WARNING! You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.
Raped by the Monster
She was just stepping out of the shower when she heard the creak. A small creak in the floorboards, maybe nothing. But maybe everything. She froze. The threat from the serial killer calling himself the Goblin King had been quite clear. She was next. But that was before the squad car began to practically live in the neighborhood. But there it was again, another creak in the flooring. She let in a light gasp. Her heart was racing, but it all felt just so inhumanely draining. Slowly she began to wrap her wet towel around her otherwise naked body. But that was when the bathroom door suddenly blasted inward, hinges popping from the wall and flying out. The door nearly hit her. She screamed at the close call and dropped the towel as the revulsive creature now stepped into the steamy light.
“Hello, Karla!” he, it, almost hissed.
“You stay back!” she screamed, backing away, shaking. “I mean it!”
“Heh heh heh, right!” The unnamed man leered and grabbed her, swinging her against the wall. “Useless, vile females. No business being cops!” He shoved her down to her knees. “Only men can be cops! Only men can make decisions! Not slimy girlths.”
“No! No!” she screamed as his powerful grip shoved her forward, getting her hands together. He slammed her against the wall again.
“You’re gonna suck cock in hell, bitch!” he roared. Just then the telephone rang. She still had a land line for emergencies and work. As the so-called Goblin King turned slightly towards the distraction, she yanked hard and broke free. She scrambled on her hands and knees for a few paces into he hall and then got to her feet, fleeing as fast as her legs could move her. She nearly tumbled down the stairs, hitting the wall at the bend in the staircase halfway down. A few kick-knacks fell on her head, but she continued to run. He was too close behind her.
Her runner’s legs carried her outside into the chill air. It was autumn, really autumn with cool crisp air and night time as well. Screaming, she fled down the walk to the street. “Help me!” she screamed. “Rape! Rape!”
She could hear that his footsteps were right behind her. How she longed to just go a little faster, to leave him far behind. But she felt his hands grabbing at her hair, and sudden her head was jerked backward. She tumbled forward, bouncing off a van and careening into a neighbor’s yard. And he was on top of her, pinning her down.
“Girlths run!” he hissed. “But girlths can’t run away! Now we have the fun with the bad girlths!” He leaned down, licking the side of her face. With her hands pinned above her, his other hand was free to grab at her tit. She groaned and cried out in genuine distress.
“Cut!” Harris shouted from off to the side. Harold got off her.
“What now!” Kristin cried, sitting up. “Jesus Christ, Harris, how many times are we going to shoot this fucking scene!”
“It’s not right. Back it up, restore the props for another shoot,” he said. Back at the set house, techs began installing a new bathroom door. “Kris, when you ran down the walkway you looked kind of distracted. And Harold, you missed some of the lisp on the girls.”
Kristin stood up, real tears now coming from her eyes. “This is bullshit! Harris, it’s bullshit! You’ve done this take like a thousand times now! How many times are you people going to beat the shit out of me before you’ve had enough! How many!”
“You’re getting too invested in your role,” Harris said.
“You spend the fucking day naked pretending to almost get raped and see how you feel! No, not the day, the goddamned week! For a B horror flick? Pick a take and move on!” she screamed.
“Take five, Kristin,” Harris told her. “Calm down. We’ve almost got it.”
Almost crying in frustration and rage, Kristin stormed off. They’d been doing that take for four whole days. All day, every day. They filmed in the daytime with filters, and at night for genuine lighting. From right after breakfast until late in the evening. She had a robe, it was back in the house, of course. None of the flunkies could figure out that she might want it at the end of the scene too. She sat down, bare-ass naked, on the curb, head in hand, trying not to lose it.
Ten minutes later the call came. “Positions, ready to shoot again!” Harris yelled. Kristin stood and shuffled her way back to the bathroom and into the shower. The dozens of people involved took their places and the shoot began for another take.
On it went. “Useless, vile females. No business being cops!” He shoved her down to her knees. “Only men can be cops! Only men can make decisions! Not slimy girlths.”
Kristin didn’t know herself what possessed her, but she leaned forward and planted a big kiss on Harold’s crotch. “Come here often, slimy boy?” she asked.
“And cut, for Christ’s sake, Kristin!” Harris yelled.
“Nothing else was working,” she said. “I thought I’d improvise. Maybe the Goblin King just needs some love.”
