Teaser: The minivan's interior, a prison of tinted glass and leather, seemed to close in around her, trapping her in a nightmare she can't wake up from. His hands were like steel, unyielding and powerful, holding her in place. The feeling of the leather car seat against her back was a stark contrast to the heat of his body on top of her.
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: The Minivan
Author: Trio
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The Minivan
Under a star-speckled night, a woman approaches her minivan on the top floor of the quiet airport parking garage. The car's indicators flash, signalling its unlocking, as the distant roar of an aircraft taking off grows louder. She opens the trunk and stores her luggage inside, her mind preoccupied with the journey home. Looking forward to surprising her husband, she is able to cut her trip short. She presses the button, and the trunk starts to close.
Suddenly, she is jolted out of her thoughts by a firm hand over her mouth. She tries to scream, but the sound is muffled. A masked man has emerged from the shadows between the parked vehicles, flashing a knife. Her heart pounds in terror. The side door of the minivan slides open, and she is unceremoniously shoved inside. The door closes with a thud, sealing her fate. The tinted windows shield their grim reality from the occasional passersby.
The cold steel of the blade presses against her throat, sending a shiver down her spine. She has tried to scream, to reason, but he has silenced her with chilling efficiency. He begins to methodically strip her clothing away, his eyes visible through the mask gleaming with malicious intent. Each piece of fabric that falls away exposes more of her trembling flesh to his hungry gaze. She feels a tear trickle down her cheek as he pushes a piece of cloth into her mouth. The duct tape follows, sealing her cries for help within the confines of the stifling van. Her wrists are crossed and bound together with a jerk of his hand, the soft rope still cutting into her skin. His touch is cold and rough, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She desperately wishes she could fight back, but fear has turned her muscles to jelly. He slowly moves her arms over her head, securing them with the seatbelt, through a loop of the knot, leaving her vulnerable and on display. This is clearly not his first rodeo.
Her eyes dart around the car, looking for anything she can use to escape, but the minivan is as empty as her hope. The tape muffles her protests as he manhandles her into position. Her legs are forced apart, the cold leather seat sticking to her bare skin. The man takes his time, enjoying the power he holds over her. He removes his shirt and unbuckles his belt, the clank echoing in the confined space. His pants fall to his ankles, and he steps out of them, revealing his erect cock free for business. With a sinister grin, he aligns himself with her trembling body. He pushes against her dry entrance, causing her to whimper into her gag. Using his hand to brush its head against her labia, brushing against her clit. Her elbows fly up, but just the sight of the knife is enough to keep her in check. His constant stimulation begins to have the expected effect. Despite the horror of her situation, she feels her body betraying her, lubricating him. He sighs in pleasure as he prepares to penetrate her, his hand holding the knife and one arm, just under her wrist. She feels the cold steel of the blade against the side of her hand, the sharp contrast of his soft grip. The weapon's icy threat sends a shiver down her spine.
He enters her with a deliberate slowness that is almost cruel. Each inch of him sliding in makes her eyes water with pain; she is still too dry. The car remains still, not even rocking slightly. Outside, the sounds of the parking lot grow distant as he buries himself inside her. She feels her world closing in, trapped between the masked man and the metal walls of the van. His grunts grow louder, his pace slow and methodical, as if savouring every moment of her violation. Pulling back out in slow motion, only to thrust back in, each time a little deeper, a little harder. His pace is so slow it is maddening; she wants it to be over. The knife hovers at the back of her hand, the cold steel a constant reminder of her precarious situation.
She grits her teeth around the fabric of the gag, biting down on the pain that washes over her. Minutes feel like hours; he feels no haste, no urgency. His hips grind into hers, his cock stretching her. Her body begins to react to his intrusion, betraying her in the worst way. Despite the fear and pain, she feels herself growing wetter, the pain now less, melting with a reluctant arousal. She tries to scream, to fight, but the rope and the fear hold her in place. People walk by, their conversations and laughter a stark contrast to her silent screams.
Suddenly, he freezes, his dick lodged deep inside her. The car next to them unlocks, and footsteps approach their vehicle. She recognises the sound of a family returning to their car, bags rolling on the concrete floor, and the chatter of children. Their shadowy figures are visible through the tinted glass. Hope floods into her eyes as she silently pleads for them to notice her. The masked man's gaze flicks to the side mirror, watching them casually. The man of the family seems to look straight at her, but his expression remains unchanged. He re-adjusts his tie in the reflection. The family piles into their car, oblivious to the horror occurring mere feet away. She feels a crushing despair when the engine starts. He resumes his movements even before they have all entered the car. His strokes are deep and slow, her body jerking with his every thrust. The van remains still, a silent tomb amidst the bustle of the parking garage. The sound of the car backing out and driving away makes her mind swirl with despair. She is left alone with her assailant once more.
He enjoys the moment, feeling her desperation. He withdraws his cock almost entirely before sliding back in, the wet sound echoing in the car. Each time he does this, she feels a mix of pain and relief, her body tense and trembling. The minivan's interior brightens as a plane passes overhead. Its landing lights cast eerie shadows on their entwined forms. It must have missed its approach, too low, too loud, circling back through the heavy night. She closes her eyes, trying to escape the reality, but his grunts and the squelching of their bodies remind her that she is trapped.
He takes his time, his eyes never leaving hers as he changes positions. His cock is deep inside her, stretching her to the brink of pain. He adjusts her legs, pushing them up high until her knees are almost touching her ears. The new angle sends a shock of discomfort through her body, but she is too overwhelmed to resist. The minivan's interior, a prison of tinted glass and leather, seems to close in around her, trapping her in a nightmare she can't wake up from. His hands are like steel, unyielding and powerful, holding her in place. The feeling of the leather car seat against her back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body on top of her.
His movements are still slow and meticulous; he bites down hard on her left nipple, the sharp pain sending shockwaves through her. Her pussy grips his cock tighter, her body's involuntary response to the pain. She tries to squirm away, but his weight is too much. She feels him grow deep inside of her, his breath hot and heavy against her neck. He grunts with satisfaction, his grip on her arm tightening. He moves to her other nipple and repeats the motion, his teeth digging in, eliciting another muffled cry. The woman's eyes water, her breaths come in ragged gasps around the gag.
—
Her body reacts in a way he enjoys, a mix of pain and fear. Not letting the car rock, he thrusts deeper, the sound of their bodies moving together filling the confined space. Her eyes bulge with fear and pain, but he knows she can’t fight the sensations building inside her. His lips and teeth move back and forth between her nipples. His grip on her arm tightens as he feels himself nearing climax.
—
The woman's body betrays her, her legs quivering and her pussy tightening around his cock. The pain and fear melt into something else, something dark and unwanted, but undeniable. The man's grunts become more rhythmic, his breaths coming in harsh pants.
Her eyes lock onto his. Is this never going to end? She feels the wetness between her legs and the man's excitement as he continues his slow, torturous rhythm. The roof lining above blurs with her tears as she silently begs for this to be a terrible dream and to please make it end. His grunts grow more intense, his breath hot on her neck. She feels his cock swelling inside her, the pressure building. And then, with a final, brutal thrust, he reaches his peak, his cum flooding her violated pussy. Biting into her nipple again and grunting loudly, he holds himself deep inside her, savouring every second of his release. The pain in her nipple is overwhelming, her body trying to escape the pressure. She screams into her gag, her eyes rolling back into her head. Her body bucks under him, her pussy clenching around him, increasing his pleasure during his final spurts. His breathing is hard and fast.
—
He releases her nipple and collapses on top of her, his cock still pulsating deep inside her. Enjoying the feeling of her squirming, trapped beneath his weight, he does not move. His breathing slows, and his grip on her arm relaxes, but he does not let go. The knife remains in place.
—
She hears him moan; he is still hard inside her. She feels sick. He is clearly savouring the moment. She tries to wriggle away, but his weight is too much.
—
He is not ready to pull back. He feels the blood rush through his veins, his cock slowly losing its peak. He enjoys the warmth and tightness of her pussy around his cock. He decides to keep still. The angle of his penetration locks it inside, no way for it to go. He could stay in her like this forever. The height of sensation slowly recedes, but he is sure the woman's fear remains. This power over someone else is intoxicating, and he is high from it. Minute after minute passes by, the car a silent tomb to anyone outside. People still move around them, unaware of the horror. She screams out of utter frustration, but the tape holds back almost all of it. He smiles, feeling his cock going limp, but her wetness and velvet touch delay him pulling out.
—
The woman's mind starts to race. What will happen next? Will he let her go? He seems to be taking his time, as if he has no care in the world. The masked man is still for a moment, his cock twitching slightly, as if contemplating whether to withdraw or to continue.
—
His hips start making small circles, the feeling of his limp cock fully penetrating a soaking wet pussy is oddly pleasant. He had planned to pull back and go, but the movements of his hips have a pleasant aftershock. He starts to feel himself slowly growing hard again. This is a completely new sensation for him; never has he had the pleasure of letting his dick grow from limp to rock hard while still inside a woman.
—
She feels the beginnings of his hard-on, and a fresh wave of fear crashes over her. Her body takes over, and she starts thrashing, trying to pull away.
—
He has to use all his strength to keep her in place. He has to pick up the knife again to keep her still. His cock grows inside her. He smiles, the fear in her eyes is like a drug to him. He puts the knife down and repositions his hips, his cock now fully erect again.
—
The woman's heart races; she is unsure if she can handle more of this. He starts to move inside her. She feels sick. He starts to move in that same rhythm of deep thrusts. Her mind goes wild again, she has to scream, has to do something, but the gag is too tight, and the tape too sticky.
