Karen – Cut


It was her fucking day off. It was Saturday. Her boss has called. She had to go to the office to finish a project. The deadline had moved and it needed to be completed THIS Monday, not Monday two weeks from now, like originally planned.

He just forgot to tell her. That son of a bitch. She was sure he did it on purpose.

“Yeah right.” she said to herself, pissed off as she entered the office building, her high heel wedge sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor of the entrance hall.

She wiggled her butt around to re-lock the door. After all, she was alone in the whole building. The hell with the proper working attire: tight jeans, leather jacket and high heel sneakers it is. If she’s going to work on the weekend, at least, she would work dressed like she wanted. Fuck the dress code.

She pressed the button of the elevator. She never understood why that thing parked itself halfway up the building when not used for 10 minutes. Why the middle of the damn building? Oh yes. The Big Brass offices were there. Sure, they had the elevator for themselves. Bunch of retards.

As she waited for the elevator, she never heard the creepy man walking behind her, head covered by a baklava. When she felt something near her, it was too late. The strong man wrapped his arms around her body, squishing her against himself while pressing a wet rag on her mouth.

She tried to scream, to kick him, but the soft soles of the sneakers didn’t do much. Quickly, everything around her began to spin, to blurr. She was fighting but it was as if she was in some sort of goo. All her movements were slow, imprecise. She could figure out that she was dragged, backward, toward the mechanical room of the building. She knew what it was because it was written on the door but she had no clue of what was inside.

The heavy doors opened as he pushed on them and they closed on the familiar entrance hall, cutting her from the world she knew.

Now, there she was, amidst a bunch of large pipes and other machinery. She tried to fight but it’s as if her limbs were not responding.

He laid her, sitting on a pile of shipping pallets. While her captor held the wet rag over her mouth with one hand, he picked some pinkish stretch tape and began to wrap the rag over her mouth. That tape looked vaguely familiar. Yes, it was the same tape her veterinarian used on her cat when it was fixed. Vet tape. Or vet wrap? Vet something. She wondered why she was thinking about what this thing was called instead of fighting for her life.

Perhaps the drug, whatever it was, on that rag.

The man began to undress her. He quickly removed her sneakers then struggled with her jeans. They were really tight. He simply pulled them by flipping them over. 

Karen didn’t help nor did she resist either. She was, she felt like a zombie. Then it was her silk panties that were taken off, followed by her leather jacket, her T-shirt and her bra.

There she was, sitting on a wood pallet, completely naked, except for that rag taped around her mouth. She was shy, ashamed, afraid, but her mind was stuck in a loop, unable to think much, unable to move, unable to react.

The man approached with a pile of soft and shiny… something. She could hardly figure out what it was. In fact, it looked like a pile of liquid tar. Or was it rubber?

He took whatever it was in his hand and stretched her arms way over his head, the pile of shiny stuff unfolded, revealing a catsuit. Yes, she was right, it looked like rubber. A rubber catsuit?

Who would wear that silly thing? And why was he showing it to her? No, he wasn’t about to put her in this thing. There was no zipper. How…

He kneeled and stretched its neck.

“You’re kidding.” she thought, giggling in her head. “I’ll never fit in this thing. Ha! You’re screwed!”

But the neck opening stretched a lot as he fed one foot then the other and worked the tight rubber collar up her legs, reaching her upper thighs before he began to gather the suit on her legs, pushing it up until her feet followed the legs, down to the attached socks.

Again, in her head only, she was giggling as he worked each toe into its individual pocket of the toe socks. That felt weird.

She wiggled them. Well, she tried, nothing moved. Her toes were not responding.

He pulled the suit up her legs removing the wrinkles as he went up, making sure it was well stretched.

Then he had her stand up. Of course, she could barely stand up. Her legs were not responding. If she was leaning one side, the rest of her body was following. 

He put her back down on the pallets and grabbed a strong rope. He threw the rope over some overhead pipes, making a makeshift noose at one end.

He grabbed Karen again, putting her hands together in the noose then yanking the rope up, tying the loose end to some machinery.

There she was, standing up, thanks to her arms being stretched over her head.

He went back to the suit, pulling on it, getting the collar… damn, was it really a collar? This thing was being stretched over her large breasts! It would be so stretched that the suit would fall off. She thought.

Again, once the suit was over her breasts, he pulled on the bottom part of it, removing the wrinkles, making sure the suit was well in place.