Harris stood there fuming, visibly shaking in rage. “Call it a day, folks. We’ll start again in the morning, again!” To general groaning, the crew began to either pack things away or just leave. Kristin looked for her robe. It wasn’t where she left it. She looked around but it was gone. Some disgruntled crew member was her best guess.
“Real classy,” she said loudly enough to be heard but not looking directly at anyone. Fine. She’d been naked most of the day anyway. She stormed out and headed back to her trailer in the nude. She just wanted a vodka drink and to crash. And maybe a real shower, with actual hot water and not that luke-warm stuff they kept dousing her with to avoid excessive steaming on the lenses. She barged into her trailer, locked the door, guzzled a shot of Pinnacle, and headed for the bathroom. At last, she was actually under warm water, and she let it run, soaking warmth back into her body until she could hardly stand it anymore. When the inside of her trailer had been turned into a steamy jungle she finally quit.
As she began to dry off she heard a sound. She turned to see Harold there at the doorway, still done up in Goblin King costuming. “Get out of here!” she shouted angrily. “We’re done, Harold! Go the fuck away!” He just stood there, fidgeting with a tire iron. “I’m serious, we’re off the clock, you don’t get to see me naked. Now get lost!” He continued to stand there, leering at her, starting to drool a little. She tried to dry her hair, but he didn’t even move. Finally she stepped over to him and poked his forehead. “Go!”
She paused. The makeup effects didn’t feel right. She touched his face again. It was too warm. Too rough. “Harry?” she asked. His grin widened a bit and he drooled some more. His light grip on the tire iron tightened up. “Are you alright?” she asked nervously. He hefted the iron in his right hand, bending his arm up to his chest. “You’re scaring me now. Okay, happy? You need to go. You need to go, now!” she finally reached up and clawed at his face. She ran her fingernails over the big Goblin King scars. They didn’t come off at all. She saw blood in her fingernails. He lifted up the big rod.
“Oh shit!” she cried, jumping away as he swung it hard, shattering her bathroom mirror. She screamed, pushing past him and fleeing into her misty trailer. He came quickly up behind her. She ran to the door and tried to unlock it. He brought the iron down on her forearm hard, making her scream in pain. It felt like he broke her arm. But the door was open and she burst out screaming into the night.
“Help me! He’s crazy! He snapped! Help me!” she screamed as she ran through the now dark and eerily quiet set. Her feet took a beating as she raced across unknown ground, but she could hear him right behind her, slobbering and hissing.
“Girlths don’t run fast!” he hissed. “Girlths are slow, and mean, and icky! Bad girlths!” She fled across the set main street and then he had her hair. When he yanked her backward she fell onto the pavement, trying to roll and not lose all her skin. She skidded to an awkward halt, shrieking from the pain of asphalt in a dozen wounds on her naked skin. But he just jumped onto her and pinned her easily.
“Oh god, you’re crazy!” she cried. “Please, don’t do this!” It was no good. No one was coming on the now deathly quiet set. She’d only showered for a half hour. Dozens of people should have been milling about. The lights should have been on. But only a bright full moon and some distant street lighting allowed her to see her attacker pull at his pants. She felt the poking of his cock along her legs.
“No! This isn’t a porno!” she screamed, hoping somehow the script still mattered to this Goblin King creature. Her contract was clear. Lots of flesh, but no sex. “No, no! Wait! No!” she screamed, but then his cock was sliding into her, pushing hard, piercing her roughly. Hurting her. She was wet from the shower, but not at all slick. “Nooo!” she cried out once more as he shoved himself forward. Her crotch blew up in pain. Too much. Too fast. But now he was in her and on her and holding her fast. He began savagely thrusting, slamming her pelvis, sliding her ass around on the pavement, scratching up her back and wrists where he held her pinned. Kristin just wailed in pain and horror, seeing his all too real deformations and oozing scabs on his face, wondering what was on his cock. Try as she might, and she tried desperately hard, she couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t push him off her. She couldn’t slide out from under him. She couldn’t release her arms. She couldn’t do shit to stop her rape and beating as he held her hands with just one of his own and began punching her jaw, several times, and her nose as well. She tasted blood. And finally she felt hot cum in her belly. He stiffened up and stopped beating on her for a moment as he dumped his load inside her.