—
He feels fantastic; this is the best feeling he has ever had. The sound of his cock slapping against her wet pussy, her muffled cries, the smell of sex, fear, and desperation, it is all intoxicating. He increases his pace, each thrust becoming more forceful. She must feel him growing still, stretching her to her limits. Her eyes are wide with terror, her breath coming in short gasps through her flaring nostrils. He knows he will need to use this technique when fucking a woman consensually; he always loves to feel them moan against his mouth. But that is a risk he can’t take with this one, not here in public.
This rape is an opportunity that came out of nowhere. He had been on the prowl for hours and had almost given up hope. But then she appeared, the perfect victim. She was even his type: brunette, slender, older, but still young and dressed like she had money. He had followed her from the airport terminal, watching as she walked to her car, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. He had waited patiently, his cock growing hard at the thought of what was to come. And now, here they are, in the back of her minivan, she, unable to resist his every whim.
He had planned to drive his victim to a secluded place. Raping someone in a car is a tight fit, but with a minivan, the possibilities are endless. The spaciousness of the vehicle allows for more comfort, more control. A parking garage at night is a perfect stage for his twisted performance, with only the occasional traveler passing by, casting no suspicion on the parked minivan.
Traffic from both cars and pedestrians has been slowing down. There are no more landing and departure lights to pierce the darkness outside. The parking lot has emptied significantly. This gives him more freedom to move without the fear of being caught. He grabs a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back, exposing her neck. He licks along her collarbone, feeling her pulse race under his tongue. She flinches, but there is nowhere for her to go.
—
Her mind is racing, is this ever going to end? She is soaking wet, and not only in and around her pussy; the leather of the car seat is sticky from her sweat. Beads run down her forehead, sticking her hair to her face. Each strand clings to her skin, a stark contrast to the dryness of the gag in her mouth. Her eyes search his, desperately looking for any hint of humanity, any sign that he might release her from this nightmare.
—
He is not ready to let her go, not yet. He wants to savour this moment of complete domination, to feel her tremble beneath him. His hand moves to her throat, squeezing gently, feeling the life force beneath his fingers. He knows he has to be careful, not to leave any marks that could trace back to him. The woman's eyes grow wide with fear, her chest heaving with silent sobs. This is literally the most fun he has ever had raping. He has done this before, but never with such a beautiful catch, and never this long. Most of the times it had to be quick and silent so he wouldn't be caught. It had been a close call a few times, but this is different. This situation is different, the top floor of the airport parking garage, a car with ample space, tinted windows, and no one around. It is a playground for his darkest desires. And nobody is clearly waiting for her; her phone has not rung once.
—
Suddenly a voice calls out: "Hey you two having fun in there?", and laughter. Hearing the man's chuckles, the woman's hope soars briefly. Maybe, just maybe, she'll be saved. She screams for help, her eyes bulging with desperation. But the muffled sound is lost in the vacuum of the car's cabin.
—
He has stopped to look around. It is a couple walking to their car, not even looking their way. They have not noticed a thing. He smirks at the thought of almost being caught. The laughs fade as the couple goes on. A minute or so later, he hears a distant door close. This sets him off again. He starts to fuck her with renewed vigour. Each thrust sends waves of pain and pleasure through her body. He knows he is taking a risk, but this is too much fun to stop. He wants to leave his mark, make her remember him. The car rocks now, slightly, but not enough for anyone close by to notice if they are paying attention. But the parking lot remains quiet, the occasional car passing by without a glance.
—
She feels the despair creeping in. She feels sick. Her eyes search for an escape, a spark of hope, anything. But she is trapped, a plaything for his sick desires. Her cries grow louder, the tape stretches and her pleading screams, muffled, fill the car. The man's eyes grow darker, his grin wider. He is in complete control, and she is at his mercy. Her body arches off the seat, her eyes pleading through the fog of fear and pain. But the tape holds firm, the only sound her whimpers and the slap of skin against skin.
Her mind is lost in the horror, a silent scream echoing in her thoughts. She can't hold on anymore. She feels his cock moving in and out of her, his rhythm increasing and decreasing, his thrusts deep and then shallow. She is his plaything, and she knows it. Her resistance breaks. Her eyes close and she lets out a deep moan. Her body claims defeat, he has won. He notices the change in her, her body goes limp, her eyes glaze over.
—
He knows she has given up. He smirks and leans back, enjoying the victory. He takes his time, fucking her without any hurry, feeling her pussy tighten around him every time he thrusts deep. She is a warm, wet hole for his amusement.
He increases his speed, her limp body a silent testament to his victory. He has to be honest with himself, he is getting tired, but he has one more game to play. He pushes in deep, he then moves her hips a bit lower so his pubic bone hits her clit with every thrust. The woman's eyes fly open, the new sensation unexpected and jolting. He is sure she has never felt anything like this before. He watches her face, looking for a reaction. Her eyes grow wide, and she starts thrashing again, the pleasure mixing with pain, her body betraying her once more. She closes her eyes, feeling the heat build up inside of her. He knows what is happening, he has done this before. He has broken her, and now he has her right where he wanted her. Her body is reacting, outside her control.
He feels a surge of power, her pleasure his to manipulate. He keeps the pace, watching her body writhe in his grip. He can feel her pussy clench around his cock, her muffled cries growing louder. Knowing she is close, and ready to take her over the edge. But he does not do that. He smirks beneath his mask, his grip tightening. He does not want her to cum. He slows his movements, drawing out the agony. The woman's eyes snap open, pleading. He knows what she is begging for, but he is in control. He watches her face contort with pain and need, her body betraying her with each involuntary quiver.
—
He shifts again, pushing her hips up so her clit is not touched with every thrust. The sudden absence of that sweet friction is maddening. Her eyes search his, a silent plea. But he must know she is this close, is he going to make her beg?
—
He has decided a while ago that he is going to do everything possible to deny her that relief. He enjoys her desperation; it is his power to give or take away. He has fantasized about this for so long. Now he can play this game for real. He feels rejuvenated by her suffering. He starts to pound into her, his hips slapping against hers with a sickening rhythm. The woman's eyes roll back in her head. He feels a rush of adrenaline; the fear in her eyes is his aphrodisiac. He has to slow down again, not to cum too quickly. This is his moment, and he is going to enjoy it. This is the longest he has ever been inside a woman. And he is in full control now.
—
Her breath is ragged and her eyes are glazed over. She has no idea how much time has passed; minutes feel like hours in this hell. He has shifted his hips again, his pubic bone is again grinding against her clit.
—
He watches her with delight, enjoying her torment. Her eyes are closed and her body is limp, but she is still trying to escape, her legs twitching slightly. He knows she is close to the edge, but he isn't going to let her come, not yet, probably never. He slows down again, just moving his hips slowly. She sighs with frustration, her body on fire with need. He is playing with her, and she must hate him for it. He sets a goal for himself; he looks at his watch, he has penetrated her, now eighty minutes ago or so. Whatever happens, he wants to make it to two hours. He starts to count in his mind, his strokes measured and deliberate.
To control his own excitement, he starts making a plan of repeating this exercise with someone else in the future. He now has a strategy that works. He feels like a predator that has just learned a new way to catch its prey. He starts to think about who would be next, where and when. It is like planning a vacation, but instead of choosing a nice destination and hotel, he is planning his next rape. But he knows he has to be careful. He can't let the thrill of the hunt override his need to stay safe.
—
She sees some change in him, his eyes grow distant. He is no longer fully in the moment. This gives her a spark of hope, a chance. The relief is momentary as he resumes his punishing pace, his cock driving into her with a ferocity that makes her eyes water. She is no longer a person to him, just an object for his sick games. Her body, so bruised and abused, is a canvas for his twisted desires. The car's interior is a cocoon of pain, the scent of fear and sex thick in the air.
—
He keeps playing the game, driving her to the brink of orgasm only to pull back, watching her despair grow with every denied climax. The woman's mind is a chaos of fear and agony, her body a battleground for his twisted amusement. She feels every inch of his cock, the way it fills and stretches her, the way he manipulates her body to serve his needs. Her eyes, once filled with terror, now hold a vacant stare as she succumbs to the relentless assault.
—
He knows he can't keep this up; the time between starting and stopping is growing shorter. If he is not careful, she is going to cum, and he has come too far to allow that to happen. But he still has some room to manoeuvre. He leans back, pulling his cock almost out of her, and then slams it back in, hard and fast. She gasps around the gag, her eyes flying open with shock. He does that again, over and over again, each thrust punctuated by a grunt of effort. The woman's body responds instinctively, her hips rising to meet him. He can feel the beginnings of her climax, the muscles of her pussy tightening around his shaft. He leans in, whispering in her ear, "You want to cum for me, don't you?”
—
His words are a taunt, a challenge. He has brought her close, so close, and then stopped again. Her hips move up to meet his, but he remains still, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. Her eyes plead, her breath ragged. She cannot believe what is happening to her; she is begging her rapist to let her climax.
—
He is reminded about the joke of a snapping pussy, and how it would feel to make her cum without moving. But that is not the plan today. He feels her body shiver, seemingly giving up the struggle to reach climax. He knows he has to end this soon, it is time to cum and leave. But there is time for one more round. So after he has let her cool down again, he starts to thrust, hard and fast, his strokes like a hammer, each one driving into her with precision.
—
She feels like she is going to break, but she can't fight back. Her body is his to do with as he likes. She is exhausted, her eyes search the tinted windows, desperate for a saviour that never comes.
—
He feels himself nearing the edge, the pressure building in his balls. He knows it is going to be intense, the best he has ever had. He leans in close, wanting her to experience his climax, his breath hot and ragged against her ear.
