and anxiety. I mean, this was a wild experience and I had absolutely no control over it. Akito was like no man I’d ever met!
I felt his finger pushing against my anus, and when I protested he cracked his hand across my pink bottom, making me cry out in pain again.
His fingers screwed into my anal opening and pumped in and out, then curled up under my tailbone. He began tugging on it and slapping my bottom to get me to move, to pull my ass up and back to meet his thrusts. Then he pulled his finger out and yanked his cock free of my by then steaming pussy. I groaned as If felt it prodding against my anus. Anal sex was not something I liked or wanted.
But I had no say in it. He thrust himself deep and began to sodomize me.

CUSTOMER REVIEWS

great story with really (almost) believable heroine

5/5


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