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Hi guys, this is for all of the people who’ve asked me to write more on these two; I hope you like it. They’re not completely the same people (well, Sasha is still very much Sasha, but Suzanne is a lot younger and a lot less confident in herself) but it’s something that’s been bugging me for a while and I wanted to see how it would play out. Please let me know what you think!Sasha stood off to the side of the soldiers, silentlyscanning the groups of people around him. He wasn’t looking for anyone inparticular, but his eyes settled on a lone figure and suddenly the hairs on theback of his neck stood on end. On the surface, the girl was unremarkable andthe soldiers certainly hadn’t taken any notice of her; however Sasha hadlittle regard for their abilities anyway.

From a distance it appeared that she was dressed plainly,with no visible jewellery or other valuables. She was wearing a flowingred-brown skirt and a sturdy looking pair of boots, and a long, dark grey coatin an attempt to keep warm in the snow. Her hair was loose, almost as if she weretrying to hide her face beneath the chocolate brown strands, but she was stillshivering in the cold.

She was definitely not a native, the shivering was a clue tothat. It was rather a mild day by their normal standards and the sun wasshining weakly through the clouds. Sasha moved a little closer to get a betterlook at the girl, but not so close as to alert her of his attention. On closerinspection her coat seemed like it was designed for form rather than function,as were the boots. Definitely an expensive Western designer of some sort. What was she doing here?

Suzanne was shivering, partly due to the ridiculous cold(even with her warmest coat on), and partly due to fear. She couldn’t believeher bad luck that a hoard of soldiers would turn up and start searching peoplejust when she had been about to leave. She was pretty sure she didn’t haveanything to hide that they could find, but it didn’t matter; she’d heardstories. Thankfully, though, it seemed like the soldiers hadn’t noticed herand she was going to be able to slip away unnoticed.

Or maybe not. She gasped in fright as she noticed one ofthe men walking straight towards her. He wasn’t in uniform but he had arrivedwith the soldiers, and something about the expression on his face told her thatit wasn’t a good thing that he seemed to be taking an interest in her. Perhapsit was the rifle strapped to his back that worried her, or the nasty lookinghandgun that he was carrying pointed at the ground. Oh, god.

Suzanne tried not to look terrified as the man stalkedtowards her, but it wasn’t so easy. He certainly didn’t look very friendly. The words “hard as nails” and “evil incarnate” quickly sprang to mind, althoughhe wasn’t unattractive like most of the men around her. He slowed to a haltabout 10 feet in front of her, motioned to her with his gun for her to come tohim. She didn’t move. He started speaking to her in his language, and herheart started pounding wildly. She was pretty sure he wanted her to go over tohim, but she couldn’t get her legs to work.

He looked unamused. He continued his advancement on her,growled angrily as she started backing away, eyes darting about for any hope ofa means of escape. No chance. Suzanne yelped as he reached out and grabbedher by the hair, his gun coming to rest at the bottom of her jaw, none too gently. She froze, her hands instinctively coming up to try to push him away but notdaring to touch him.

The man didn’t say anything for a while as he stood holdinghis fistful of poker straight hair. He seemed to be studying her face,enjoying her look of panic as he pressed the muzzle of his gun into herthroat. He was tall, a part of her brain noticed as he used the gun to tilther head back so that she had to look up into his eyes, and she didn’t darebreak his stare. His eyes were dark brown, and he had a scar over the left eyethat left an almost fetching gap through his eyebrow.

“You’re not from this country,” he said softly, letting thegun trail down to her collarbone. “What are you doing here?” Suzanne hadtrouble understanding what he meant; a few short lessons and a quick glance througha “Teach Yourself” book could only go so far, after all. Thankfully, she didremember how to say “I don’t understand.” She’d used it a lot. Read the rest of this entry »

When my old job was “downsized” it took me a while to find a new, worthwhile, full-time position. In the meantime I hooked up with a temp agency, and bounced around from assignment to assignment. I was told that such work provided a valuable “networking” opportunity, which might lead to something interesting. I can’t argue with that.

On one job I found myself working out of the office occupied by Lou. He was about my age (early 30s) and very talkative. Most of his co-workers found him more than a little abrasive, but we got along okay, and he was never boring. He seemed to find me entertaining as well, and “not stuck up, like most college guys”.

