Best Rape Sites

I got the call about 5:45 am. It woke me from a sound sleep. It was the kind of call no husband ever wants to get. The kind of call that hurts you, enrages you, makes you more violent, more helpless than you ever thought possible. “Mr. Pressman, John Pressman? This is officer Sloptvik with the NYPD Special Victims Unit. I need you to meet me at Franklin Memorial Hospital. Your wife has been raped. Her condition is serious, but stable. She’s in room 327.”
I was in a fog as I dressed and then drove to the hospital. “Serious but stable,” what the fuck is that?
I soon found out.
I entered room 327 and realized I must have had the wrong room. An older woman was lying in the bed, she had bruises all over her face and a cast on her arm. Clearly she was in a lot of pain. She looked up when I entered the room.
“Excuse me ma’am I did not mean to disturb you, they gave me the wrong room number.”
She stared at me and as her eyes came into focus, she began to cry.
“…John…,” she groaned in a piteous, cracked voice. How did she know my…
“Oh my god, oh god, no-Susan!” I screamed as I rushed to her side. I wanted to grab her, to hug and kiss and hold her… but she was in so much pain. He had beat my wife badly. I knew enough about rape to understand that my wife probably did not want a man touching her right then. It could be awhile before she could stand that.
“John… I’m so sorry… he got me. He raped me. I was so stupid, he tricked me,” she sobbed.
Instinct took over as I gently held the woman I love and shushed her. “Oh baby girl, please don’t say that, don’t ever think it. This is not your fault, the police will find out who he is from DNA and he will pay.”
“John I know who he is, he’s a supervisor in my office. His name is Bruce Kent.”
I had a name to focus my hatred on, but I was somewhat controlled because I knew the police would put him in jail.
“I have to tell you what he did, I can’t keep this a secret. John, please let me get it out, I have to.”
I crawled into bed with my wife and wrapped her in my arms, as gently as possible.
“Tell me baby, tell me what he did to you.”
“I had noticed him before. We both worked the 8:30pm to 5:00 am shift-in different departments. He seemed friendly enough, and we’d chat briefly sometimes. I told him I was happily married and he seemed to respect that.”
“I had parked my car and was walking in to work early at 8:00pm, when I saw him. He had a flat tire on his mini-van and was trying to change it. He called me over and asked to use my cell phone. When I got close he slammed me in the face and stomach and pushed me into the van. Then he drove to the top level of the parking garage. At that time of night it was only a skeleton crew, and they all parked near the door on the first floor. I must have blacked out, because the next thing I knew I was naked, bound, and blindfolded.” Read the rest of this entry »

You are unfamiliar with the L.A. streets and somewhere south and east of the airport, you find yourself lost in the dark in a very questionable neighborhood, run down, full of signs in lanquages you can’t read. Suddenly, an old van with a big wooden bumper rear-ends your rented Toyota, driving it up over a curb. When you recover from the shock of the collision, you reach for the door handle, to get out and look at the damage.

As soon as you get out, someone grabs you from behind. A coarse sack, burlap or jute, is pulled down over your head, and your arm is twisted behind you, by someone you can’t see. “Don’t make a noise, Anglo bitch, or you are dead right now.” says a voice which sounds as if the teeth are clenched. In seconds, you are dragged into the van and pushed to the floor. You can feel it back up, stop with a lurch, and then move forward, making several turns, probably turning at every intersection.

Strong hands roll you on your back. Counting hands, there must be at least three men. You feel the hard steel floor of the van against your back; it is a cargo van, no seats in back. Probably no windows, either, you realize. Unless there were witnesses to the ramming and abduction, no one could know where you are.

You feel cold steel against your throat, under the bag which covers your eyes. “Listen, Sweetie, you are going to do everything you are told to do, and you are not going to scream or struggle or talk back; otherwise, you die right now. Understand?” The point of the knife presses painfully into your skin.

