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DeRe
Supernova
- Joined
- Mar 19, 2013
This is one of a series of stories I have published on various celeb/rape themed websites. In this case it was inspired by an episode of Glimore Girls.
Disclaimer : This story is restricted to readers aged 18+, if you're not please go away and come back when you're older! Remember, rape is wrong! This story is fictional, all characters are totally fictional, all events occur in a fictional universe. None of this is real, and could/would never happen! Everything is intended for satirical purposes.
Codes: M+F, nc, rape, oral, anal, viol, humil, snuff
There's an old saying that you're never more alone than when in a crowd. Rory Gilmore knew that sentiment well. Standing on a Florida beach surrounded by tanned Barbies and bronze hunks she felt utterly out of place. The boozy, sleazy, partying atmosphere was a long way from her comfort zone of the study halls at Yale. Despite the mass of half-naked, totally-drunk college students around her, for Rory the beach might as well have been empty.
She had only come down grudgingly anyway. Snowbound at college, she had been weedled and cajoled – as usual – by her friend Paris into making the trip. The drive down had been exhausting, and the long day on the beach had drained her even more. Rory had always felt awkward on the beach, insecure around hotter girls yet painfully aware of boys looking over her petite 34-23-34 figure. Yet here I am, she thought, wandering aimlessly with half a beer in the sunset, the lamest dorkiest girl on the beach.
Things had gotten even more depressing when she ran into two old friends from school, all tanned and toned and making Rory feel even more insecure. They grilled her on her lack of a boyfriend and teased her about picking up a hunk from the bevy of boys on the beach. Certainly they seemed to have no trouble, each finding a partner and leaving Rory early with an invitation to the dance party later on.
Alone poolside Rory bolstered her confidence with a beer – only the third she had ever drunk in her nineteen years. It immediately went to her head in the sun leaving her giddy and unsteady. She lay back on the deckchair as her phone suddenly chirpped into life. “Aw mom, not now”, she said, turning it off and putting it down. She knew her doting but anxious mother would just make her feel even crappier right now.
Wobbling slighty, she decided maybe a walk would be a good idea instead. The heat of the late afternoon sun was scorching and she yearned for a little sea breeze on her skin. Besides she knew her freckled porcelain complexion would fry if she stayed, and the agony of a peeling sunburn was not something she wanted to take home. She quaffed the last of her beer and grabbed another from the icebox. Rolling the icy-cool can against her forehead and chest she closed her eyes and sighed softly. A walk then, she thought.
She strolled absently along the beach, sipping conservatively at the beer. The breeze was refreshing, rich and salty and chilling the sweat across her skin. Sometimes the beach isn't all bad, thought Rory. Watching the peach-colored sun skin into sea she thought about all the beautiful poems people had written about it. But the sight of the revellers around her brought back to reality. All those poets didn't have Ken and Barbie being jerks, she reflected grimly.
“Hey, shorty!” yelled an oiled, bleached jock across the beach from her. “Hey! I'm talkin' t'you! You got a cute ass, y'know that! Hey, don't walk away from me, you blue-eyed bitch!”
Already red from the searing sun, Rory's round cheeks burned even brighter at the humilation. Half the beach seemed to turn around to leer at her. Gripping the can tight she quickened her pace, struggling to make her way through a cloying crowd of creeps around her. She suddenly became actutely conscious of her nipples, firm and tight with tension, poking through the thin fabric of her swimsuit.
“Stuck-up cunt!” grunted the jock. “Bet you're a fuckin' dyke anyway.” He slumped back onto his towel and resumed sucking from a nearby keg.
Rory fought down a mounting panic attack and hurried over to some huts toward the end of the resort's beach. She drank deep from the beer to steady herself, but instead swallowed too much and suddenly found herself gasping for air. Aw gee now I'm going to be sick and puke in front of everyone, she thought. Everything seemed to swim around her. Cautiously she sat down on a old wooden bench, away from the party, next to a seemingly endless carpark.