“Now girlths pay!” he hissed, resting his body on hers to control her better and launching a barrage of blows to her face, knocking her head back and forth. He finally did get up enough to drive his knee into her belly, making her retch and curl up on her side. He stood up. She lay under him, wheezing, making all the sounds of a dying woman. And her pain was indeed horrid. She had never felt such agony, that was true. But it didn’t quite warrant the sounds she was making. As he shifted to better beat her, she rolled aside and jumped up, running through the pain like she’d done in her high school track days. Running through the pain. Running for her life, literally. Running, dripping blood, even limping, but running like she’d never run, screaming, sort of, and sputtering, coughing, trying to get someone’s attention. She ran down the street and slowly left him trailing further behind her. She fled into the cluster of trailers that made up the crew quarters while they were out on location shooting.
No one was out there. No lights were on. No sounds were evident. It was like an abandoned set. But she ran into the warren of trailers and trucks and darkness and hid herself, crawling under one of them. She was in the grass now, but the ground still hurt her body as she slid along it. Everything hurt. She had to will herself to somehow calm her breathing and stay quiet.
She could see his feet. His feet, just feet from her. He strode on into the maze but paused, searching. Listening. There was no light to see much, and he didn’t seem to have a light with him. He couldn’t see under anything. He couldn’t follow her blood drop trail.
“Come out, come out, wherever the girlths are!” he taunted. If he was desperate or giving up, he didn’t show it. “Come out, girlths! Come out and play with the Goblin King!” His voice slathered, lisping, raspy, but clear enough. Strong enough. Oh girlths, come out and play, girlths. Won’t you come out and play with ol’ Kingy?” He stopped, and she heard something. She heard him sniffing the air. “I can smell your cunt! Girlths! I can smell all girlths cunts! Come out now, and I won’t hurt you too much more. Come out and play, girlths, and we’ll play lightly. If you hide, girlths, we have to play heavy. Nice and heavy playtime for Kingy and the girlths!”
Listening, with him wandering never more than ten feet away, Kristin had to bite her hand to keep from whimpering in pure terror of the madman’s threats. She was dead if he found her. No matter. She knew that. Script or no script, he would kill her. She would experience agony and then she would die. She shivered in the naked chill and in the terror. If he caught her. If he laid one hand on her anywhere, catching her in his grip. If he had her, she would be utterly doomed.
He slowly worked his way further in, slowly. Searching, somehow, in the dark. But he was missing her and leaving her behind. Still, she lay there frozen for a while, waiting. Making sure he was long past her, calling her out somewhere else. And finally she let herself slowly crawl out from under the big vehicle. Silently she got to her feet. She heard nothing close. She moved fast, but carefully, taking each step as quietly as she could. He was at least fifty feet away now, out of her direct sight. He was still taunting her every thirty seconds or so. She had to get out of there. Get to the main office. Get to the phones. She tiptoed up until she knocked over a metal bucket. It rolled away, clanging as it did.
“Girlths?” the Goblin King called out. She heard him charging towards her. With a cry of fright and dismay, she fled before him. She ran again, but now her body had stiffened in the cold and in lying still for so long. He was catching up! He was overtaking her. She veered onto some grass before he tackled her again, driving her face down into the lawn, sliding to a stop.
“Bad girlths!” he screamed at her, trying to pin her as she screamed and desperately flailed about.
“Get off of me!” she screamed back at him, swinging her fists wildly, trying to hurt him, trying to fight him. “Oh god, leave me alone!”
“Bad, bad, BAD GIRLTHS!” he screamed in her face, clutching both hands around her throat and pressing in. Her air vanished. She stared up at his scabby, shadowed face, drooling on her, leering in frenzied rage. Her body jerked and buckled, and finally she felt her lungs burning before everything went tingly and dark.
When Kristin woke up she realized right away that she’d been unconscious for far too long. She was on the set. She knew the room, though her character was only supposed to see it briefly, and never as the victim. But now she was the victim. She was still naked and stretched out on the medieval rack, upright, hanging by her arms. In front of her was the big mirror, letting the victim see her own torture, and allowing for interesting filming angles. “Oh no! No!” she cried, pulling to get loose.
“The girlths are awake, good,” the creature said, stepping into her view. In the good lighting she could see now that he wasn’t made up. It wasn’t prosthetic skin that made up his deformities. It was his deformities that made up his deformities.
“Please, please, listen to me!” she cried. “This isn’t supposed to be real! You don’t need to do this to me! Oh god, please don’t hurt me again!”
“Bad, girlths!” he spat, turning the crank. The ropes tightened, bruising her wrists a little. Her blood froze. It was a real rack. It was supposed to be a prop. But it was cranking. He could pull her arms from her sockets if he chose, tear them right off her body. She felt her bladder release on her, spilling pee on the floor.