He removed her right wrist from the noose and folded it and struggled to insert it through the neck, stretching it a lot to do so, then to guide the arm inside the sleeve, down to the attached glove, feeding each finger into it’s latex pocket, before putting that arm back into the noose and freeing the other one, performing the same procedure.

As the collar rode up her left shoulder, completing the process, Karen felt the tight and warm rubber engulf her, expelling the last pockets of air through the narrow neck opening which was still very stretchy and quite tight around her neck, to her amazement.

He left her hanging there for a few moments before returning and wrapping something rather thick and heavy around her waist. Soon, that thing was getting tightened. Again. And again. She felt as if she was compressed into a vase. She tried to fight it, to resist, but her belly muscles were not responding and her stretched position actually made her tummy smaller.

The mysterious man tugged again and again on the lacing, getting the corset smaller until she could only breathe with short gasps.

He disappeared again and she felt her arms being stretched even more, almost lifting her off the floor. The little movements she could do, to which her body responded, was stretching her feet, and her toes barely touched the ground.

He kneeled at her feet and began to put them into strange boots, keeping her feet pointing down. She had heard of ballet boots before but never personally seen any, even less worn them.

He tightly laced the short booties before wrapping her ankles with a wide leather cuff and attaching a long steel rod between them, forcing her legs apart.

So, there she was, leg stretched open, standing on her toes, held up by her arms. Hell, she wouldn’t have been able to stand up by herself on those extreme boots.

He came back with a lumb of shiny rubber. She could see his devilish smile behind the small hole of his wool baklava. 

He presented the opening to her face and forced the rather tight latex bag over her head, getting it down to her nose, squishing it, before taking the vet wrap and the rag with the drug off. He then pulled the hood down, feeding its large yoke under the collar of the suit, consolidating the seal.

She tried to scream but only a muffled sound came out, as if even her vocal chords were numb. He giggled. He knew she had tried to scream but the little meow that came out instead sounded funny. approaching with a head harness which had a large leather flap over the mouth. He forced her mouth open to insert the large penis shape gag that was attached to said panel and tightened the harness at the back of her head.

She felt the hard rubber plug fill her mouth, pin her tongue down, almost tickle her uvula, teasing her gag reflex.

Holding her firmly, he removed her hands from the noose, wrapped a leather cuff around each one and linked them together with a steel carabiner, hooking it back to the noose to stretch her arms back up.

She was in the same position but the leather cuffs were somewhat more comfortable than the rope directly on her wrists.

She heard a sound, like a hum. It was him. He was humming a song as he kneeled in front of her and reached for her crotch. She felt a zipper being opened.

Two latex tubes fell out of the zipper opening. He took one and with his fingers, aligned it to the vagina, and aligned the other one to the rectum.

Karen tried to move, to twist to get away from this invasion, but couldn’t. Although the rag wasn’t there anymore, the drug was still affecting her.

Eyes wide, she felt a large intruder being forcibly pushed inside her butt hole, quickly followed by another, larger intruder, in her front hole, and the zipper shut.

He disappeared again and she used that time to try to force the intruders out, but her muscles didn’t respond or did but too weakly to do any good. When he came back, she felt something being wrapped around her waist. She heard metal sounds and some clicking as if something was getting locked. He placed himself in front of her, bent and reached for some kind of strap and pulled it between her legs, forcing the intruders deeper. He worked at the waist, she assumed at the belt he had just installed, her corset cutting off most of the sensations of what was going on. Again, she heard metal clinking and heard a click. He then took a few steps back, smiling, evidently happy with his work.

Still humming, he took a large mirror and approached Karen.

What she saw in it was a wonderful curvaceous woman with an incredibly thin waist, stretched legs apart, wearing a shiny steel belt around her corseted waist and another steel band going through her crotch.

She knew what it was, and she also knew that, pushing as hard as she could, she would never get those intruders out of her body. Not the way the tight crotch band was pushing on them.

But what was his goal? Why all this setup? Was he a slave trader? Was she getting sold? Why this extensive setup, the latex catsuit, the corset, ballet boots, the chastity belt.

He took place sitting on the pallet stack right in front of her and began to play with his phone, as if waiting for something.

During that waiting time, the drug paralyzing Karen was wearing off and she was beginning to move, to squirm, to fight her bonds. She began by testing her wrist bonds, if she could pull hard enough on it to get free, but all she managed was to lift herself off the floor.