He became especially inquisitive about my social life once he found out I hadn’t been in a steady relationship for over a year, and decided that I urgently needed to “get laid”. I couldn’t really argue, and while I was normally a bit shy with women, and took time to develop intimacy in relationships, I found the possibility of being set up with an “easy” date rather arousing. Even so, my imagination didn’t nearly prepare me for what was in store.

As the office closed one Friday, Lou asked if I had any plans for the weekend. “Of course not!” he agreed when I said no, and launched into his proposal. He and his girlfriend Jen were going to spend Saturday night at a cabin Jen’s brother owned in the mountains, and I was invited on a double date, along with Jen’s friend Lena. I stumbled a bit before accepting. “She’s fuckin’ seriously hot!” Lou clarified. “Then I’m in!” I replied, my heart quickening as I wondered what I was in for.

Lou was late picking me up Saturday morning, and I unceremoniously hopped in to the car for our long drive to the mountains. Lou matter-of-factly introduced the ladies as we drove. I recognized Jen from a picture Lou had shown me previously. She was 23, though she looked about 19. She was about 5′3″. had long, dark brown hair and eyes, and soft features a bit reminiscent of Jennifer Connoly (though with a smaller, about 34B chest). She had a down-to-earth, but extroverted manner to her that seemed quite compatible with Lou’s.

Lena, who shared the back seat, eyed me curiously for most of the trip, though in time I recognized that as her habitual expression. She was, as promised, “fuckin’ seriously hot”, and, I feared, a bit too aware of that fact. About 5′6″ and probably in her mid to late ’20s, she had short, sandy blond hair and green eyes. Her small but perfectly sculpted facial features were accentuated by light makeup that seemed professionally applied, the way only women from the south seem to be trained to do. A faint twang in her velvety voice confirmed my theory. Most of Lena and Jen’s attentions seemed to be devoted to catching up on news. The two had originally become close friends as summer camp counselors, but had lived in different states for years until Lena had moved to our area just a week before.

While Lena laughed at a few of my jokes, I didn’t really sense much chemistry developing on the long, cramped ride. Whatever Lou’s intentions for me might have been, I developed a strong case of junior prom- type butterflies at the thought of “making the first move”.

With heavy traffic, a stop for lunch, and more traffic, we only arrived at the cabin at dusk. I saw wires leading to it, which jibed with Lou’s assurances that it had full utilities. It did look beautiful amid the snow-covered trees as we approached. I helped Lena up the rough path from the parking area, and was rewarded with a few smiles for my trouble.

The cabin’s interior was nicely furnished, though not very large. A large sectional sofa faced the fireplace, and the mirrored opposite wall of the living area did its best to make the room seem larger. A few hours later a light dinner, some beer, and a roaring fire had improved our collective attitude after the long trip. I had even found the nerve to put an arm around Lena as we all sat on the sofa talking in the firelight. No one had discussed sleeping arrangements, however, and I didn’t think the place had more than two bedrooms. I pondered that issue for a while before I reached over to hold Lena’s hand, only to glance down and see that she had it between her legs, rubbing her crotch gently, while her other hand had its fingers interlaced with Jen’s.

Before I even knew what to think, Lou noticed the two looking into each other’s eyes, and spoke up. “I know you girls have a lot of catching up to do. Don’t feel you have to hold back on our account,” he chuckled salaciously.

Lena slipped from beneath my arm and embraced Jen, the two kissing passionately, hungrily. I’d never found lesbian scenes in movies particularly interesting, but the sight of these two women entwined, moaning sensuously as they kissed and explored one another, was powerfully arousing to me. I absent-mindedly stroked the constricting crotch of my jeans as the two slid off the couch and knelt on the floor in front of us, unfastening each other’s pants. Read the rest of this entry »

If all the stories posted on your site are true, a lot more girls have experienced gang bangs or trains than I would have thought.

I started college recently and sex seems to be the major topic in the dorm. Girls talk openly about their experiences and fantasies. I’ve met 4 girls who readily admit to having sex with numerous partners at the same time, and quite a few others who, if they haven’t done it, they know of a girl who has. Some of the gang bangs happened when the girls were drunk or stoned, but some were when the girls were fully conscious and willing. Several “gang bang virgins” have told me they intend to experience at least one gang bang or train before they graduate.

I was conscious and willing when I experienced my one and only gang bang. It happened two years ago when I went to spend part of my summer vacation with my older sister. She’s four years older than me, and she was majoring in zoology. One of her professors got her into a summer wildlife study program at a National Park.

