A Stripper Serial Killer Sociopath

He almost said "fuck me" out loud, but stopped himself, remembering that could be interpreted two different ways. She knew how good he was feeling right now, and made sure to only move incredibly slowly. The heat of the balm magnified any small friction between her tight anal passage and his cock. In slow motion, she gently rocked up and down, then slightly forwards and backwards, letting his heated greased up cock slowly explore her at different angles. Stanley's balls tightened against her sweet cheeks. He could feel her pussy juices running down his sack.

"Mmmm" Cara moaned. "If you don't blow your backed up load into my back door, you can experience my pussy next." she promised, giggling at her own pun. "You wouldn't believe what I can do with my vaginal muscles" she continued. "I can grip you much tighter than my ass, so you can impregnate me with your big hot load". Blindfolded, the dirty talk was too much. Stanley clenched every muscle in his body in a death-lock. She saw what he was attempting to do and sped up on his shaft. He would bite his tongue if he had to. But first, try clenching everything as hard as possible to induce pain. He felt some of his bones shifting. He heard some disturbing crackling noises as his joints protested from the strain. It was working, but now she was full on riding him. He was mostly numb to the pleasure and focused on his muscle pain now.

Before the pain faded completely, she stopped riding him. His dick slid out of her firm tight ass with an obscene popping noise, and landed on his belly with a soft thud, still heavy with the remaining greasy balm. He shuddered exhausted in his restraints. He couldn't tell how long he had lasted this time, but he had learned a useful trick for the next time. He wondered how many days it had been, and cursed himself for not keeping track of the month's end somehow. Still blindfolded, he assumed the lights went out. He felt himself being washed with a cloth and then left alone again.

Chapter 10 - Fourth session

The lights came on. The blindfold was off. Cara was in scrubs again. With both disappointment and relief, Stanley thought this wasn't going to be a sex session. She seemed to know when he would talk, and when he wouldn't. Wordlessly, using her electric needles, Cara seemed to be able to operate Stanley like a puppet. The needles manipulated him into losing control of his bladder and, to his shame, emptying his bowels. The electric wand could prevent his muscles from atrophying. She went through all of his bodily maintenance needs, except one. He felt degraded as she hosed him off. He thought of several different things to say, but in the end stayed silent. It was useless to try to persuade her. Unless he killed himself by biting his tongue or ejaculating, he realized she could keep him here indefinitely. His only hope was that if there was one quality Stanley had in spades, it was being stubborn. He would not let Cara win easily. He would make it to the end of the month... and then what? She had no incentive to keep her word. Why would she let him go? Why would she even stop at 1 month? What if he simply came in his sleep, through a wet dream? There was nothing he could do about that. She was certainly giving him enough fodder for a nocturnal emission. Annoyed, he stopped questioning himself right there. There was no end to that road. He just accepted that he had to try his best to make it. He wasn't a fighter, or a smooth talking manipulator, but passive resistance had to be his specialty. The procrastinator's true skill; he would endure, if only to salvage what remaining pride he had remaining.

"Stanley," Cara finally said. "You realize I could make you cum with just the needles right?"

Stanley didn't reply. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, and he didn't trust himself enough to speak right now. He looked at her face for clues, but he was bad at reading people. All he saw was a pretty face that could make a man fall in love with a complete sociopath. "Stockholm Syndrome" flashed into his mind. It was almost the appropriate context, but he didn't think he was suffering from it at all. He was quite sure he wanted freedom, and just as sure he could live without her "helping" him.

Cara surprised him by opening up to him, telling him about her childhood; even giving him clues about her other victims. Mostly, she just talked about neuroscience. Stanley didn't care. He was exhausted and frustrated in more ways than one. He listened only for clues that might help him escape, and the rest he honestly could not even remember, his memory was not great to begin with, and he wasn't in mood to process information. Cara didn't seem to mind that he wasn't really listening either. She just enjoyed her monologue. "She really could talk to a rock" Stanley thought. He felt a mixture of shame, self-pity, and even boredom. Again, his stubbornness carried through. Eventually, Cara finished her maintenance, her monologue, and the lights went off. Stanley felt sad he couldn't think of any way to manipulate her into freeing him.

Chapter 11 - Fifth session

The lights went on; Cara was dressed in another outrageously slutty outfit, tight and showing too much skin. Stanley wasn't having it. "Is today the day you use your pussy?" he guessed preemptively, surprising himself. She looked at him. Was she hurt that he had guessed? So was he right?