Night had almost fallen now. Rory drearily reflected that she would have to wander all the way back to her motel. Going out to the club was right out. Instead she planned to read up her study notes on early Colonial American patriots and have an early night. There's no cute guy out for me tonight, thought Rory.
“Are you alright?”
The cool, steady voice from behind suddenly brought Rory around. She turned to see a firm-jawed, smiling busboy approaching her. He was wearing the tight uniform of the resort which perfectly defined his toned muscualture. There was something old-school Hollywood about him, thought Rory, her mind dreamy in the twilight. She smiled back, her exquisite features brightening.
“I think I just need...uh..to go to the bathroom for a sec,” she said woozily. “Would you be able to, um...y'know – show me where it is?” She hoped she sounded polite and not firtatious. He seems a little old to be a busboy, Rory reflected, her eyes sparkling up at the handsome stranger.
“The only one near here is employees only...but I can't say no to a pair of pretty eyes like that” he said. She smiled bashfully and repiled modestly “Everyone says that.” She told herself the shiver that ran through her was from the early evening cold, and not from the tingling that suddenly sparked between her legs.
“When it must be true then right?” the busboy said coyly. “Anyway c'mon, I'll let you in our ladies lounge round the corner of the huts there, y'see it? Nice and clean place. I'll keep watch so you don't get busted.”
“Oh, wow,” sighed Rory in relief. “That is so nice, thanks.” She got up and with a newfound confidence began walking over the huts at the very edge of the complex. The busboy followed close behind, but she didn't mind – there was something strangely comforting about him. Besides, she thought, every other guy in town has ogled my butt today, might as well let the one nice guy have his look.
A single dim bulb glowed from the edge of the last hut. Two toilet booths marked the end of the buildings as the night disappeared into black jungle. The sounds of debauchery were now very distant, almost masked by the soft patter of the breakers on the beach. Rory walked up to the women's door, breathing the sea air in deep.
“Thanks,” she said shyly, smiling back at the busboy. Silhouetted by the stark light of the bulb she couldn't see his face. As she turned the handle to enter, Rory asked him “So, um...who are you anyway?”
The voice that growled back sounded utterly different from the smooth talker she had just been addressing.
“I'm your worst nightmare, bitch”.
With a glance Rory realised the room before her wasn't a toilet booth, but rather a tool shed of some kind. The cold words spat at her brought realization home with a sickening thud. She was being trapped – abducted – or worse. Panic and adrenalin surged through her like electricity and she knew her night had suddenly gone terribly wrong.
Too terrifed even to scream, Rory struggled but failed to run. As her already huge eyes grew in horror, her attacker landed a punch right in her solar plexus. His fist was like iron and she felt the air sucked right out of her. Everything seemed to explode into stars as her vision blurred wildly. Her mind scream frantically for her to get away, but the paralyzing fear had overwhelmed her and her body betrayed her instinct to flee.
She tried to form words to beg, to plea, to ask why he was doing this. But only gibbering, incoherent babble came out. With a violent shove the attacker threw Rory hard into the room, sending her crashing down onto her hands and knees. Before she could recover he had thick strips of duct tape across her wet mouth and her slender wrists Then he rolled her onto her back with her bound hands above her.
“So,” he growled like an animal, “you are a moaner...or a screamer?”
Rory seemed to herself to be in some weird, detached autopilot. She felt herself bound and she submitted, out of terror of being hurt further. Mentally, she tried to prepare herself for what she knew was coming. But she struggled to form the concept in her mind. Being raped was her absolute worst nightmare, and even as it stared her in her tear-soaked face she tried to deny it. She had always thought she'd rather kill herself rather than be raped. Now death seemed like nothing compared to what she knew this psycho was going to do to her.
She clenched her eyes shut tightly and tried not to feel the knife being stroked across her neck and under the strap of her swimsuit. This can't be happening, he thought over and over again in her mind. Desparately she imagined herself back home at Stars Hollow, trying to wake up from a bad dream as her mom called her downstairs for breakfast....
