****** Taylor by Mike ******
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Taylor


Standard disclaimer, blah, blah, blah, don't read this if you're underage or if
you're offended by sex, violence, rape, etc, etc, etc.


I was almost finished with my freshman year of college when I ran into Brendan
Ostenberg for the first time in over a year. We'd been buddies in high school,
ever since we'd been on the baseball team together when I was a junior and he
was a freshman. Anyway, Brendan invited me to drop by that night; he was having
some kind of party or something while his parents were in Europe. So I showed
up around ten o'clock, and his sister, Cassie, answered the door. I remembered
her from high school; she was a cool girl, and pretty, though nothing
extraordinary. She led me through the living room, where a bunch of kids were
sitting around watching some movie. Brendan, she told me, was out buying food.
She invited me to sit down in her room, where there were only two other people.
I recognized one of them as her boyfriend, Jamie.

"Jamie, mike, you know each other, right?" We both nodded and said hello. I
couldn't see the other girl at first because she was facing the wall and
lighting a cigarette, but she turned to greet me and it struck me again how
beautiful she was. "And this is Taylor," Cassie continued. "Taylor, this is-"

"Mike," Taylor interrupted, blowing smoke across the room as she spoke. "How
could I forget?" Jamie and Cassie were visibly confused by the bitterness in
her voice, but apparently they knew better than to ask. I felt a twinge of
guilt when I saw how angry Taylor was, but I still wanted her as much as I
always had. Cassie and Jamie saw the tension between us and excused themselves
quickly.

I started having flashbacks of those nights with Taylor, earlier that year.
Stared at her dark shiny hair and remembered how it had looked matted with cum.
Stared at the full, soft lips and remembered how heavenly they'd felt kissing
my dick. The images continued; the redness of her ankles when we untied them,
the muscles in her perfectly shaped legs straining when we forced them so far
apart, the bloody streaks across her flat stomach, the blistering burns on her
chest. She said something that I didn't hear and I recalled the sweet sound of
that voice begging me. And last of all I remembered the way her eyes had
looked, those intensely beautiful blue eyes, shining with tears, so helpless
and so desperate. A siren wailed outside, and I snapped back to reality.
Looking at Taylor again, I saw that she'd been remembering too; that
breathtaking face was streaked with silent tears. "I don't know what to say," I
admitted in an apologetic voice.

"Really? You never seemed to have that problem when I knew you before." She was
quick with the comeback; the girl hadn't lost her sense of humor. "You could
call me a worthless cunt," she suggested sarcastically, "or you could remind me
that my genes are white trash and that's all I'll ever be. Or tell me I'm a
skanky bitch, that line was always a favorite of yours if I remember
correctly." None of it had ever been true, Taylor had never been anything but
smart and beautiful and talented and incredibly classy, but the harsh words had
always elicited a nice reaction from her once they were repeated enough. She
was so strong, too, and I could see her trying to be strong and angry now. But
the fury I'd seen in her eyes before was gone, and her face revealed nothing
but fear and pain and confusion.

"Taylor, I really am sorry." So it wasn't a great line, but I was otherwise
occupied staring at the satin bra strap peeking out next to one strap of her
black tank top, disappearing over a tanned shoulder. Taylor laughed, a fake,
dismissive kind of laugh, and she took a long drag of her cigarette.

"Well thanks, Mike," she finally said. "I really appreciate that."

"Seriously, though, I never meant to hurt you." It was a lie, of course,
although it was true that I'd never had anything against her personally. I was
looking for my own pleasure more than her pain, it was just that in my case
they were inevitably combined.

"Sure fooled me," she said, and her voice was getting louder. "Do you know I
have scars? Do you know I have fucking nightmares? Not all from you, of course,
but you did more than your share." Her voice was getting progressively louder
and shakier, and I stayed silent. "What's the matter, Mike, speechless again?
You've always been a man of few works, right? Actions speak louder and all that
shit. So maybe you should just tie me up and piss on me or something. Come on."
Suddenly her voice was challenging. She made a "come here" gesture with her
index finger, daring me to do it. "Come on, mike, fuck me up. You know you want
to. Just do it." She was acting completely out of character and out of control,
but I'd read about stuff like this - memories of trauma making people act a
little psycho, so I wasn't too surprised.

I could see her becoming hysterical, and I walked closer to her put a hand on
her shoulder.
"Taylor, stop it. Don't be like this." She pushed me away with one hand and
laughed again.

"Gotta appreciate the irony of those words. I remember saying words like no,
and don't, and I didn't even expect you to listen."

"What's going on here?" Some guy opened the door and walked right past me,
handing Taylor a bottle of Budweiser.

"Nothing," Taylor said firmly. "Mike was just saying how he has to get going."
Taylor and the guy, I think he was her new boyfriend, walked me to the door.

"Have a good one, man, " he said to me, obviously wasted. I waved good bye and
hailed a cab outside of the building, deciding to head towards a bar that I
knew my friends would be hanging out at. But that last image of Taylor, when
she'd waved goodbye, wearing the tight black tank top, and trendily loose but
still tight enough to be sexy blue jeans, a red sweater tied around her waist
and her lips wrapped around the bottle of beer, was imbedded in my mind.

I'd first noticed her when I was a senior and she was a freshman, she was one
of those girls who you had to notice. I didn't have a chance with her, not
because she was prudish by any means but because she had a boyfriend. And I'd
always had sadistic impulses, by my senior year I'd read extensively on the
subject, and had my share of experience at the New York S&M clubs. Taylor had
in fact been the subject of numerous explicit rape fantasies; I would see her
in the hall one day and have an almost overwhelming urge to see her crying, at
my mercy. I knew her, in an offhand kind of way. While I tended to not have
close friends, I was aquatinted through sports with the whole popular crowd at
school, which Taylor was most definitely a part of.