He looked up and smiled. He played with his phone some more and… Karen twitched and let out a muffled yelp.

The intruders became alive. Both of them. He was looking, smiling. Only that.

Karen tried to repress the feeling but she couldn’t. She heard about forced orgasms but didn’t believe in them. There was no way someone could force a woman to orgasm. She would fight it. She would deny the feeling, she would… gawd… that felt so good.

No. No way. He will not wiuuuuuwww. Shit. That was awesome, it feels so go…. No. She focused her mind, she shook her head. But the harder she was vibrated, the harder she was breathing. However, the corset and the gag impaired with her breathing and… it aroused her? No fucking way. That was not something that turned herself oooooooonnn… Oh gosh!! That was so good. 

She closed her eyes, threw her head backward, and squirmed in her bonds.

No, it was impossible that feeling that tight latex over her body, feeling the sweat built up between it and her skin, struggling against the corset, feeling her arms being pulled up, her mouth filled with that thing, impairing her breathing, her swallowing, her feet in pointed boots, unable co close her legs, the vibrating toys relentlessly teasing her was not, COULD NOT arouse  her to the point of having an orga…

That was just too much. Her body was taken by strong convulsions. She stopped denying the orgasm exploding inside her. She screamed through her gag, a muffled scream. She was balancing on her arms.

He was laughing, holding his phone, recording everything.

The orgasm was powerful, more than she experienced before. Hell, it was nothing like she experienced before.

The hormones slowly wore off, but the toys were still doing their things. The man played with his phone and the vibration pattern changed.

Oh shit. How will she explain this to her boss? She thought.

Merely a few minutes after having her first forced orgasm, she was getting another one. But this time, she was not fighting it. No, she was welcoming it. Why not better live it the strongest way possible.

She felt the bonds on her wrists, her suspension, the hood wrapping her head, the suit compressing her breasts, her arms, her thighs, the corset crushing her waist and the huge intruders doing their dance. She wanted it. She wanted more.

She raised her legs in the air, bending at the knee. Suspending herself fully on her wrists.

That triggered the second orgasm. Powerful. Overwhelming. For a moment, her mind went away. She wasn’t there anymore. She was somewhere else, on another city, another continent, another planet, hell, another universe. A universe of pure pleasure. It was like an electric current running from her bound feet to her bound wrists, going back and forth, but instead of shocking her, it was triggering every nerve ending the most pleasurable way.

Panting hard, half unconscious, the orgasm subsided. The man, still recording, got closer, showing close up of her setup, of the leather cuffs, of the chastity belt, of her eyes half closed but decisively pleased. She couldn’t hide it.

He removed the spreading bar, then holding her tightly against his strong body, he removed the carabiner holding her wrists to the rope.

Her arms fell lifeless along the side of her body and if he hadn’t been there to hold her, she would have collapsed on the ground. Not because of the drug, not because of the heels, but because of her brain still being short-circuited by the orgasm, slowly reconnecting the neurons into a functional woman.

He dragged her back to the pallet stack and sat her. She could barely hold herself. He turned around and looked at the back of the room.

“Aaaaaaand… Cut! That was perfect Karen. Thank you Derek. Awesome.” said the man behind a large camera.

Karen raised an exhausted hand in a gesture to thank him for the compliment. That might be just a scene of a movie but what she felt was real. That was fucking good.

The cameraman, evidently also the movie director, walked to a table where there was a computer and a monitor.

“What is that? No, no, no. That won’t do. Shit.” he said, walking under a lamp and turning it a few centimeters, then returning to the camera.

“Damn it. That light created too much glare. It didn’t show in the viewport of the camera but in the final movie, it’s really annoying. Okay… Take fifteen and Karen, step back into your jeans. We’re doing it again.”

Karen raised her eyes, half opened, still high on hormones.

“Really? For a third time?”

The End.

© monsterp63

2nd of April 2022

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6 thoughts on “Karen – Cut

  1. A mean violent fantasy with an entirely loving ending – I love it. The story creates excitement, about reluctance to violence and a smirk. I will think about it for a long time. Thank you!

    1. Yeah, but “PornHub” isn’t exactly the “big screen”. 😉

      Although, if there was a fetish movie, I wonder who would be best to play Karen?
      From the fetish community, I would be tempted to suggest Vespa from Reflective Desires.
      From Hollywood? No idea.

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