As her rapist ripped off her swimsuit in one clean pull Rory wailed into her gag. She felt a firm calloused hand race across her now exposed pert, petite body. For only the second time in her young life she was naked before a man. Expert fingers prodded and pinched her ass, pussy and all tender places inbetween.
“Open your eyes, slut. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Rory had to force herself to obey as every part of her tried to shut out the agony. But she opened her eyes, flooded with fat tears, and found herself looking straight into her rapist's face – now a callous mask with a glare so sadistic Rory felt a little part of herself die inside. Ever the clinical intellectual, she knew he would never let her live. Staring into his black eyes Rory knew she would be raped, properly tortured, then murdered. Yet all she could think of was how it would destroy her mother. There was no degradation that could be done to her, worse than knowing how her mom would suffer. That was like a spike of ice through her heart.
The room suddenly sparked with a flash and Rory realized he was taking pictures. Her bound body was like a lithe, ruddy porcelain doll in the weak light. She writhed in a feeble attempt to be free, utterly humilated by being photographed liked this. The part of her body pressed against the concrete floor felt frozen while the rest of her burned like a fever.
She watched her rapist strip with a detached and almost curious gaze. His throbbing, rigid cock was far bigger than Dean's, the only other one she had ever seen. This oozing smile on his face as he leered back at her felt almost like a violating penetration in itself to the stunned Rory. Dear god, she thought, it's going to hurt so much.
Slowly – enjoying himself – he gripped Rory's milky thighs and spread them apart. The slim pink oyster of her pussy was exposed, with a neatly trimmed puff of hair running across her mound. Giggling maniacally, he rasped at her “A pretty little cunt for a pretty girl! Seems almost a shame to wreck it.”
As he slid his rock-hard raperod into Rory's tiny snatch, the rapist rested one hand on the ground to steady himself and fixed his other around her sylph-like throat. Her groan of suffering was choked off to a gargle as she felt her box crushed by the monster cock. This was a suffering she never knew was possible. The agony was worse than anything she had imagined in her worst nightmares. As his first thrusts pounded her like an iron piston, Rory felt herself stretched, touched and torn in a place she never knew existed.
The weird academic voice in Rory's head was calmly noting everthing. She could smell the reek of the coconut oil on her rapist's skin. She saw the dead stuffed alligator hanging on the wall, staring blankly at her as if to say “I can't help you, girl”. Her field of vision seemed to dissolve into stars again as she felt the life choked out of her. I'm going to die now, she thought.
But suddenly the rapist released his grip, instead slapping Rory – her eyes bulging and face blue – back to consciousness with a series of vicious blows. While she was still dazed, he pulled the tape off her mouth to one side and plunged his tongue deep into the hot, wet little hole. They kissed sloppily, spit streaking down Rory's chin as she struggled against this invasion of her mouth.
He left the tape off and he bit deep into her shoulder, marvelling at the perfect soft skin. “Awggggguuuuuuudddddd” groaned Rory with a newfound terror, but the cry was still mostly choked off by her crushed throat. “Fuck, yes,” grunted her rapist as he felt the sweat streak across his face. It dripped in a steady tattoo onto Rory's thrusting, round tits.
“OMIGOD”, she cried, as another thrust impaled her even harder than before.
“OMIGudddddddddddd”, she groaned, as a long slow stroke shredded her internally.
“Ommmiggg...gggg...gggh”, she gurgled, as she felt the throbbing organ explode inside her.
“OH! FUCK! YEAH!” roared her rapist, as he came deep and long into Rory's shattered pussy. Grinding with an almost animalistic intensity he roared “Take it, my blue-eyed bitch, take it all. You're nothing but a fucktoy!” He punctunated his last thrusts with foul abuse.
Walking past outside, a resort rent-a-cop who had gone around the back for a joint, heard the grunts, screams and groans from the shed. He chuckled to himself; sounds like some lucky prick is putting one of those bikini-wearing bitches in her place, he thought. For a few moments he savored the sounds of what seemed like a really rough fuck. Then he slipped off to a quieter location, chortling and whispering “Give her one for me, bro” as he left.