That summer, I interned at her father's company on Wall Street, and I got to be
good friends with her brother Jon, who also worked there. Jon wasn't quite
three years older than me, though brains and a lot of work had allowed him to
finish school at a record pace. He and I would have long lunches together, and
hang out on weekends, and talk about our mutual, sexually sadistic fantasies. I
found out, September of my freshman year at college, that Jon was acting out
his fantasies with his sister. My initial disgust was lessened by the fact that
Jon and Taylor were not biologically related, and I was nothing short of
ecstatic when he told me he'd never minded sharing.

I remember the first time he brought me to her after he and a couple of friends
had spent almost the whole weekend alone with her. It had been a particularly
extreme night, he told me. I walked into her room, and she was sitting in a
corner, knees to her chest, swaying from side to side. She was wearing nothing
but a loose while v-necked T-shirt, and I saw when she raised her head to see
who'd come in that her makeup was smeared over her tear-soaked face. Blood was
running out of her nose, and more of it stained her T-shirt. She looked like a
little kid, terrified. I could already feel my dick swelling when I walked over
to greet her with "been a long time, right?" I crouched down and placed a hand
on her knee, and I could feel her whole body shake when I touched her. She
started mumbling incoherently, and trying to move away from me, but I didn't
move my hand. "What are you babbling about?" I asked her.

"She's begging you," Jon cut in. "She's saying, please, please don't hurt me.
Right, Taylor?" She nodded furiously.

"What'll she do for me?" I asked Jon.

"She'll do anything I tell her to. Watch.": I looked at Taylor and saw the
emptiness in her eyes, and I doubted she'd even hear him if he spoke to her. He
told her to stand up, and she just whimpered and shook her head. Then something
in his voice changed, and he repeated, "Taylor, stand up NOW, and shut the fuck
up. I'm sick of your pitiful whining." Her expression changed, too, and she got
up. I saw tears welling up in her eyes, but she didn't make a sound. "Now I
want you to crawl over here and beg me to let you suck my dick. And if you
don't do a good enough job, I might just be in a bad enough mood to stick
something big up your ass and stand you up and tie you to the wall and let you
spend the night." As Taylor dropped to her knees and began to crawl, Jon turned
to me and added, "Taylor hasn't slept in almost forty-eight hours, so a
comfortable bed means everything to her right now."

My dick was rock hard as I watched her, naked, on hands and knees, kiss her
brother's feet and beg him. She called him her love, and her master, called
herself worthless and meaningless, and promised him anything if he'd only allow
her to please him, which she said, through tears, was her only possible use in
life, since she wasn't good for anything else. She spent several minutes
pleading before Jon, with a cruel smile, kicked her away and called her
pathetic.

For some reason, his rejection seemed to renew her strength, and the girl had
always had guts. Her tears lessened, and she looked him straight in the eye.
"Jesus Christ, John, give me a break. It's not my fucking problem that you
can't get any in the real world."

He kicked her again, harder, in the stomach, and she doubled over, realized her
mistake, and instantly began apologizing He dropped his pants and told her to
shut up and suck before he got really angry, and she didn't hesitate. I
watched, and imagined what those lips would feel like on me. I watched as he
thrust his hips into her face, sometimes stuffing his dick so far down her
throat that I could see her gasping for air.

After he came, he found a pair of high heeled sandals in Taylor's closet and a
fairly large dildo in a bag that was on the floor. He strapped the heels onto
her feet and stuffed the dildo roughly up her asshole, which produced some very
erotic moans of pain, and had me help him strap her to the wall. I could see
the screws on one wall that he said he'd up in especially for this weekend. Her
ankles tied to two screws, which were placed so far apart that it was difficult
for her to stand. Her wrists were handcuffed together and fastened so that her
entire body was stretched, every muscle taut. Jon found a thin leather belt
that he put through on hook and buckled around her waist, cutting an extra hole
with his pocket knife to make it uncomfortably tight. Lastly, he pulled out a
pair of dull toothed clamps and put them on her nipples, which made her wince
but was apparently the least of her pains.

And then I fucked her for the first time, grinding against the cuts and bruises
that covered parts of her body, pulling occasionally on the nipple clamps, and
noticing that every time I thrust my swollen cock into her sweet, tight pussy,
the plug in her ass also banged up further inside her. I couldn't remember ever
cumming so hard.

After that, Jon brought me a bamboo cane he had, and we listened to Taylor
scream and sob while I beat her legs and stomach and chest with it. She begged
and pleaded for mercy, and her sobbing, hysterical voice was like music to me.
We each fucked her again, ramming brutally into her warm cunt, listening to her
desperate moans, before she passed out from pain, and exhaustion. We didn't
want to ruin her, of course, so we took her down and laid her in bed, making
sure that any open sores were treated with antibiotics and bandaged. We went to
sleep satisfied that night, and it was not by any means the end of our time
with Taylor.

PLEASE feel free to e-mail me with questions, comments, or criticism of this
story, it's my first effort and I'm anxious for feedback. Also, I definitely
have more to write if anyone expresses interest - this story could continue
with many more chapters. My e-mail address in MikeX224@aol.com Also, if you
would like to write a letter or talk to the girl who inspired this story, you
can email her at Tylerbsw@aol.com She would definitely be interested in hearing
from you, I'm sure.

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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