My parents wanted to get me out of the city and away from my friends for at least a couple of weeks. I had come home with alcohol on my breath a couple of times and they discovered I was on birth control. I think they thought my sister might be able to talk some sense into me.

From what I understood, she and the other students in her group were pretty much on their own. She got a free room in a dorm, meal passes at the lodge, and turned her field study reports in weekly. Otherwise, the students in her group were considered young adults they didn’t need any supervision. She talked to her advisor and cleared it for me to visit and share her room. It probably helped that my dad, who is loaded, made a sizable donation to the program. Anyway, they packed me onto a bus and sent me to my sister. They decided to send me on the bus rather than drive me so they wouldn’t have to fight with me for 500 miles.

Like I said, she is four years older, and brilliant. She graduated from high school a year early so even though she was only 20, she was already starting her senior year. I love my sister, but I hated the fact that I felt pressure to live up to her legacy. It wasn’t enough that I made honor roll, I wasn’t bringing home a perfect 4 point every quarter. She was a city champion high school swimmer and finished 2nd in regionals. If it weren’t for the flu, she would have gone to the state meet. She went to college on a swimming scholarship. I only finished 3rd in the city trials and lost in the first heat of regionals. That was sort of the pattern. Whatever I did well, she did better. Oh yeah, I didn’t mention that she is absolutely beautiful: She has cover girls looks, a flawless figure, spectacular 35C breasts, and long beautiful legs.

I got on the bus with a certain amount of resentment. When I arrived my sister ran up to me and gave me a long obviously heart felt hug. She turned to two friends who were with her and said “This is my sister, isn’t she beautiful?’ Her two friends were other interns from her study team, a cute guy name Phil and a nice looking girl name Jamie.

We climbed into their car for the ride from town to their dorm in the park. My sister said she was so happy when my parents told her they were sending me to spend a couple of weeks with her. She said it was the first time she was getting to spend any extended time with me since she started college. I thought it and realized she was right. I had spent a good deal of the past 4 years resenting her and hadn’t thought about all the more pleasant times we spent together. She had actually taught me how to ride a bike, swim, and helped me learn to read. When I was 4 or 5, she often read me to sleep and held me on her lap when we watched TV. Was I really mad at her or just at myself for not being able to match her achievements? Read the rest of this entry »

“This is really scary,” she said in an obvious nervous tone, but her husband reassured her with, “We’ll just see what happens and we don’t have to do anything, but you know it’s going to be exciting as hell.” This was their first time playing outside their 18 year marriage and she was a virgin when they met. Over the years he’d told her how he wanted her to have sex with another man, a black man. Not just a black man, but a big, hung, muscular, sexually aggressive, dominant black man. They’d been wondering, fantasizing and chatting about the slut wife, cuckold husband, interracial sex experience for years. Now they were driving to the upscale hotel to get a room where their dark dream already has a room. They found him through the local swing club and from hot emails, instant messaging and web cam meetings they believe he’s the dominant black bull of their dreams. The last e-mail he sent to them included specific instructions on everything he wanted, in fact, demanded of them leading up to their meeting.

They got to the room and shortly after arriving, while they were putting their cloths away for the weekend, there was a knock on the door. She looked at her husband with wide eyes and ran into the bathroom. He answered the door and it was the bellboy, who had delivered a picture cell phone with a note that read, “Turn me on sluts.” He went to the door and told her it was safe to come out. “It was the bellboy.” She came out and they both started to laugh. He handed her the note and phone and she obediently turned it on. It was the first major step she’d ever taken and her heart raced when she heard the beep of the power button. Her husband poured two drinks and they began to relax, she ran around the room like a teenager collecting the shampoos and soaps, like she always did, but her husband’s mind was racing and heart pounding, as he thought to himself, “I can’t believe this is finally happening. Fuck, I hope it happens.” He got horny thinking about it, walked up behind her and unhooked her bra, as she sipped her wine. “Ohhhhhh, I thought you weren’t supposed to do this,” referencing the black bull’s final instruction. “I can do this,” as he felt her tits from behind and rolled her hardening nipples between her fingers, “I just can’t make you cum or fuck you.” She moaned in a pleasing way as he turned her around, roughly pulled her top up and started squeezing her tits together, sucking them and saying, “Is this what your bull’s gonna do?” She was getting noticeably hot and softly, coyly said, “MMMMMMMMmmmmmm I don’t know. Do you want to find out?”