All of Rory Gilmore's world had shrunk to the fetid little shed that was now her hell. As her rapist climbed off her with a satisifed sigh, she curled into a tight ball. It seemed to her that nothing which happened now mattered anymore. She has been broked in a way that could never be fixed, and she felt whatever was done to her was better than living as defiled and wrecked as she felt.
“What a shame, to die so young, without experiencing all the pleasures you could have know,” he said sneeringly. “I'll save those for your friend later, perhaps.”
“W-w-w-why are you doing this t-t-to m-me?” She sobbed.
“Because I'm the Coed Killer, you clueless little cunt. Well, down here anyway. In Pensacola I'm the Stripper Ripper, in Texas the Beauty Queen Butcher. But you get the idea.” He smiled to himself. “I was going to take that hot blonde cocktease you were hanging out with”, he drawled as he swilled a stashed bottle of bourbon and wiped himself down. He ran his eyes languidly over Rory's sweat-soaked, quivering body. “But they're ten-a-dime around here...whereas you-” and he emphasised the words with small sharp kicks to Rory's back while she yelped “-are-a-blue-eyed-innocent begging for it. As soon as I saw your sparkling sapphires, you were all mine.” He reached over and stuck the tape back down on her mouth as she whimpered.
“All you good girls like the bad guys, right?” Laughing, he splashed the rest of the bourbon over Rory's firm ass, before suddenly and viciously thrusting the bottle right up her asshole.
Rory almost shredded her vocal chords with the scream of pure pain that rose up inside her and into her gag. God, how could it possibly hurt so much? She felt him wriggle the bottle around, stretching her tiny asshole wide enough for him to get his cock in it. Her fists had clenched so tight her nails pierced her palms. Gritting her teeth in a desparate but futile attempt to stop it, Rory howled like a savaged animal as he pushed his cock slowly but firmly into her ass.
“SSSSSSSSSSSSSttttttttttpppppppppp-ggggggggggdddddddddnnnnnnnooooooooooo--”
The sounds she was making into the gag were as inhuman as the pain she felt coursing through her. So this is a fate worse than death, she thought absently. She wished she had never listened to stupid Paris. She wished she had never come on this stupid holiday, to this stupid place. She wished everything was different. She wished...
Suddenly a steel chokechain was slipped around her neck. Drawing it tight, the rapist hissed in her ear “This is how you die, like the bitch you are”, yanking the cord and thrusting into her simulateously. Her eyes bulged again, as did the pink smooth cheeks of her ass as it was savagely split. He ripped the mouthgag off to enjoy her last desparate death gurgles. “The De Sade Special – strangluation and -uh, fffuuckk – and sodomy...” he groaned. “The....uh...the 71st Fatal Pleasure...”
The chain bit deep into tender flesh as the last life was snuffed out of Rory Gilmore. She tried to think of her mom, to say goodbye, and how sorry she was. But all that was contained in her mind was pain. All she thought, felt, and knew was suffering. As her eyes rolled back and she gurgled her death rattle, her last thought was “this is such a horrible way to die.”
It took a full three minutes before the rapist, literally stunned with pleasure, could roll off Rory's limp body with an ecstatic groan. He looked over his handiwork with a kind of post-coital regret. Perhaps I snuffed her too soon, he reflected. But then she was just a snatch-n-grab, and the fact such an innocent had died in agony was sweet to him. Besides the photos would make a fine souvienur – as would her exquistie eyes. With a few deft cuts of a scalpel he cut them out of her head and dropped them in a bottle of saline he kept for the equation.
Stashing her body in a hessian bag the killer stole silently away from the beach, getting to his stashed car and taking her a little way up the coast. Near a particularly isolated spot that he knew well, he parked up and dragged her out. As the first rays of dawn broke, he smoothly drew a knife and gutted Rory like a fish, from ribs to bellybutton, then toppling her into water.
It only took a few minutes before the gators arrived. They had a swift banquet of tender white flesh while the killer looked on in satisifaction. His eyes blinked in the sunrise. A good night's work, he thought with a smile. I wonder what the bitch's name was?