—
She feels his cock swell even more inside her, the feeling is almost painful. He groans, his hips moving like a machine. She is quivering, her body has taken over, it is searching for its own climax, but there is just not enough stimulation to push her over the edge. He is not touching her, not playing with her breasts or her clit, but she can feel it building up inside her. Will he allow her to cum this time?
Just when she finishes that thought, he grunts like an animal. If there would be someone close by, they would have heard it. He is exploding in her hard. His cock pulsates inside her pussy, filling her with his hot seed. He does not stop, keeps going, thrusting in and out of her, his cock spurting his cum deep inside her. She feels his hot semen flood her insides, a part of her wants to push him out, but a part of her wants him to keep going, to move her to her own climax. But she now knows that will never come, not with him. Her mind gets it, her body not, it is still chasing the high that he has been playing with for so long. Her eyes plead with him, even her moans seem to be singing a silent aria of seduction and despair. But she is not going to get any satisfaction, not today, she is sure about that.
—
Her body is playing with his, he feels her buck and shiver. He knows she is still looking for her own release, but he is not playing along. Her quivering pussy, now an iron fist in a velvet glove, is massaging him, coaching him to start moving again. But he does not listen, he just enjoys the feeling of her milking every last drop out of him. She is doing such a good job. He is in the exact same position as last time. His hilt pressed close against the entrance of her pussy. Her hips immobilised by his. He smiles, maybe we can try for a third round, but he knows that if he starts moving again, she will cum without his consent, and that is not part of the plan, this and the fact that he is exhausted. His cock goes limp much faster than the first time. But like before, he keeps it buried in its wet glove, savouring that feeling that has been new to him. He keeps thinking of that third time, he has to go for that somewhere in the near future.
He thinks about that guy in that sitcom who had to promote his dick because he had fucked a certain woman. He now needs to promote his dick to an officer, at least a captain. He just gave his own dick it a battlefield commission. So after that formality, finally, with a last sigh, he pulls out, her pussy makes a sound of protest. He leans back, takes a deep breath. She lays there, naked, her eyes never leaving his face, had not been aware of it, but he has thrown away his mask when he was engulfed in his own thoughts.
—
She has been watching his face a long time now, but it is only now that she really sees it. When the mask had disappeared, it had just revealed an average man with a smug grin. His eyes are the only things that she had seen before, their darkness a stark contrast to his otherwise unassuming features. This is not a monster she had imagined; this is someone she could pass by on the street without a second glance. Someone who could blend into the fabric of society unnoticed, hiding his depravity behind a veil of mediocrity.
—
He looks in her eyes, the fear in them has turned to humiliation and anger. She is looking at his face, no longer masked. He feels a twinge of fear, but he knows that with even the most skilled sketch artist, the drawing could resemble a thousand different guys, in this town alone, and he doesn't live here closely anyway. The chances of being recognised are slim to none. He is ready for the closing ceremony, just like he'd done before. He needs to clean his victim, making sure he leaves no genetic material behind.
He starts thinking, she has been the best so far, her reactions are priceless. He wipes his cock clean with some of her clothes, taking a moment to appreciate the mess he's made. and tucks it back into his pants. The woman's eyes follow his every move, the anger burning in them like molten steel. He takes a moment to appreciate the sight of her, bound and used. He should start to clean up, but his mind is racing. "Could he take this risk?", he wonders. He hasn't done this before, but something about her makes him want to push it. The decision comes quicker than expected, he grabs a hood from his bag and slides it over her head. The material is rough against her skin, and she flinches as it blocks out the last of her visibility. She tries to resist, but she is too weak from the ordeal. He checks her restraints, making sure she is secure for the next phase of a crazy plan the is now forming in his head. He is aiming for a double promotion. He uses the other seatbelts and some additional rope to hold her legs.
In his bag, he finds the soft full face mask he'd been looking for. It is a 3D printed copy of a famous actor's face. He chuckles, this is the same guy who promoted his own dick on the sitcom. He puts it on, adjusting it until it fitted snugly over his nose and mouth. The rubbery material cools his skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his recent exertions. His eyes peer through the tiny holes, looking at the woman on the back seat, now hogtied and hooded. She struggles weakly, the anger replaced with a newfound terror as she must have realised he has other plans. He moves to the driver's seat with a sense of purpose, his heart racing. He starts the engine of the minivan, the low rumble echoing over the almost deserted parking. The headlights flick on, casting a dim glow into the dark space outside the car. He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror, his own eyes the only visible part of his face, filled with a twisted excitement. The car starts moving slowly, weaving through the maze of vehicles, the woman's muffled sobs the only sound in the cabin.
He holds her parking ticket and credit card, feeling the smoothness of the plastic under his thumb. At the automated barrier, he pays for her parking, smiling under his mask as the arm raises. He drives off into the night, the woman's whimpers fading into the background of the city's white noise. He knows exactly where to go, the place he had scouted before, the place he had planned to take his victim in the first place. A place so desolate, it might as well been on the moon. Nobody has been there in ages. His plan is foolproof.
—
Her mind races as the minivan pulls out of the airport parking garage. The sudden change in motion sends waves of pain through her body. The fabric of the hood is rough against her skin, and she can smell the faint scent of an unknown perfume and sweat mingling with her own fear. Each bump in the road is a cruel reminder of her helplessness. She feels the coolness of the night air as they drive further from any semblance of safety. She does not dare to move an inch. The rocking motions of the car soothe her mind, she is exhausted, she tries to fight it but sleep takes her, the quiet whirring of the car's engine is the only lullaby she knows.
—
He hears a snore and he smiles under the mask, she is out cold. It is a good thing, it will make the next part easier. He needs a few hours sleep too. He drives to his destination and parks the car in a place where nobody will find or hear them. He pushes back his seat and falls into a deep sleep.
He wakes up at first light, the green environment filled with natural noises. Birds are chirping, leaves rustling, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of a stream babbles away. The smell of sex and sweat fills the car, a stark contrast to the freshness outside. He can still hear her shallow breaths and soft snores. She is still out. Good, he thinks to himself. He knows he has to work fast, before she can regain her strength. He takes out the knife again, the blade shimmering in the early morning sun.
He steps outside the car, the chilly air hitting his skin. He pops open the trunk, the sound echoing through the stillness of his surroundings. Her luggage is neatly arranged, a testament to her organised nature. He sifts through her bag, tossing aside clothes and personal items with a practiced ease. Nothing that interesting, just a small envelop filled with cash, probably her emergency stash. He chuckles to himself, "How stupid can you be to put that in checked luggage?" It is well hidden, but still.
He hears her moaning, the sound jolts him out of his thoughts. He turns to see her stirring under the hood, the sunlight piercing through the small windows and highlighting the curves of her incredible body. He has felt it against his, but now in this light, it is like a work of art.
—
She is waking up, the fabric of the hood sticking to her wet cheeks from crying and sweating. Her eyes flutter open, trying to assess the situation, but the darkness inside the hood makes it impossible to see anything but the light shining through the fabric. She feels her bound body and memories start flooding back, she starts to panic. Where is she? Is she alone? Is he still here with her? One of the questions is quickly answered as she hears footsteps approaching.
—
He has thought of moving her, but the memory and feelings of last night's conquest, have made him reconsider. The cramped, intimate space, the way her body is bent and contorted is just too tantalising to let go. Plus, it will be easier to manage her if he keeps in place. He has already undressed down to his boxers, feeling the cool morning air kiss his bare skin.
He moves to the back and slides in next to her, the smell of fear and arousal still thick in the air. His cock, already half hard from the thoughts of what he is about to do, springs to full attention as he feels her naked body, bound and vulnerable. He takes his time, enjoying the sight of her waking up to the reality of her situation. He feels like a predator watching his prey come to.
—
Her heart is racing, thumping against her chest like a wild animal trapped in a cage. She hears him, feels his presence like a dark shadow looming over her. Panic floods through her veins, a desperate need to escape the horror that has become her reality. She tries to move, but her body is a prison of rope and seatbelts, a silent scream is trapped behind her gag. She feels him move on the seat, the leather sticking to his sweat-slick skin as he positions himself next to her. The hand on her leg is like a serpent, slithering upwards, sending shivers down her spine. She wants to scream, to kick, to do anything, but she is paralysed with fear. His other hand, cold and cruel, glides over her stomach, sending waves of revulsion through her. She feels the cold blade of the knife again, leaning against the soft flesh of her thigh, a silent reminder of his power. Will she survive this? The question echoes through her mind like a broken record, a constant loop of dread and despair. He seems to savour her fear, his breathing growing heavier as he explores her body. His fingertips dance across her skin. She can't help but whimper into the gag, her eyes squeezed shut as if that could somehow shield her from the horror.
—
He notices her movement, the way she tries to shrink away from him, and a cruel smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He pulls closer, her naked body pressed against his. She should feel his erection, hard and unforgiving, pushing into her side. His hand slides up her torso, his thumb brushing against the pulse point in her neck. He can feel her fear, her heart rate increasing, and it is intoxicating. The knife rests on her stomach, the tip pointing down, a silent threat he knows that she dares not challenge.
He pulls a rag out of his bag, the fabric rough against his skin. He opens the large bottle of water and takes a few gulps, the cool liquid washing away the dryness in his throat. He then pours a generous amount of water onto the cloth and brings it down to her pussy, the cold water making her flinch. He starts to wipe her clean, his movements methodical, as if he is just washing a dirty dish. She feels the fabric drag over her sensitive skin, the pain mixing with the coldness of the water and the stickiness of her own juices. The sound of the rag moving is the only sound in the car, other than their combined breathing.