“Yes,” you croak, your throat dry with terror. You feel them pulling your arms above your head, and apart. Your wrists are tied to something, maybe the front seats of the van. They are using wire; it bites into your skin. They take your Reboks and tie your ankles, using wire again, pulling your legs straight and apart. You are spread-eagled, entirely helpless and vulnerable. Your breathing is rapid. You are hyperventilating and might become light headed, blowing off too much carbon-dioxide, except that the sack over your head restricts the air flow, compensating for your panicky panting.

You are wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The knife point slides down your neck, until the blade encounters the first button of your shirt. There is a little tug, and the button flies off. You actually hear it strike the metal wall of the van. Men laugh. You smell marijuana.

You can feel another tug at your shirt. The second button is cut off. Then the third. And the fourth, and the fifth, which is down by your navel. Someone pulls the tail of your shirt out of your jeans and cuts the last buttons. They didn’t have to cut them off. You know you can never wear that shirt again. Will you die naked? The flannel is pulled back, baring the front of your body.

The sharp blade, double edged, slides along the midline of your tummy. You wonder, is it drawing blood? How can you be so detached, so clinical? Does it have something to do with being blindfolded by the sack? You cannot see who is assaulting you, so you must concentrate on what you feel. You feel the blade pause, between your breasts, and lift, and suddenly your bra springs away from your breasts, leaving them exposed. Almost instantly, strong, masculine hands grasp your breasts. They are big hands, able to engulf your B-cup breasts, and they are rough, calloused hands. They squeeze and knead your breasts. These men have no respect for your body. Read the rest of this entry »

Tammy and I were very happy in the first few months of our marriage. Hers was the love I had always looked for. Tammy was such a sweet young girl, a virgin of 20 when we married. She was flat out gorgeous, but you wouldn’t know it to look at her in the street. She hid her shapely body and legs in loose, long cut dresses, and kept her thick black hair pinned back. She was a lady, a beautiful angel. She was a minister’s daughter, raised in a deeply Christian household, and her strong religious convictions made her very conscious to not dress provocatively. I’d come to know over the few months what a spectacular body she had. I felt privileged to have seen it all, and to have been the first man to feel the inside of her lovely young pussy.

In contrast to her, I was much more adventurous sexually. Certainly no virgin, by the time I was her age I had had many women. Sex was the most important thing in my life. You might even consider me a sex addict; I spent many hours in strip clubs and adult bookstores, enjoying pornography and the pleasures of feeling up strippers. In fact, I continued to do this even after we were married, because while Tammy was the love of my life, there were feelings and urges that she didn’t satisfy. There was no way I could tell her about this, she wouldn’t understand, so it remained a secret I kept from her. Read the rest of this entry »

My wife and I had been married for over 15 years before we began to discuss eachothers fantasies. I am 42 and Andrea is 38, although, she looks more like she is in her late twenties. She is not a movie star in the looks department, and then neither am I! Andrea is 5′4″, Auburn hair, 34c breasts, with extra thick and long nipples that are super sensative. I often had the thought, that if a guy could get as far as her nipples, he would get all the way!

Another fine feature is her legs. She has a gorgeous formed pair. I see other guys turn their heads and look as we walk by when she is dressed in a skirt and heels. Three children left their toll in the form of stretch marks, but all in all she is one sexy woman. Read the rest of this entry »

At forcedtoprostitute.com, the hottest girls that are bad with finances have to resort to peddling their asses for cash! Whether they made a bad bet, or went on a big shopping spree they couldn’t pay off, they had to borrow money to get out from under, and then the loan shark makes them give up the booty to pay the bills. They fuck the guys he brings to them for money, and he collects the cash to pay off their debts, and they can’t stop fucking and sucking until he says they are even!Forcedtoprostitute.com features hours and hours of video content, thousands of photos, stories, and more of hot girls being made to do the nasty for cash. The movies are all DVD-quality, and the forcedtoprostitute.com team are constantly producing new content for weekly updates, so you will never be hurting for new material. That’s a guarantee!
Click here to enter forcedtoprostitute.com.