Disclaimer : This story is restricted to readers aged 18+, if you're not please go away and come back when you're older! Remember, rape is wrong! This story is fictional, all characters are totally fictional, all events occur in a fictional universe. None of this is real, and could/would never happen! Everything is intended for satirical purposes.
Codes: M+F, nc, rape, oral, anal, viol, humil, snuff
Rory Gilmore and the Coed Killer
Codes: M+F, nc, rape, anal, humil, tort, snuff
April 2004
Codes: M+F, nc, rape, anal, humil, tort, snuff
April 2004
There's an old saying that you're never more alone than when in a crowd. Rory Gilmore knew that sentiment well. Standing on a Florida beach surrounded by tanned Barbies and bronze hunks she felt utterly out of place. The boozy, sleazy, partying atmosphere was a long way from her comfort zone of the study halls at Yale. Despite the mass of half-naked, totally-drunk college students around her, for Rory the beach might as well have been empty.
She had only come down grudgingly anyway. Snowbound at college, she had been weedled and cajoled – as usual – by her friend Paris into making the trip. The drive down had been exhausting, and the long day on the beach had drained her even more. Rory had always felt awkward on the beach, insecure around hotter girls yet painfully aware of boys looking over her petite 34-23-34 figure. Yet here I am, she thought, wandering aimlessly with half a beer in the sunset, the lamest dorkiest girl on the beach.
Things had gotten even more depressing when she ran into two old friends from school, all tanned and toned and making Rory feel even more insecure. They grilled her on her lack of a boyfriend and teased her about picking up a hunk from the bevy of boys on the beach. Certainly they seemed to have no trouble, each finding a partner and leaving Rory early with an invitation to the dance party later on.
Alone poolside Rory bolstered her confidence with a beer – only the third she had ever drunk in her nineteen years. It immediately went to her head in the sun leaving her giddy and unsteady. She lay back on the deckchair as her phone suddenly chirpped into life. “Aw mom, not now”, she said, turning it off and putting it down. She knew her doting but anxious mother would just make her feel even crappier right now.
Wobbling slighty, she decided maybe a walk would be a good idea instead. The heat of the late afternoon sun was scorching and she yearned for a little sea breeze on her skin. Besides she knew her freckled porcelain complexion would fry if she stayed, and the agony of a peeling sunburn was not something she wanted to take home. She quaffed the last of her beer and grabbed another from the icebox. Rolling the icy-cool can against her forehead and chest she closed her eyes and sighed softly. A walk then, she thought.
She strolled absently along the beach, sipping conservatively at the beer. The breeze was refreshing, rich and salty and chilling the sweat across her skin. Sometimes the beach isn't all bad, thought Rory. Watching the peach-colored sun skin into sea she thought about all the beautiful poems people had written about it. But the sight of the revellers around her brought back to reality. All those poets didn't have Ken and Barbie being jerks, she reflected grimly.
“Hey, shorty!” yelled an oiled, bleached jock across the beach from her. “Hey! I'm talkin' t'you! You got a cute ass, y'know that! Hey, don't walk away from me, you blue-eyed bitch!”
Already red from the searing sun, Rory's round cheeks burned even brighter at the humilation. Half the beach seemed to turn around to leer at her. Gripping the can tight she quickened her pace, struggling to make her way through a cloying crowd of creeps around her. She suddenly became actutely conscious of her nipples, firm and tight with tension, poking through the thin fabric of her swimsuit.
“Stuck-up cunt!” grunted the jock. “Bet you're a fuckin' dyke anyway.” He slumped back onto his towel and resumed sucking from a nearby keg.
Rory fought down a mounting panic attack and hurried over to some huts toward the end of the resort's beach. She drank deep from the beer to steady herself, but instead swallowed too much and suddenly found herself gasping for air. Aw gee now I'm going to be sick and puke in front of everyone, she thought. Everything seemed to swim around her. Cautiously she sat down on a old wooden bench, away from the party, next to a seemingly endless carpark.