—
She wants to scream, to beg, but she knows it's useless. He suddenly pulls away the hood, the light assaulting her eyes. She squints, trying to adjust to the sudden change, but she can’t see his face, not fully. She can only make out the shadow of the man, and then she sees his eyes, which are filled with a twisted excitement. She tries to look away, but his grip on her chin forces her to meet his gaze. "You're mine now," he whispers, his voice cold and detached, sending a shiver down her spine.
Her eyes widen in horror as she feels his hand move to the knife, the blade now pressed against her cheek. He runs it down to her neck, tracing the line of her jaw before moving to her mouth. With a swift jerk, he pulls away the tape, setting the gag free, the cloth comes away, leaving her with a dry sticky feeling in her mouth. "No screaming, not yet," he taunts, his breath hot against her face. She gasps for air, the taste of the fabric still in her mouth. She tries to speak, but her throat is too dry. Also, his knife makes clear that talking is not recommended.
—
She sees the water bottle in his hand. She craves it, her mouth parched from the gag, she moans in hope. He moves it closer, she hears the sweet sound of liquid. He brings it to her lips, pulling it back at the last second, a sadistic smirk playing on his face. He enjoys watching her beg, her eyes pleading for relief. Finally, he lets her drink. She gulps greedily, the water soothing her raw throat. He takes his time, controlling the flow, watching her swallow with hungry eyes. She drinks until she thinks she might drown, every sip a small victory in this hellish game.
Her body relaxes slightly as he takes the water away, the brief respite from thirst a small mercy in the sea of horror. The coolness of the water washes away the dryness, but the taste of fear remains. He takes the knife and runs it again over her skin, the sharpness of the blade makes her flinch. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words almost tender. He just looks at her, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. A eerie silence falls between them, the only sound of their soft breathing, the occasional bird call piercing the quiet. He offers the bottle again, and she drinks gratefully, her eyes never leaving his, searching for any sign of humanity, any crack in the monster's facade. But she finds none. The familiar eyes the only window to his soul, and they are as cold as ice.
She feels the pressure in her bladder growing, a desperate need to pee. Her body has been denied basic dignity, and now it demands relief. She squirms against the building discomfort, her eyes flicking to the masked man who watches her with a mix of amusement and impatience. She squirms, trying to communicate her distress to him, her eyes pleading. She knows, he is amused by her silent struggle. Does she dare to ask, she has to. "Please, I need to go to the bathroom," she whispers hoarsely, her voice shaking with fear.
—
This has never happened to him before, normally, everything is done within the span of an hour, one and a half hour max, but today is not going to be like any other day. He leans over her, his eyes lingering on the soft curves of her bound body. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, his pulse racing in his ears. He reaches for the buckles that hold her arms captive, her hands trembling slightly. He pulls her up, her skin sticking to the leather seat as she is lifted. He pulls her through the open door.
—
Her limbs ache from being bound for so long as she is pulled from the car. The cool morning air is a sharp contrast to the stifling heat of the minivan. She tries to stand, but her legs give out, he grabs her before she falls. His grip is firm, but surprisingly gentle, considering what he has done to her. He leads her to a nearby bush, the cold dampness of the earth seeping into her feet. "Go," he says, his voice a low growl. She nods, tears streaming down her face as she relieves herself. The sound of her urine hitting the ground seems unnaturally loud in the quiet. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, but she knows better than to protest. His grip still strong on her arm, she is again reminded of her captivity. His eyes locked onto hers, never leaving, watching her every move. She is contemplating running, but her body is too weak, too scared. She is sure that she can't get way, but if she would have tried, he would have punished her for sure.
This, the first time she is really looking at him as a man, an evil monster yes, but still a man. His face, shows a hint of stubble, a sign of time passing that she hadn't noticed before. His eyes, a stark contrast to his dark hair that has a few strands of grey, stare at her with a mix of hunger and satisfaction. She takes in his body, not the muscular, toned physique she was expecting, but rather lean, with a strength that has been honed over time. He isn't tall, but he has a commanding presence that fills the space around them. Her eyes quickly move down to avoid his gaze, the fear of what he might do if he knows she can identify him is palpable.
Once she is done, his grip loosens a bit, he uses the rag to clean her. She feels a flicker of hope, a brief moment of humanity from her captor. The rag is cold and rough against her skin, the chilly morning air making her shiver. Her legs still bent, she tries to regain her balance, his eyes never leaving her. He takes his time, his touch almost tender as he wipes away the evidence of her humiliation. She does not dare to move, the fear of his wrath if she does not satisfy him paralysing her. Her let her rise to her feet, her legs wobbly. He bends over and cleans some urine that has spattered against her legs, his touch lingers, not to clean but to caress, the coldness of the water mixing with the stickiness of his touch. She should have brought her knee up, she should have bitten his hand, but she doesn't dare. The fear keeps her still.
He lets go of her arm, his hand lingering for a moment before he pulls away. She wobbles slightly, the cold air making her naked body shiver. He takes a small step back, watching her with a detached curiosity. She feels a small sliver of freedom, but the relief is short lived as she feels his hands move to her shoulders, pushing her down. "On your knees," he commands, the excitement in his voice undisguised. She knows what is expected from her now, his intentions are obvious, she is slowly parting her lips. But then he says, "sit on your heels." She does not understand, but complies. Sitting like this would make it hard to stand back up fast. Is this a trap? His eyes on her, but his hips turned away from her. She feels a brief moment of confusion. Then he starts to pee, his urine arcing into the bushes, the smell of it mixing with the freshness of the morning air. She hears him grunt. The sound of his piss hitting the bushes seems to last an eternity. She tries not to look, but the sight of him urinating so casually, as if they were friends sharing a bathroom, is too bizarre to ignore. She feels a mix of revulsion and relief, knowing that this strange intimacy means he is not going to hurt her, not right now at least.
When he is done, he cleans the head with the rag, and she can't help but feel a strange mix of relief and disgust. He turns back to her, his cock half erect, and she thinks, "He is going to put that thing in my mouth for sure." Seconds pass, but nothing happens. She does not know that he does not like to put his cock where is tongue is going to be. He has a strange sense of cleanliness in his sick ritual. He moves to her and pulls her on her feet. He brushes the dirt from her knees, tossing the rag aside.
They walk back to the car in silence, her legs still wobbly. He pulls her along by her bound wrists, the tension palpable. She can feel his eyes on her, assessing her, planning his next move. Her mind races, trying to find a way out of this living hell, but she knows she is at his mercy. As they approach the minivan, its trunk and side door still wide open, she thinks he will put her back inside, but they walk past it.
They keep walking, the soft damp grass under their feet, large trees hovering over them like silent sentinels. The air is fresh, the sound of distant traffic a muffled reminder of the world she's been ripped from. The sun is rising in the morning sky. The late summer’s breeze, a bit too cold for comfort, kisses her naked skin, making her shiver. They approach a clearing, the valley stretching out before them like a canvas of greens and oranges. She can see the tops of buildings in the far distance, hinting at civilisation. It is a taunt, a tease of safety that feels so far away. He pulls her forward and moves in behind her, his breath warm against her neck, his cock pressing against her lower back, his hands looking for and finding her breasts, kneading them softly, his thumbs playing with her nipples. Her body responds despite the horror, they are so sensitive, hardening under his touch. She feels his face against her hair, his stubble scratching her temple.
He sighs, the warmth of his breath on her neck sending a shiver down her spine. For a brief moment, she allows herself to be lost in the serenity of the scene before them: the gentle slope of the valley, the play of light on the already changing leaves. They could have been two lovers, sharing an intimate moment in the quiet embrace of nature. But the horror of her reality is stark and unforgiving. His grip tightens, his cock grows harder, and she knows that his enjoyment is derived from her fear, not the beauty of their surroundings.
His hand moves down, over her bound hands, across her stomach, and between her legs. He spreads her thighs wider, his touch a blend of cruelty and possession. His finger gently folding her labia apart, exposing the wetness he has created. He chuckles, a sound that sends chills down her spine. It is clear, not everything has leaked out onto the car seat, her body is still keeping some of his seed warm. She is his to take and she knows it too.
In the horror of the moment, her mind flashes to her husband, the man who has held her hand through every joy and pain since college. He is the love of her life, the one she has dreamt of starting a family with. They have worked tirelessly, building their lives together, always with the promise of children in their future. Her sobs grow louder as she thinks of their shared dreams, the countless nights spent whispering about the babies they would one day hold. He does not care, she thinks, her body betraying her with each unwanted response to his touch.
She has stopped taking the pill a half a year ago, they have been trying to get pregnant for four long months now. They bought the minivan with the excitement of a new phase in their life, a vehicle to hold their growing family, a symbol of the future they longed for. Her knees buckle under the weight of his touch and the fear that he has planted his seed within her, corrupting her dreams. She hopes it isn’t one of her fertile days, that she is not pregnant with this monster’s child. He mind racing with the thought of what he has taken from her. The rawness of her hope and fear only serves seemed to excite him more. She can feel the heat of his cock against her ass, his excitement palpable.
—
He feels her body shake, but he does not relent. He keeps massaging her breast and playing with her now soaking wet pussy. He feels a tear fall on his hand, this small droplet makes him smile. This is what he lives for this, the control, the power, the ability to rip apart a life so completely with just his bare hands, it's his mana from heaven.
He turns their bodies slowly, the sun's gentle warmth kissing their skin, his hands never leaving her body. He does not say a word. His mind starts to focus on what is coming next, his anticipation building as he gazes at the minivan, a symbol of his dominion over her. It stands there, a silent sentinel of the horrors that have unfolded within its tinted walls.