She was testing him, again, like always. Stepping back from it all, basically making it all his idea, so she could remain the pure little wife. “Feel my cock and tell me if I want to find out.” She reached down and felt his extremely hard cock, “MMMmmmmmmm I guess you do.” He had her unzipped and stepping out of her jeans and with pulses racing. He pushed her back on the bed and started to lick her very well shaved, wet pussy, “This is what your bull is gonna do to this pussy.” “MMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm you think so ” RING! The sound almost seemed defining, she tried to get up, but her husband held her down, continued to lick her soaking wet pussy and whispered, “Answer it.” She pushed “talk” and said, “Hello.”

“Is this my white slut?” “Yes.” “I’m sitting here with a hard fucking cock thinking about you. Where’s Cuckold Bitch.” “He’s here.” “Are you going to wear what I told you in the email?” She responded trying not to let on that she was grinding her pussy into Cuckold Bitch’s face, “Yes if you want that.” He said, “Oh fuck yeah I want that. Listen, you have a massage appointment downstairs in a half hour. Don’t worry about showering or anything, a friend of mine is going to take total care of you down stairs and you’ll love her. Just do not forget this phone and when you go, send Cuckold Bitch to my room down the hall #218. OK slut.” “OK.” Read the rest of this entry »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I was a nineteen year old college girl, I used to work evenings in my local corner shop to help supplement my studies. One particular evening I was working alone, and being naive and self-confident, I didn’t imagine there could be any problem in working alone in a shop. After all, what bad could happen?. That night I was about to find out.

It was a spring evening and I was dressed casually in a short thigh length mini skirt and a tight top with short sleeves. There were no customers so I started stacking some cigarettes in the shelves behind the counter, I heard the door open and looked round. It was a women called Elaine. It was clear she had been working late as she was still in office clothes, a knee length close fitting business skirt and a white blouse. We greeted each other and chatted briefly as she bought a women’s magazine and some milk. I always loved when she came in the store. She was so pretty and slim, with her long blond hair, and she always looked so sophisticated in her suits and skirts. As she was in her mid-twenties, I always looked up to her and so wanted to be like her. I always imagined her to be cultured and refined. I wanted to be just like her and to know her better. And that night I did get to know her better in a way I did not expect.

Just as she was about to leave, three men burst into the shop. They were dressed all in black, and their heads were covered in balaclavas with slits cut for their noses, mouths and eyes. Before either of us could scream, two of the men grabbed Elaine and I, covering our mouths with their gloved hands, and bundled us into the store room, while the third rummaged through the till.
Read the rest of this entry »

Mara was very proud of her body. Here she was nearly fifty four years old and looking like a woman half her age. She and her husband Jack had joined a gym several years earlier on the advice of Jack’s Doctor after Jack had had a minor heart attack. Mara had taken to the workout moreso than he did but he had gotten himself into pretty good shape as well.

For most of her life Mara had always been a little overweight and although she wasn’t repulsive she wasn’t the kind of woman that would instantly turn men’s heads. After all these years she finally had the body she always wanted. Tight, atheletic legs, well toned butt, tiny flat stomach. Her breasts weren’t excessively large. When she was heavier this would bother her some but now with her smaller frame they looked much larger. “Beautiful little handfuls.” Is how Jack would describe them and now she agreed with him, more or less. It was a warm summer morning and she had just left the gym very confident and feeling quite sexy. She had overheard one of the younger woman in the shower talking to her friend. “I hope I look that good when I’m her age.” she said. This gave Mara a bit of a tingle between her legs. Not because of what the woman had said but because she knew the woman had been looking over her naked form. She was quite an exhibitionist at heart and the idea of anyone looking her over turned her on. Read the rest of this entry »

The forced sex niche is, if you can pardon the pun, being fucked in every hole these days. It hit, and it hit big and suddenly sites popped up everywhere. It takes a lot for a site to stand out against the masses, and few do, but I can safely say that FORCED WITNESS does so and more.
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Imagine being powerless to do anything while a loved one is raped right before your eyes! Tied up, gagged, you can do nothing but watch as her innocence is spoiled. Each and every exclusive video on this site features that special aspect, though the scenarios vary greatly, so it NEVER gets old. There are also thousands of images in addition to those hours and hours of videos, and new content is added EVERY WEEK.
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