Night had almost fallen now. Rory drearily reflected that she would have to wander all the way back to her motel. Going out to the club was right out. Instead she planned to read up her study notes on early Colonial American patriots and have an early night. There's no cute guy out for me tonight, thought Rory.
“Are you alright?”
The cool, steady voice from behind suddenly brought Rory around. She turned to see a firm-jawed, smiling busboy approaching her. He was wearing the tight uniform of the resort which perfectly defined his toned muscualture. There was something old-school Hollywood about him, thought Rory, her mind dreamy in the twilight. She smiled back, her exquisite features brightening.
“I think I just need...uh..to go to the bathroom for a sec,” she said woozily. “Would you be able to, um...y'know – show me where it is?” She hoped she sounded polite and not firtatious. He seems a little old to be a busboy, Rory reflected, her eyes sparkling up at the handsome stranger.
“The only one near here is employees only...but I can't say no to a pair of pretty eyes like that” he said. She smiled bashfully and repiled modestly “Everyone says that.” She told herself the shiver that ran through her was from the early evening cold, and not from the tingling that suddenly sparked between her legs.
“When it must be true then right?” the busboy said coyly. “Anyway c'mon, I'll let you in our ladies lounge round the corner of the huts there, y'see it? Nice and clean place. I'll keep watch so you don't get busted.”
“Oh, wow,” sighed Rory in relief. “That is so nice, thanks.” She got up and with a newfound confidence began walking over the huts at the very edge of the complex. The busboy followed close behind, but she didn't mind – there was something strangely comforting about him. Besides, she thought, every other guy in town has ogled my butt today, might as well let the one nice guy have his look.
A single dim bulb glowed from the edge of the last hut. Two toilet booths marked the end of the buildings as the night disappeared into black jungle. The sounds of debauchery were now very distant, almost masked by the soft patter of the breakers on the beach. Rory walked up to the women's door, breathing the sea air in deep.
“Thanks,” she said shyly, smiling back at the busboy. Silhouetted by the stark light of the bulb she couldn't see his face. As she turned the handle to enter, Rory asked him “So, um...who are you anyway?”
The voice that growled back sounded utterly different from the smooth talker she had just been addressing.
“I'm your worst nightmare, bitch”.
With a glance Rory realised the room before her wasn't a toilet booth, but rather a tool shed of some kind. The cold words spat at her brought realization home with a sickening thud. She was being trapped – abducted – or worse. Panic and adrenalin surged through her like electricity and she knew her night had suddenly gone terribly wrong.
Too terrifed even to scream, Rory struggled but failed to run. As her already huge eyes grew in horror, her attacker landed a punch right in her solar plexus. His fist was like iron and she felt the air sucked right out of her. Everything seemed to explode into stars as her vision blurred wildly. Her mind scream frantically for her to get away, but the paralyzing fear had overwhelmed her and her body betrayed her instinct to flee.
She tried to form words to beg, to plea, to ask why he was doing this. But only gibbering, incoherent babble came out. With a violent shove the attacker threw Rory hard into the room, sending her crashing down onto her hands and knees. Before she could recover he had thick strips of duct tape across her wet mouth and her slender wrists Then he rolled her onto her back with her bound hands above her.
“So,” he growled like an animal, “you are a moaner...or a screamer?”
Rory seemed to herself to be in some weird, detached autopilot. She felt herself bound and she submitted, out of terror of being hurt further. Mentally, she tried to prepare herself for what she knew was coming. But she struggled to form the concept in her mind. Being raped was her absolute worst nightmare, and even as it stared her in her tear-soaked face she tried to deny it. She had always thought she'd rather kill herself rather than be raped. Now death seemed like nothing compared to what she knew this psycho was going to do to her.
She clenched her eyes shut tightly and tried not to feel the knife being stroked across her neck and under the strap of her swimsuit. This can't be happening, he thought over and over again in her mind. Desparately she imagined herself back home at Stars Hollow, trying to wake up from a bad dream as her mom called her downstairs for breakfast....