—
His hands leave her body suddenly, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch. She feels a moment of relief, but it is quickly replaced with a new kind of fear. He turns her around to face him, and she sees his eyes gleaming with a mix of hunger and something she can not quite place. He leans in, his mouth hovering over hers. She closes her eyes, bracing for the pain of his kiss, the assault she knows will come. But instead, his closed lips press against hers, a strange, gentle gesture that is almost tender in the midst of her horror. His lips hover over hers, patiently waiting for her to accept. She does not dare to move. His hands pull her body close, his grip firm but not painful. His lips still hover, slightly opening up. She feels his cock get hard against her hands. Her eyes, looking for a way to escape, only see the beauty of the autumn sunrise. The hand on the back of her head, moving her ever so close. Her mind races, not knowing what she has to do. She knows what he wants, demanded from her. She closes her eyes and parts her lips and accepts his kiss. It is a soft and gently probing, almost loving. Her mind escapes to her husband, and then she gives in completely.
Her eyes flutter open, and she sees his smile. He pulls away and nods, his eyes telling her she has passed some kind of test. He claims another victory. Time for the next act. He guides her back to the minivan, his grip firm, his steps deliberate. Each step closer to the minivan brings a new wave of dread, her heart pounding in her chest. She can feel the panic rising, her body tense, ready to fight or flee. He is holding her bound wrists, loosely at first, but as she resists, his grip tightens. She tries to dig her heels into the earth, but the ground is too soft. “No please, not again”, silently escapes her lips, but he does not react. She is no match for his strength. He pulls her along, his excitement growing with every step. They are now close to the minivan, its side door open like a gaping maw, she feels a cold sweat break out all over her body. She tries to pull away, her eyes wide with terror. But his grip is too strong, he is too powerful.
She is forced back into the minivan, her body shivering with fear and cold. The man's grip is unyielding as he guides her into exactly the same position she has been in before, her legs spread and her arms bound above her head locked with the seatbelt. The air inside replenished, some scent of sex still lingers, making him smile.
—
There are times she could have made a run for it, times she could have fought, but she has chosen not to. He finds that fascinating. He enjoys the thrill of her fear, the way she succumbs to his will.
—
Her mind is accessing the memories of the night before. The fear, the pain, the degradation. But she also remembers the moments of strange tenderness. The kiss of just moments ago, the gentle cleaning of her body. She tries to hold onto those moments as he starts to touch her again. His hands are cold and rough, but they move with purpose. She can feel his excitement growing again as he strokes her. Her body responds, despite her will. She feels his cock, hard and demanding, against her inner thigh. She squeezes her eyes shut. Waiting for the pain, waiting for it to end.
But she only feels a slight pressure on her lip, he is offering the bottle of water again. She takes a sip, her body still craves it. He also takes a big swig. He is probably going to need it. She knows what is coming next, her body tightens in anticipation. The bottle still in his hands, she whispers "please, " she wants desperately to postponed the inevitable. He smiles, offered her a little more. Then he puts it aside.
Some things have changed, but the fear remains the same. The doors of the minivan are open now, a stark difference from the claustrophobic prison she's been trapped in all night. The possibility of rescue seems tantalisingly close, yet she knows nobody will save her here. Her mouth is now free of the gag, she can scream, let her voice shatter the morning quiet, but she knows it will be futile.
He stands over her, his eyes gleaming with something other than just malice. His cock, the instrument of her torture, is hard again, and she can't help but look at it with a mix of horror and fascination. It is as if her body has been programmed to respond to his touch, despite her mind's desperate screams of protest.
—
He knows it, he is ready, the little blue pill, a silent accomplice in his depravity, has done its job. He hears her whimpers, "No, please, no, not again," but the sound only fuels his desire. He takes a deep breath, savouring the moment, feeling the power of his own control over her.
—
Without warning, he leans in and whispers "Ssssst," the sound of his breath against her face sending a shiver down her spine. Before she can react, his mouth is on hers, his tongue exploring, tasting the tears and the fear. She does not fight back, her eyes remain closed, trying to shut out the reality of what is happening. He kisses her deeply, his hands moving over her body, his touch a strange mix of tenderness and cruelty.
—
He knows she is his now, that she will do anything to avoid more pain. He lowers his hips, the tip of his cock pressing against her exposed pussy. She tries to move away, the sticky leather seat holding her in place. Her body reacts involuntarily, her muscles squeezing around his thick head. He smiles, his eyes gleaming with victory.
Her moan is muffled by their joined mouths as he begins to push into her. His cock slides in with surprising ease, the previous night's assault having left her swollen and sore, but she is still wet from his earlier touch. The pain mixes with the pleasure, and she hates herself for the response her body gives.
—
He feels it too, his smile growing wider as he revels in her helplessness. Unconsciously, her body is putting up resistance, trying to expel him, but the opposite effect is reached. Her body is reacting to the pressure and size, shivering, slick with his and hers juices, making it easier for him to penetrate her. Her moans are resonating in his mouth, a sweet song of despair and unwanted pleasure. This is the thing he has been searching for, the thing that makes him feel alive, the sound of her body betraying her mind. Last night was exhilarating, but this is something missing, something more intimate, more personal. Her moans, her tongue available for his touch, just that makes him feel like a king. He has been with many women, but none have given him this power, this thrill. He feels like a god, a creature of darkness, feasting on the light of her soul.
Here she can scream, yesterday this could have ruined his actions, but now there are no limitations anymore and he can enjoy the full sound of her voice, her screams, her moans and whimpers. He is able to feel the pulse of her fear, the beat of her racing heart, it is his music. He starts to fuck her, his rhythm slow and deliberate, savouring every inch of her warm, tight pussy.
—
The next almost three full hours fly past, a symphony of depravity that plays out in this deserted place. Each thrust, each moan, each whimper is a note in his twisted melody. His hands dance over her skin, leaving trails of pain and pleasure, while his cock becomes a maestro's baton, orchestrating her responses. The little blue pill is a masterstroke, allowing him to maintain his erection, to plunge into her depths over and over again. He feels invincible, his mind racing with the high of his sick victory. His cock has never left her pussy, not even to allow her the mercy of a brief respite. Yesterday, two was his peak, but today, the number three looms like a golden trophy within reach. His dick has done it, the promotion is in the bag. He has pushed her beyond her limits, bringing her to the edge of climax only to yank her back into the abyss of unfulfilled need. Her body is his canvas, and her pain his muse. Her voice strains, she has screamed, panted, begged. Only two points that could have gone better, he has to show her the error of her ways twice. The tip of his knife convinces her that resistance is futile. The first time is when she has spat in his face out of pure frustration, fire in her eyes that quickly is doused, the second when she has tried to bite at his lips and tongue, she just does that once. The sight of her bound and gagged the day before was exhilarating, but hearing her voice, her raw, unfiltered reactions, is a whole new level of ecstasy.
—
Her mind becomes a battlefield of emotions. She tries to hold onto her dignity, to find some semblance of control, but with every touch, every thrust, it slips away like sand through her fingers. The pain is a constant companion, but it is the lust, the treacherous yearning for release, that truly terrifies her. She has read about Stockholm syndrome, about the way captives can come to love their captors, but she has never thought it would happen to her. Her body is a traitor, responding to his touch despite the horror of her situation. The gentle kisses, the whispered words of encouragement, they are the carrot that keeps her from the edge of despair. But she knows it is all a game to him, a game of power and control that she is destined to lose. The taste of him on her tongue makes her stomach churn, yet she cannot deny the way her pussy clenches around his cock. Her mind is a maelstrom of fear, anger, and unwelcome arousal.
—
He feels her muscles tighten around him, her body poised on the brink of climax. He knows she is close, the way she squirms beneath him, the desperate sounds she makes. He revels in her frustration, her futile attempts to fight the tide of pleasure that is building inside her. He has done this to her, has brought her to this point, and it is the most delicious power he has ever known. He has made her need him, has made her crave his touch even as she loathes it. Her moans grow louder, she is so close. He can feel it, the way her pussy is pulsing around his cock. He sees her eyes beg, her lips quiver, her whole body is crying out, but she also knows he will be pulling back again. He has done it last night, never letting her reach the peak, leaving her hanging, leaving her feeling like a yoyo on a string of pain and pleasure. And now it has lasted even longer, her frustration, claiming all the processes of her mind.
—
She screams, she almost howls, her eyes screwed shut, her teeth grinding. But then her eyes fly open and she looks directly into his, the pupils dilated with need. He has just started pumping hard into her, she feels the head of his cock hit her G-spot, she feels the friction of his cock on her clit. She knows he is going to let her come, she knows he has her, she is his toy. There is no way back, the freight train is coming and nobody will be able to stop it now. Her build-up desire has turned into a volcano, ready to erupt. All the frustration of the last day is now his to claim, his to conquer. Just before her body explodes, he pushes his lips on hers, holding her head with both hands, letting the rest of her body buck under his, his mouth drinking all of her pleasure. It is a kiss of possession, a declaration of victory.
Her body arches, her back bows, her legs wrap around his waist pulling him deeper, as if she could swallow him whole. She comes with a force that surprises even her, her body convulsing, her pussy spasming around his cock. It is the most intense orgasm she has ever had, and she knows it is because she has been denied for so long. He has never made a woman come this hard with just using his dick.