“No, no!” she wailed. He didn’t turn the crank again, yet. He vanished from view and returned with another tool from the script. It was supposed to be a prop, but it looked like a real staple gun. As he pressed it to her breast and pulled the trigger, the steel staple embedded itself into her tit flesh. She screamed and watched tiny trickles of blood come out. It was actually not quite as painful as she expected, but there was the bigger issue. He smiled, and then he began running the staple gun up and down her body, jamming big staples into her flesh a couple times each second. Bang bang bang her body was quickly filled with staples, stabbing and bleeding her. Up and down her legs, over her tits, all over her cunt, on her arms, her cheeks, her neck, her forehead. Each dual sting hurting like a wasp bite, but a hundred count in number.
“Waaahhh!” she wailed, unable to speak further. When he cranked the wheel twice more she just shrieked and flailed her head as her shoulders began to burn, her muscles stretched, her joints stressed beyond safety. And then he was in front of her again, naked. His body was a walking deformity textbook, with open oozing wounds and tumorous growths that shouldn’t be possible. But his cock was fine. It lacked even a single wart, let alone the frothing mutation that was the rest of the Goblin King’s body. It was just huge, and he stepped in front of her, pressing it again to her tortured pussy. She groaned and wept as he again began fucking her, sliding into her, pummeling her cunt with his member. And as he raped her he clutched at her throat again, squeezing, pulling, throttling her. Jerking her body, hurting her shoulders even worse. She stared into his infernal face as she lost her air again and her lungs burned. She felt his jizz flooding her dead belly as he again choked the life out of her, freeing her from her pain.
Light and thought returned slowly. She was lying on the floor, but it was her own bathroom. The lights were on. There were people around looking down at her, but with concern, not lustful hatred.
“Hey, you’re back,” Harris said.
“Wha?”
“You slipped. Looks like you hit your head. You were out for a while. You’re lucky you didn’t drown.”
“What?”
“Just take it easy.”
“What? No, no! I don’t think so!” she cried, sitting up quickly. “It wasn’t a dream!”
“I didn’t mention a dream,” Harris said.
“You hit your head,” the set doctor said. Bill, Something, that was his name. “What year is this?”
“It’s the year I don’t take shit!” she said, struggling to her feet and confronting them all. They were gathered around her like voyeuristic vultures, looking to get their fill of her body.
“Kristin, please,” Harris said, trying to coax her down.
“I’ll prove it!” she snapped, brushing his hand aside and running outside. The torture chamber set was not supposed to be finished yet, but she knew if she showed it to them. Or showed them her blood trail from her assault on the road. Something. She had left evidence. The set was brightly lit now. All the assholes that should have been up and about were now up and about. But she would show them the proof, because there was no possible way she had experienced a dream.
She paused, though, with a sudden thought. But she looked down at her body, still naked, still flashing for everyone on set. Whatever. There they were. Puncture wounds. Healed up now, but fresh enough. And her shoulders. Surely an X-ray or MRI or whatever would show her injury. And a rape kit. She could feel the pain in her vagina from both rapes. And her scraps and scabs. They were all still there. These people were blind. She continued on.
Back in her trailer, Harris and Harold, half out of makeup, sat and watched her go. “She’s heading to the torture chamber set,” Harold said. “It’s not even finished yet.”
“She’ll see that, I suppose,” Harris said. He took Kristin’s bottle of Pinnacle and taking a swig for himself.
“Think she’ll recover?”
“I think so.”
They paused. “Girlths are so gullible!” Harold said.
“Now why can’t you give me that voice on set?”
“I thought it was hokey!”
“It’s what I’m looking for! Do it that way and we can wrap up with one final shoot in the morning.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll do it that way.”
They paused again.
“Won’t she notice the missing day from her calendar?” Harold asked. Harris shook his head.
“Nah, she’s not the type. Half the time she doesn’t know what day it is.”
“What about when the uncut edition comes out?” Harold asked. “Surely she’ll notice her dream on the screen.”
“By then she’ll be healed up, convinced she was insane, and in no position to make trouble for anyone,” Harris said. “Trust me. When you control what people see, you learn to control what they do and think. Our little Kristin is no exception.”
“Good, that’s good,” Harold said, taking a swig. “And she was good too,” he said with a big grin. “Oh well, back to the R-rated junk in the morning.”
In the distance they heard Kristin swearing and crying about the unfinished set.