As her rapist ripped off her swimsuit in one clean pull Rory wailed into her gag. She felt a firm calloused hand race across her now exposed pert, petite body. For only the second time in her young life she was naked before a man. Expert fingers prodded and pinched her ass, pussy and all tender places inbetween.
“Open your eyes, slut. Open your eyes and look at me.”
Rory had to force herself to obey as every part of her tried to shut out the agony. But she opened her eyes, flooded with fat tears, and found herself looking straight into her rapist's face – now a callous mask with a glare so sadistic Rory felt a little part of herself die inside. Ever the clinical intellectual, she knew he would never let her live. Staring into his black eyes Rory knew she would be raped, properly tortured, then murdered. Yet all she could think of was how it would destroy her mother. There was no degradation that could be done to her, worse than knowing how her mom would suffer. That was like a spike of ice through her heart.
The room suddenly sparked with a flash and Rory realized he was taking pictures. Her bound body was like a lithe, ruddy porcelain doll in the weak light. She writhed in a feeble attempt to be free, utterly humilated by being photographed liked this. The part of her body pressed against the concrete floor felt frozen while the rest of her burned like a fever.
She watched her rapist strip with a detached and almost curious gaze. His throbbing, rigid cock was far bigger than Dean's, the only other one she had ever seen. This oozing smile on his face as he leered back at her felt almost like a violating penetration in itself to the stunned Rory. Dear god, she thought, it's going to hurt so much.
Slowly – enjoying himself – he gripped Rory's milky thighs and spread them apart. The slim pink oyster of her pussy was exposed, with a neatly trimmed puff of hair running across her mound. Giggling maniacally, he rasped at her “A pretty little cunt for a pretty girl! Seems almost a shame to wreck it.”
As he slid his rock-hard raperod into Rory's tiny snatch, the rapist rested one hand on the ground to steady himself and fixed his other around her sylph-like throat. Her groan of suffering was choked off to a gargle as she felt her box crushed by the monster cock. This was a suffering she never knew was possible. The agony was worse than anything she had imagined in her worst nightmares. As his first thrusts pounded her like an iron piston, Rory felt herself stretched, touched and torn in a place she never knew existed.
The weird academic voice in Rory's head was calmly noting everthing. She could smell the reek of the coconut oil on her rapist's skin. She saw the dead stuffed alligator hanging on the wall, staring blankly at her as if to say “I can't help you, girl”. Her field of vision seemed to dissolve into stars again as she felt the life choked out of her. I'm going to die now, she thought.
But suddenly the rapist released his grip, instead slapping Rory – her eyes bulging and face blue – back to consciousness with a series of vicious blows. While she was still dazed, he pulled the tape off her mouth to one side and plunged his tongue deep into the hot, wet little hole. They kissed sloppily, spit streaking down Rory's chin as she struggled against this invasion of her mouth.
He left the tape off and he bit deep into her shoulder, marvelling at the perfect soft skin. “Awggggguuuuuuudddddd” groaned Rory with a newfound terror, but the cry was still mostly choked off by her crushed throat. “Fuck, yes,” grunted her rapist as he felt the sweat streak across his face. It dripped in a steady tattoo onto Rory's thrusting, round tits.
“OMIGOD”, she cried, as another thrust impaled her even harder than before.
“OMIGudddddddddddd”, she groaned, as a long slow stroke shredded her internally.
“Ommmiggg...gggg...gggh”, she gurgled, as she felt the throbbing organ explode inside her.
“OH! FUCK! YEAH!” roared her rapist, as he came deep and long into Rory's shattered pussy. Grinding with an almost animalistic intensity he roared “Take it, my blue-eyed bitch, take it all. You're nothing but a fucktoy!” He punctunated his last thrusts with foul abuse.
Walking past outside, a resort rent-a-cop who had gone around the back for a joint, heard the grunts, screams and groans from the shed. He chuckled to himself; sounds like some lucky prick is putting one of those bikini-wearing bitches in her place, he thought. For a few moments he savored the sounds of what seemed like a really rough fuck. Then he slipped off to a quieter location, chortling and whispering “Give her one for me, bro” as he left.