—
Incredible, he has never felt this way before, the high from her involuntary reactions pushing him closer to his own peak. Her body, a captive plaything, fights him even as it brings him pleasure. The minivan's seat beneath them creaks with the ferocity of their entwined forms, the sound echoing through the quiet of the early noon. The scent of sex and arousal permeates the air, a potent mix that makes his head swim. His doubts of reaching a third climax vanish as she bucks beneath him, her movements frantic and uncontrollable. He can feel the beginnings of his own release, the pressure building at the base of his cock. He is buried deep in her, letting her body do the work, his own hips frozen in place, loving the sensation of her pussy milking him.
Her eyes have rolled back in her head, the pupils dilated with the intensity of her climax. He watches her face, the way her features contort in pleasure and pain, the way she fights against his touch even as her body craves more. It is a delicious power, one that he never wants to give up. He feels the knot in his stomach unravel as his orgasm begins, the pulsing of his cock inside her sending shockwaves through his entire being. He groans into her mouth, their teeth clattering together as he claims victory over her body once again.
He has to keep this woman, the thought grows like a tumour in his mind, feeding on the desperation of his need. Her body has become his sanctuary, the place where he feels truly alive. But he knows it is a fantasy, a dangerous obsession that can never be more than a fleeting nightmare. He pushes the thought aside, focusing on the symphony of her body beneath him. Her eyes search his, wild and untamed, as he rides the crest of her pleasure. Each wave of her climax washes over him, leaving him gasping for more.
Her waves seem to recede, but instead, something strange occurs. Her pussy clamps down on his cock with a ferocity he has never experienced before. The sensation is overwhelming, as if her body is trying to devour him entirely. He is so deep within her that every pulse of her muscles sends shockwaves of pleasure through him, each one more intense than the last. His cock responds to her desperate grip with a primal need to fill her completely.
This feeling of her pussy's grip is something new, something primal and overwhelming. It is as if she is trying to claim him, to keep him deep within her forever. Her body is a vice, squeezing every drop of pleasure from his cock. His hips jerk involuntarily, his breath coming in short gasps as he tries to keep up with her rhythm. The pressure builds inside him, a dam ready to burst, and he feels his orgasm approaching, unstoppable and all-consuming. The pain in his balls is exquisite, a sweet agony that seems to fuel his desire even more. He has never felt so alive, so in control, so powerful.
He grunts low and deep, his entire body tensing as his orgasm claims him. The sensation is unlike any he has ever felt before, a white-hot burst of pleasure that seems to radiate from the very core of his being. His cock pulses inside her, his hips jerking involuntarily as he empties himself into her. The sound of her muffled scream, the way her body tightens around him, it is intoxicating. His own breathing grows erratic, matching the tempo of his spasming cock.
—
He collapses on top of her, his breath hot and ragged against her neck. The weight of his body is a stark reminder of her own vulnerability, of the power he holds over her. For a moment, she feels nothing but the ache of her bruised and used body. But as the aftershocks of their shared climax begin to fade, she becomes aware of the sticky warmth that fills her. Her juices mingle with his, a reminder of the intimacy he has forced upon her. The sweet smell of her pussy lofts in the air. They should bottle this, he thinks, a scent of power. He can feel her body relax beneath him, her chest rising and falling. She is drifting into a state of shock, her mind shutting down to protect itself from the horror of what has just happened. The feeling of so much forced pleasure, not leaving her any control of her own body, is probably the ultimate power trip for him, but for her it is a horror show she has no exit from.
—
He sees her eyes close, her breath shallow and rapid, she has reached a point where she is no longer with him, she has left her body behind and is floating somewhere in her mind, a place where he cannot follow. He has never had a woman do that before, pass out from his lovemaking. It is a weird feeling, he feels both accomplished and sad. Accomplished because it means he has taken her to heights she has probably never experienced before, sad because he knows the reality of what has happened is something she cannot handle. He pulls out of her, his cock slick with her juices, and a little bit of her blood. He has been too rough, too eager, but the thrill has been too much to contain.
He cannot believe it, he has fucked her into unconsciousness. He has never had a woman do that before, and it is a heady feeling. He takes a moment to admire his handiwork, her body bruised and marked with his passion. Her wrists are raw from her struggles, the rope has done its job. He feels a twinge of pity, but it is quickly changed to a feeling of absolute power. He has taken her to a place she has never been before, and she has no way of stopping it.
He looks down to his slowly softening cock glistening with her juices. It has been a gruelling campaign, one that has tested his endurance and strategy, but the promotion has been well-earned. His once-proud erection has claimed her, conquered her, and now he has promoted it to general. It has led his forces through the battlefield of her body, leaving no inch untouched by his power. The woman beneath him is now just the spoils of war, a trophy to be used and discarded. His dick goes from grunt to flag officer in one day.
When he pushes off her, she is just like a rag-doll, her legs fall to the sides on the seat. Her eyes slowly opening, but the light in them has gone out. She is a beautiful sexy mess.
—
Hours have passed, the night well underway, the conquering hero navigates the minivan through the deserted streets of the city. His victim is lying hogtied on the backseat, the gag back in place, hood over her head. The cool breeze from the open window does little to dissipate the lingering scent of strong antiseptic. He is wearing the special mask again.
He is frustrated as the afternoon has turned out to be a disappointment. In his quest for power and control, he had overplayed his hand, pushing too hard and too fast. He had hoped for a thrilling chase, a fiery dance of resistance and domination, but instead, he had crushed her spirit.
He left her to sleep for a few hours. When he could not resist any longer, he hauled her onto the front bench, turned her on her stomach, her legs hanging limply outside, toes barely brushing the dewy grass. He had stared at her lifeless eyes, the spark of fight extinguished, and felt a pang of dissatisfaction. He had wanted a challenge, a battle of wills, not a broken doll. He thrusted into her cum-filled pussy from behind, seeking another high. Her muted moans did nothing to satisfy his craving for the screams and pleas he had grown accustomed to.
He had pulled out and moved it to her tight ass. Her eyes had snapped open at the first contact, the stark reality of his intentions piercing through the fog of shock. He watched as she tries to struggle, but she was too far gone, too drained. He had to use force to push the head of his cock inside, the ring of muscle resisting until it gave way with a wet pop. The sight of her distress, the animalistic howl that had teared from her throat, had brought him back to life. He had found his power again, the thrill of the hunt rekindled.
He fucked her ass with a renewed vigour, his strokes long and deep. But her body had gone limp again, the only sounds were his grunts and the slap of his balls against her ass cheeks. He had hoped for so much more, for the thrill of the struggle, but she had nothing left to give. He came unceremoniously, pulled out and let her body collapse on the dewy grass. He sat back in the driver's seat, his cock hard and victorious, but unsatisfied. The thrill had turned to ash in his mouth.
A few hours later, he had her cleaned and tied up just perfectly, but the thrill was gone. Her lifeless body was a canvas that no longer responds to his art. Still her body was a marvel, even in its lifelessness. He traced the curve of her hip with a trembling finger, marvelling at the softness of her skin. He could feel his cock twitch with the memory of her tight pussy, he slowly let it glide in. He had hoped for a battle of wills, for the sweet sound of her cries, the thrill of watching her fight back only to be overwhelmed by his power. Instead it seemed like he was just fucking a corpse, a mere shell of the woman he had once craved. His ego bruised, he plowed on until he came.
He sat there for a while, his cock still deep in her, trying to savour the moment. But it had been hollow, empty. The woman beneath him had become nothing more than a receptacle for his frustration. He had pulled out and stares at the crimson mess he has made. Her pussy was swollen and bruised, and he felt a flicker of regret. He had wanted to break her, to hear her beg for mercy, but instead, he had broken himself. He had lost the game, and she hadn’t even played.
The one thing that kept his spirit up had been that wonderful sweet smell of her juices. It had become a strange comfort to him, a reminder of his power and control. The scent had even intensified over time, as if her body was releasing pheromones of fear and arousal in response to his touch. He found himself inhaling deeply, letting the aroma fill his lungs and fuel his depraved fantasies. A scent that speaks of her submission, a potent perfume that has become his own personal brand of incense. It hadn’t saved his afternoon, but it certainly made it more tolerable.
The sun started to dip below the horizon, it was time to start cleaning up. He took a deep breath, inhaling the potent aroma one last time before stepping out of the minivan. He had put his clothes on and started cleaning up.
—
Red stoplights ahead, his mind snaps back to the now. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror, ensuring his captive is still securely bound and gagged in the back. Why is he on the expressway, why are all the windows still open? Panic sets in, realizing the risk he's taken. The sirens in the distance are not for him, but they could become a problem if he gets stuck here. The exit ramp appears like a beacon of salvation, and he swerves onto it, tires screeching. He is angry at his own carelessness. He needs to be careful from now on.
—
A few hours later, the machine spits out a ticket as he re-enters the airport's carpark. His heart races, a strange mix of excitement and anxiety coursing through his veins. He has been careful, meticulous even, but one detail has slipped his mind: the diamond earrings that still dangle from her lobes. He drives slow, taking the ramps moving up the floors, the tension in his jaw tightening with each passing level. Finally, he reaches the top floor. The minivan rolls to a stop, into the same space it has occupied before. He sees the landing lights of a plane in the distance. Should he get the earrings or not?
He decides to risk it. Crawling over to the back, he pulls off the hood. Her eyes are swollen, but the fire is back, glaring at him with pure hatred. He takes a moment to admire her beauty, the bruises and marks only adding to the thrill. With a smirk, he gently takes her earlobes between his gloved fingers, feeling the weight of the diamond earrings. They are cold, a stark contrast to her warm skin.
