The knock on the hotel door seemed innocuous enough, neither of the occupants of the room had any reason to suspect that it could be anything other than room service. Bill and Anne had travel overnight, catching the red eye from Fort Lauderdale to arrive at London Heathrow early in the morning. They had slept for an hour or two, trying to adjust to the six hour delay from continent to continent. Their two weeks doing Europe started in earnest, tomorrow, with a scheduled bus ride around the 'Old Town' of London, taking in Buckingham Palace, Westminster Cathedral and the new to the programme, Princess Diane's Garden in Hyde Park.
Interview with a rapist. Imagine an interview room, painted green and cream as so often is the decor of the Police and municipal buildings. Imagine a stainless steel table, square, shiny from use and bolted to the floor. Three chairs surround the stained table top, cheap aluminium, easily replaced. Two large Police detectives face a grubby little man, unshaven, dirty and somewhat dishevelled from the poor treatment he alleges he received at the time of his arrest. The following is the one sided responses to their questioning:It didn't start out that way, just sort of happened. I didn't leave my house thinking I am going to go out and rape the shit out of someone today.
Chapter oneBefore this tale unfolds, I am aware that a fully grown and sexually mature gorilla has a dick about three inches or less in length. However, this is a story, based in fantasy, carrying licence to make it up as I go along. So just sit back, relax and let your imagination fill in the blanks; enjoy my friends. Jane had left her job three months ago. The lure of money and working had long since lost its appeal. Ever since her holiday, touring the outback of Western Australia, she had felt time was slipping by.
It looks like a rape, but read on and discover that it isn't. The following story is based on the imagination of a reader who has given permission for the use of her ideas. For the sake of privacy, her name will not be published and does not bare any resemblance to the characters portrayed herein. The beginning is entirely her story, with only editorial alterations, background, in fills and the conclusion on my part. As with all of the works posted by me, under my name, it is protected by international copyright and may not be copied, published or posted under any other name without express permission of the author.
I suppose that it was pure chance, a lucky throw of the dice, and a case of right time, right place, in which I met Lisa. The circumstances were hardly usual; in fact shock was possibly the first reaction she evinced from me. Definitely, shock. Intrigue and wanton lust also added to the brew of emotions that she caused. The experience of her was a life-changing event, one that would never ever diminish in the memory and would alter my perspective on life from that time onwards. I had been called by a man who's name reminded me of an out-board motor.
Before you tell me, I know it can't happen. I know it is an impossibility to breed, but call it poetic licence, call it fantasy, but whatever you call it, enjoy and forget the physics for a while. His powerful forelegs clamped her heaving hips in a tight embrace pulling her to his furred underbelly and preventing her release. With each thrust of his canine hips, his cock drove deeper into her belly causing her to whimper with the pain of having this monstrous dog cock search out the neck of her womb. The Doberman was her master now in more than just the physical sense. She had invaded his territory and offered her sex to him in an effort to placate his feelings of territorial violation.
He padded into the room, paused and glanced at the people, who stared back at him with baleful looks. The room held three strangers; his mistress and a fourth, shadowy figure in an alcove that he couldn't quite make out. His olfactory senses informed him of the charged atmosphere. Mingled with the familiar aroma of sex and pheromones was apprehension, even a little fear. The perfumes worn by them did little to hide the musk of sweat and aroused glandular activity. His nose told him of these things, it never lied. Two women sat on the red leather settee. A blond haired woman, dressed in some sort of loose gown printed in gaudy colours sat nearest the door. She it was exuded the apprehension.
Six months earlier. It was at a beach party that Jack was turned. Someone, an acquaintance, invited him and a few bottles, to the dunes on the South Kentish Sea front near Dungeness. As usual, he drank a bit too much, but he was sure afterwards, that his drink was spiked. Certainly, he had a metallic taste in his mouth the next morning and a monumental headache, the like he had never experienced before. He was also quite photosensitive to the point of almost being blinded by the sunlight. He was alone and all that remained of the previous night's party were a few dying embers in the fire, and a few beer bottles and cans scattered around.
"Ah, I remember it like it was yesterday". The old dog lowered his greying muzzle onto his forepaws, eyes unfocused and milky with cataracts. His ears hung like limp washing, a sigh escaped from relaxed jowls as he recalled the memories. What had been brick-red fur was now faded, but offered warmth and protection to the young pup, who listened and waited for his mentor to relate the tale. "We were a family pack in those days, an Alpha male and Female, a male who had seen about ten seasons, a female of about twelve seasons and an older female who had seen perhaps sixteen or so. We lived someplace else then, in a huge house out in the country with loads of land and trees.
Lunch time in the refectory can be hectic. Students and staff share the same facilities, queuing for hot meals or paninis and coffee. It isn't the largest room in the college so, the tables and chairs can become precious, especially when they are pulled out of their serried ranks into group patterns so friends can socialize while they eat.Today was just like any other at lunch; hectic. The place heaved with a mass of young people whose voices joined in a cacophony of noise. The smell of food being cooked and coffee wafted on a warm breeze that circulated the canteen.The scrape of a chair on the herring-bone parquet flooring drew a glance from me, focusing my attention for a brief moment.