All of Rory Gilmore's world had shrunk to the fetid little shed that was now her hell. As her rapist climbed off her with a satisifed sigh, she curled into a tight ball. It seemed to her that nothing which happened now mattered anymore. She has been broked in a way that could never be fixed, and she felt whatever was done to her was better than living as defiled and wrecked as she felt.
“What a shame, to die so young, without experiencing all the pleasures you could have know,” he said sneeringly. “I'll save those for your friend later, perhaps.”
“W-w-w-why are you doing this t-t-to m-me?” She sobbed.
“Because I'm the Coed Killer, you clueless little cunt. Well, down here anyway. In Pensacola I'm the Stripper Ripper, in Texas the Beauty Queen Butcher. But you get the idea.” He smiled to himself. “I was going to take that hot blonde cocktease you were hanging out with”, he drawled as he swilled a stashed bottle of bourbon and wiped himself down. He ran his eyes languidly over Rory's sweat-soaked, quivering body. “But they're ten-a-dime around here...whereas you-” and he emphasised the words with small sharp kicks to Rory's back while she yelped “-are-a-blue-eyed-innocent begging for it. As soon as I saw your sparkling sapphires, you were all mine.” He reached over and stuck the tape back down on her mouth as she whimpered.
“All you good girls like the bad guys, right?” Laughing, he splashed the rest of the bourbon over Rory's firm ass, before suddenly and viciously thrusting the bottle right up her asshole.
Rory almost shredded her vocal chords with the scream of pure pain that rose up inside her and into her gag. God, how could it possibly hurt so much? She felt him wriggle the bottle around, stretching her tiny asshole wide enough for him to get his cock in it. Her fists had clenched so tight her nails pierced her palms. Gritting her teeth in a desparate but futile attempt to stop it, Rory howled like a savaged animal as he pushed his cock slowly but firmly into her ass.
“SSSSSSSSSSSSSttttttttttpppppppppp-ggggggggggdddddddddnnnnnnnooooooooooo--”
The sounds she was making into the gag were as inhuman as the pain she felt coursing through her. So this is a fate worse than death, she thought absently. She wished she had never listened to stupid Paris. She wished she had never come on this stupid holiday, to this stupid place. She wished everything was different. She wished...
Suddenly a steel chokechain was slipped around her neck. Drawing it tight, the rapist hissed in her ear “This is how you die, like the bitch you are”, yanking the cord and thrusting into her simulateously. Her eyes bulged again, as did the pink smooth cheeks of her ass as it was savagely split. He ripped the mouthgag off to enjoy her last desparate death gurgles. “The De Sade Special – strangluation and -uh, fffuuckk – and sodomy...” he groaned. “The....uh...the 71st Fatal Pleasure...”
The chain bit deep into tender flesh as the last life was snuffed out of Rory Gilmore. She tried to think of her mom, to say goodbye, and how sorry she was. But all that was contained in her mind was pain. All she thought, felt, and knew was suffering. As her eyes rolled back and she gurgled her death rattle, her last thought was “this is such a horrible way to die.”
It took a full three minutes before the rapist, literally stunned with pleasure, could roll off Rory's limp body with an ecstatic groan. He looked over his handiwork with a kind of post-coital regret. Perhaps I snuffed her too soon, he reflected. But then she was just a snatch-n-grab, and the fact such an innocent had died in agony was sweet to him. Besides the photos would make a fine souvienur – as would her exquistie eyes. With a few deft cuts of a scalpel he cut them out of her head and dropped them in a bottle of saline he kept for the equation.
Stashing her body in a hessian bag the killer stole silently away from the beach, getting to his stashed car and taking her a little way up the coast. Near a particularly isolated spot that he knew well, he parked up and dragged her out. As the first rays of dawn broke, he smoothly drew a knife and gutted Rory like a fish, from ribs to bellybutton, then toppling her into water.
It only took a few minutes before the gators arrived. They had a swift banquet of tender white flesh while the killer looked on in satisifaction. His eyes blinked in the sunrise. A good night's work, he thought with a smile. I wonder what the bitch's name was?