Her body is a battleground, and he has won every inch. The earrings are the spoils of war, a reminder of his victory. He unscrews the first clasp with surprising ease, the metal giving way with a soft click. He feels a thrill run down his spine as the diamond slips into his palm. It is a work of art. The second earring takes more effort, her ear swollen and red. The clasp is stubborn, but he is determined. With a twist and a pop, it is free.
He holds both earrings up to the light, watching them sparkle like the stars that had once filled her eyes. The irony is not lost on him. The woman who had once been a fiery force now lies before him, defeated and used. He places the earrings in his pocket with a sense of satisfaction, a trophy to add to his collection.
He has to, just has to, he needs to feel her pussy again. His gloved hand reaches between her thighs, feeling the warmth and cleanliness of her sex. The smell of antiseptic is strong. He spreads her labia, feeling the stickiness, of the sperm destroying gel. Satisfied, he gives her pussy a gentle pat, a silent congratulations for taking everything he has to give. The woman doesn't flinch, doesn't make a sound, her eyes just stare at him, dead and empty.
He double checks his work, meticulously ensuring that not a trace of his depraved actions remains. The minivan's interior gleams, scrubbed clean of every drop and smear. Her skin, once marred by his rough touch, has been meticulously wiped, leaving no fingerprints of his sick obsession. Her pussy, a battleground of his desires, is now empty and sterilised, a stark contrast to the raw, pulsing need he has felt just hours ago. He has squirted two tubes of the special gel in there, he is not concerned about pregnancy, he is about leaving any generic material.
—
She has woken up to the suffocating darkness of the hood, her breath hot and panic-filled. Her body is a canvas of pain, a map of his twisted pleasure. The minivan's engine hums, the vibration of the road a cruel reminder that she is still trapped, still his. The gag in her mouth is a silent presence, muffling her sobs. Her wrists are bound tightly behind her back, connected to her ankles, leaving her in a vulnerable position. Each bump in the road sends shockwaves through her bruised body, her pussy throbbing with the echoes of his violent love.
The car's rhythmic movement stops abruptly. Above the engine's idle, she hears the distant voice of a machine, asking for a choice. It sounds familiar, but it clicks when she hears the airplane's engines roar, a constant serenade of the airport's symphony. He is bringing her back, back to where it all started.
Her heart pounds in her chest as the minivan begins its ascent up the ramps of the parking structure. Each sharp turn and climb brings her closer to the top floor, a place that had once been a mundane part of her routine now a haunting reminder of her ordeal. The tires squeal as they round the final corner, the cold concrete walls closing in around her. The world outside is a blur, but she knows this place. It is where her life has taken a terrifying detour. The engine's whine grows softer as they reach the open-air lot, the wind whispering through the open window a taunting echo of freedom she can almost taste.
The car suddenly stops and the engine turns off. The abrupt silence is almost deafening after the steady drone of the road. She hears the window being rolled up, cutting off the outside world. Her heart hammers in her chest as the driver's seat creaks and shifts. He is coming for her again, she knows it. The weight of something heavy being moved into the back sends a fresh wave of dread through her. The hood is ripped from her head with a rough yank, leaving her blinking in the dimness of the car's interior.
Her eyes slowly focus on the figure looming over her, the face of her tormenter staring back with cold, unyielding eyes. Her mind races with thoughts of escape, but her body remains still, trapped by the binds and the sheer terror that holds her in place. The man's presence is a black hole, sucking in every ounce of her strength and resolve. She feels him touch her ears, the coolness of his gloves a stark contrast to the warmth of her skin. The fabric of the gag is sticky and wet with her saliva, but she doesn’t dare move her mouth. He is taking her earrings, his movements deliberate and methodical. She doesn’t understand why, but the loss of them feels like a part of her soul being stripped away. He holds them in front of her face, the diamonds glinting in the dim light like a taunt, a reminder of her previous life, a life she may never get back. She feels his fingers reach between her legs again, feeling the emptiness he left behind. A coldness washes over her as he seems to check for any evidence of his deed. She wants to scream, to fight, to do anything but just lay there, but she can’t. She is his toy, his plaything, and she knows any movement could bring on more pain. She will not react, she will not give him the pleasure of seeing her fear. He pushes the button and the side door slides open, the cold air rushing in, bringing with it the smell of airline fuel and the distant sound of traffic.
She watches him climb out, taking his time. He looks her deep in her eyes, and turn to move into the shadows of the parking structure. She lies there, naked and exposed, feeling the breeze caress her bruised and sweat-covered body. She feels relief wash over her, but she knows she is still in danger. The sounds of the airport's nightlife are a stark contrast to the horror she has endured, a twisted serenade that plays out the final moments of her captivity. A familiar beep echoes through the minivan's cabin as the central locking system activates, the side door sliding closed with a quiet finality that sends a shiver down her spine. The beep sounds again, the car locking, trapping her in the cocoon of steel and glass. The indicators flash once, twice, and the horn emits a short, sharp bleep. He has sealed her in, again invisible to the world outside.
—
Her mind, free of its previous panic, now races with a new fear, the fear of being forgotten. Her breath is shallow and fast, her eyes still burning a bit from the disinfectant spray he has used before. Her tears dissolving more of the product on her skin, reactivating it. Then it hits her, nobody knows she is here, she came home early to surprise her husband. He is not expecting her home for days. The company retreat she is at, had no cell service so he isn't expecting a call either. She starts to panic. Would there be someone that would find her? Would they notice her car? She can feel the panic rise, her breath getting shorter. She has to calm down, she has to stay alive. But it is not working, air rushing in and out of her nose, the only way she has been able to breathe for hours now. The antiseptic spray still lingers the air. It is a scent she will never forget, forever linked to this traumatic experience. But her airways are reacting to it, she feels like she is going to choke, she can feel the panic attack coming. She struggles to let air in and out, her mind shifted to this primeval survival instinct. Nothing in the world exists then getting air in and air out. Everything is turning black.
Her eyes snap open with a gasp, and she takes in a deep breath, her nose passage is clear again, her body jerking with the sudden intake. The light is blinding. The air in the car is hot and stale with the scent of antiseptic. She feels the sticky leather of the car seat against her bare, sweat-drenched skin, her body a canvas of pain. Her eyes dart around, searching for any sign of movement outside. She has no idea how long she has been there, but the light suggests it is sometime in the middle of the day. The ache in her joints and muscles from being held in the same position for hours is unbearable, but it is nothing compared to the agony of her soul. She is still alive, and she has a life to fight for. In one way she is lucky, if this had been a day in the middle of summer, she would have suffocated by now, or died from heat exhaustion. But it is almost the fall, and the cooler temperatures have kept her alive, trapped in this hellish nightmare.
The sound of distant footsteps echoes through the parking garage, and she tries to lift her head, desperation setting in. She can see the shadows of people walking by, their muffled voices floating through the air like a cruel taunt. She has been trying to get their attention since she has opened her eyes, but her gag and the tinted windows have kept her invisible. Her heart races, and she tries to move her arms and legs, but the rope holds firm, biting into her skin. She is a spectacle of despair, a silent scream in a world that doesn't hear her. Footsteps grew closer, and she thrashed her body, trying to make noise, any noise that would alert someone to her plight. But the tape was too good, her cries remained trapped in the car with her.
Her eyes dart to the rearview mirror, and she watches a young couple laughing as they walk towards the elevator. She can see the reflection of the cars coming and going, the occasional honk of a horn piercing the silence. The world outside her metal prison continues without a care, oblivious to the horror playing out within. She feels a tear roll down her cheek, mixing with the snot and saliva that had collected beneath the gag. The couple disappeared from view, and she was left with only the cars, the ever-present cars that brought her no rescue. They moved in a ballet of steel and rubber, a dance of freedom she could only dream of. Each car that passed by was a taunt, a reminder of the world she had been torn from.
Her mind grew fuzzy with the lack of oxygen and pain, but she focused on the sounds outside, willing someone to hear her. Suddenly, a car door slammed shut, and she felt the vibration through her bound body. The engine roared to life, and she realised the car next to hers was moving. The light changed, and the shadow grew longer, the sun setting outside. She watched as the car pulled away, her heart sinking. The hope that had briefly flickered inside her was extinguished.
The thirst was unbearable, her mouth dry as a desert. She could feel her tongue dry against the rag, and her eyes stung from dehydration. Her body screamed for water, the dryness in her throat a constant reminder of her plight. Her thoughts grew erratic as she tried to ignore the pain, focusing instead on the memories of cool, refreshing water. She thought of her kitchen sink, the way the water felt cascading down her throat after a run. She thought of her morning coffee, the sweet warmth spreading through her body. But all she had now was the bitter taste of fear and the sticky residue of her attacker's disinfectant.
The world outside grew darker, the shadows of the parking garage stretching out like fingers reaching for her. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. She was alone in the sea of cars, a forgotten toy left behind. The occasional beam of headlights would sweep over her, but the darkness always returned, swallowing her up again. Her thoughts grew frantic, her heart racing in her chest like a caged animal. What if she was never found? Would she die here, forgotten and forsaken? The thought made her stomach twist, a new kind of fear gnawing at her soul.
Her mind started to break, it was harder and harder to formulate coherent thoughts. The pain in her body was a constant drumbeat, the thirst a never-ending scream. She tried to remember her name, her husband's face, but the memories grew fuzzy, like a photograph left out in the rain. She could feel herself slipping away, piece by piece, the woman she had been, dissolving into the sticky leather of the car seat. Panic set in, a wild, feral creature that clawed at the bars of her mind, demanding to be heard. She thrashed against her bonds, the rope biting into her wrists and ankles.
When sunlight was able to reach her retina again, she was broken, no more than a shell of who she had been. No clear thoughts, only pain and suffering. Then there was the sooting darkness, taking everything again. Her mind was scattered into a thousand, a million different pieces. She did not exist anymore.
Then there was a sudden jolt, light coming in, a whaling sound, banging, heat, pain. What was left from her mind tried to find what was different, but it couldn't. It drifted away again.
—
A confused old woman who had hit the gas instead of the break and had hit several cars. The crunching sound of metal on metal echoed through the garage, followed by the screech of tires. A small explosion of glass shards as the side of the minivan crumpled like paper. The crumpled side door hanging open like a gaping mouth. The old woman had looked so apologetic as she climbed out of her car, not knowing the horror she had just interrupted.
—
He had just opened up another beer, while he was flipping through the channels, when he stopped at the news. It was a segment about a woman found in a car parked at the airport, bound and gagged. He leaned in closer, his heart racing as he saw her internet profile picture on the screen. His cock grew hard again at the memory of her body beneath his. The news anchor spoke in a serious tone about the traumatised victim and the unknown assailant. He took a sip of his beer, his eyes glued to the TV as he felt his excitement growing again. He had left her almost two days ago, looking in her eyes filled with fear and anger. Why was she not found earlier. How was this possible? He had left the door open for her, expecting someone to find her much sooner, to end her misery.
But it seemed fate had other plans. The key fob, now he remembered. He had taken it from her purse, it was in his pocket. He had tossed it into the bushes when he left the airport. It had to be one of those fancy new systems that lock the doors automatically when you walk away.
—
He felt himself play with his general. Remembering her soft wet pussy. The pictures of that night came rushing back. The way she struggled, the way she looked at him, the way she took it all. It was like watching a porn, except it was real. The news showed a picture of her husband, pleading for any information. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He felt powerful, watching her husband's pain. The TV flickered in the dimly lit room, casting a blue glow over his sweaty body. He could see the reflection of himself, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic pleasure.
He looks at the plastic bag on the coffee table, the one filled with the rags that had been soaking up her juices. He had been meticulous in his cleanup, taking a perverse pleasure in preserving the sweet scent of her juices. The bag is a treasure trove of memories, a sensory time capsule that could lead to his downfall, but he doesn't care. The risk of getting caught only heightens the thrill. He brings it closer, unzips it slowly, and inhales deeply. The scent fills his nostrils, and he's transported back to the minivan, the leather seats, her bound body, and the cacophony of their shared agony and ecstasy. It's intoxicating, a high that no drug could ever match. He can almost feel her tremble beneath him again, the sticky warmth of her sex, and the power he had wielded.
They say smell is the strongest trigger of memories, and as he inhaled the musky aroma trapped, details of that wonderful day in the minivan flooded back to him. The scent was potent, a potent cocktail of her sweet juices mixed with fear, lust, and pain that had been distilled into a singular essence. Each time he opened the bag, it was like reliving the moment, feeling the power and control all over again.
—
He was thinking of his next conquest. The thought of a secluded lair, a place where he can take his time and savour every second, makes his heart race with excitement. A place where he can keep his victim for days, maybe even for weeks on end. He imagines a room, soundproof and windowless, an environment completely under his control
He needs specialised tools, not the crude instruments of before. This time, it will be different. He craves soft leather bindings, the kind that restrain soft flesh not leaving any marks. He wants to watch them struggle, to feel the power of their resistance, to hear the soft whimpers as they give in to his will, but he needs them pristine. The idea of a big firm bed with soft, clean sheets makes him salivate. It's not just about simple rape anymore; it's about the dance of dominance and submission, the symphony of pain and pleasure.
One more problem to solve, how to get them back without being caught. He's not a killer, just a man with a taste for the extreme. He's a master of control, and he's going to prove it. But that is for another time, now it is time to go to bed. The bag is not leaving his side.
One last thought jumped up at him, maybe selling them to the highest bidder is an option. He smiled and fell asleep.
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Fixed the verbs, needs a rewrite.
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The Minivan
Forum rules
This forum is for publishing, reading and discussing rape fantasy (noncon) stories and consensual erotic fiction. Before you post your first story, please take five minutes to read the Quick Guide to Posting Stories and the Tag Guidelines.
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Language: English Stories | Deutsche Geschichten
Consent: Noncon | Consensual
Length: Flash | Short | Medium | Long
LGBT: Lesbian | Gay | Trans
Theme: Gang Rape | Female Rapist | SciFi | Fantasy
This forum is for publishing, reading and discussing rape fantasy (noncon) stories and consensual erotic fiction. Before you post your first story, please take five minutes to read the Quick Guide to Posting Stories and the Tag Guidelines.
If you are looking for a particular story, the story index might be helpful. It lists all stories alphabetically on one page. Please rate and comment on the stories you've read, thank you!
Story Filters
Language: English Stories | Deutsche Geschichten
Consent: Noncon | Consensual
Length: Flash | Short | Medium | Long
LGBT: Lesbian | Gay | Trans
Theme: Gang Rape | Female Rapist | SciFi | Fantasy
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trio
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RapeU
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Re: The Minivan
This feels mostly clunky and mechanical. You have a great concept here and with some adjustments I think it can evolve into a great story.
There's a continuity error. We're told it's a parking garage then somewhere else it's a parking lot then way later in the story it's at the top of the parking garage. Setting placement at the top of a parking garage is a great idea - fewer people - and should have been set from the beginning instead of way later in the story.
This sentence also jumped out at me, and not in a good way:
Switching perspectives is fine depending on the story. Here it's a bit much to jump back and forth over and over and over again. It adds to the clunky parts of the story.
And last, a lot of the clunky parts to the story is the inability to keep it in past tense. It really seems like you let AI take charge of this story instead of you taking charge of the AI. There's nothing wrong with using AI to help enhance stories. I've brainstormed ideas through chatGPT myself. But if you let AI do too much of the writing, you'll end up with a clunky mess that we see here.
There's a continuity error. We're told it's a parking garage then somewhere else it's a parking lot then way later in the story it's at the top of the parking garage. Setting placement at the top of a parking garage is a great idea - fewer people - and should have been set from the beginning instead of way later in the story.
This sentence also jumped out at me, and not in a good way:
A parking garage lining up with a runway? That's just not realistic. I get the intent here, to be ominous. The effect could have been done with car headlights as a car drove by instead of having the parking garage right before a runway.The minivan's interior brightens as a plane passed overhead lining up with the runway. Its landing lights casting eerie shadows on their entwined forms.
Switching perspectives is fine depending on the story. Here it's a bit much to jump back and forth over and over and over again. It adds to the clunky parts of the story.
And last, a lot of the clunky parts to the story is the inability to keep it in past tense. It really seems like you let AI take charge of this story instead of you taking charge of the AI. There's nothing wrong with using AI to help enhance stories. I've brainstormed ideas through chatGPT myself. But if you let AI do too much of the writing, you'll end up with a clunky mess that we see here.
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trio
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Re: The Minivan
Got it, and you are right. But I am afraid the past tense mess is probably all mine. I have written this a long time ago and it was the first story that I pushed through an experimental AI model. It was much longer before, I think I edited out more than 25% of the original before I posted it. Maybe I have been looking at it for way too long.
I still like the story, but the execution should have been better.
I still like the story, but the execution should have been better.
RapeU wrote: Sat Jul 12, 2025 4:43 am This feels mostly clunky and mechanical. You have a great concept here and with some adjustments I think it can evolve into a great story.
There's a continuity error. We're told it's a parking garage then somewhere else it's a parking lot then way later in the story it's at the top of the parking garage. Setting placement at the top of a parking garage is a great idea - fewer people - and should have been set from the beginning instead of way later in the story.
This sentence also jumped out at me, and not in a good way:
A parking garage lining up with a runway? That's just not realistic. I get the intent here, to be ominous. The effect could have been done with car headlights as a car drove by instead of having the parking garage right before a runway.The minivan's interior brightens as a plane passed overhead lining up with the runway. Its landing lights casting eerie shadows on their entwined forms.
Switching perspectives is fine depending on the story. Here it's a bit much to jump back and forth over and over and over again. It adds to the clunky parts of the story.
And last, a lot of the clunky parts to the story is the inability to keep it in past tense. It really seems like you let AI take charge of this story instead of you taking charge of the AI. There's nothing wrong with using AI to help enhance stories. I've brainstormed ideas through chatGPT myself. But if you let AI do too much of the writing, you'll end up with a clunky mess that we see here.
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RapeU
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Re: The Minivan
Ah, that explains it. I think what you should do is do a full rewrite when you've sat on it for a little bit instead of a partial rewrite. I've had to do that with some of my earliest stories myself.trio wrote: Sat Jul 12, 2025 7:45 am Got it, and you are right. But I am afraid the past tense mess is probably all mine. I have written this a long time ago and it was the first story that I pushed through an experimental AI model. It was much longer before, I think I edited out more than 25% of the original before I posted it. Maybe I have been looking at it for way too long.
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trio
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Re: The Minivan
Yeah, I was probably too eager to get it out. I am going to follow your advice on this one, but this is going to take a while. If I could delete it, I would.
RapeU wrote: Sat Jul 12, 2025 2:43 pmAh, that explains it. I think what you should do is do a full rewrite when you've sat on it for a little bit instead of a partial rewrite. I've had to do that with some of my earliest stories myself.trio wrote: Sat Jul 12, 2025 7:45 am Got it, and you are right. But I am afraid the past tense mess is probably all mine. I have written this a long time ago and it was the first story that I pushed through an experimental AI model. It was much longer before, I think I edited out more than 25% of the original before I posted it. Maybe I have been looking at it for way too long.