She exited the room and quickly returned with a syringe. Uh oh. Swabbing his arm, she emptied it into his arm and then waited. He felt the effects almost immediately. Fuck. His pupils dilated and he could suddenly feel the restraints against his body, as if they were best friends hugging him. As though she could anticipate his question, she told him the chemical name of what she had injected him with. But he couldn't really process audio information right now. Now his world was purely tactile, his sense of touch magnified far beyond the norm. Sleepy... dreamy. He tried to focus on Cara but he seemed to have kaleidoscope vision. It was incredibly hard to focus when he could feel everything. Even the climate controlled air blowing across his skin caused his brain to go wild, like he was being rubbed by invisible silk sheets. She must be trying to make him cum by giving him some drug that made him extra sensitive! He couldn't stop licking his own lips. It felt too amazing.

The restraint table moved him to his laying down position. The last part of Stanley that was still coherent realized this meant she was probably going to mount him again. Mentally, he was far gone, but instinctively, he tried clenching again. He couldn't. His muscles were completely relaxed. He had no way of escaping now, mentally or physically. He remembered the idea of biting his tongue. Strangely, he couldn't find it any more. In his daze, he knew he was losing it. All he could feel was his skin, magnified a hundred times in his brain. Cara began working his soft cock in her mouth. Transcendent pleasure. The drug magnified the pleasure intensely, but it also prevented him from getting completely hard. He could only get a semi hard-on. His cock extended to its full length, but sagged slightly instead of standing up.

Cara continued to work his semi. She deepthroated him so far that her nose was touching his belly. Exquisite. He felt like he could feel light particles. He still couldn't get completely hard. She even licked his balls while holding him in full deepthroat. He could no longer tell if he was hard or not. It felt amazing though. In his warped perception, he was watching a thousand versions of himself get blowjobs, except he could feel all of them at once. He managed a deranged smile. Here he was, winning, without even trying. The drug plan had completely backfired. He was too sensitive to its adverse effects. He would never be able to cum now.

"I gave you the drug so you'd be sensitive, without being able to cum too quickly" Cara explained.

"Oh" Stanley said, after a long delay of trying to figure out what she had said. Now he pictured a thousand versions of himself looking wrong. He was feeling extremely silly for believing he had been winning.

"I told you, I could just use the needles to make you cum." Cara repeatedly patiently.

Stanley was too far gone to understand.

He felt like he had reached a new plane of existence that no one else could ever discover. She inserted his mostly hard dick into her pussy. She didn't bother teasing him; there was no point now, he couldn't comprehend what was happening. Stanley was drooling with bliss, moaning and making a complete fool of himself. His eyes rolled back into his head as she rode him gently. He babbled incoherently, clearly enjoying himself in a way no normal man could. At one point, he started laughing uncontrollably, as though he were under the influence of the needles again. It was impossible to tell how much time passed as she fucked him. In his state of semi consciousness, he was unaware of when the lights went out.

Chapter 12 - Sixth session

Cara was naked this time, except for the electric needles in her hands. Her nipples were exactly as he had imagined them to be. She mounted Stanley, face to face. He was fully aware and rock hard. Unceremoniously, she lowered herself slowly onto his hard cock. He betrayed no clue to his pleasure, except for a brief twitch on his face. He had become mentally toughened by the sessions now, a different person. The pleasure was merely annoying today - he was detached to the abuse. As she rode him, he only passively wondered whether he could find an opening to bite her jugular. Then what would he do after that? Die strapped to the table? What a waste. She stopped riding him and let herself sink all the way down onto him. His cock was fully inside her pussy now. He was able to mentally block out most of the pleasure, although he legitimately couldn't tell if he was hard or not at this point.

Her pussy lips were split on his pelvic mound, almost completely hiding his cock. She began manipulating him with the needles. She wasn't moving on him, but he began to feel an intensely warm build-up in his long abused balls. Her pretty face was inches from his, and she was watching his every reaction intently. Should he try to bite her? The thought was washed away in a flood as the intense build-up continued, and he saw her pupils dilate. She knew too. It was time.

Without warning, all of the usual signals his body gave him when edging were bypassed; he was cumming! He was merely her puppet, an object to be used. He broke his silence and screamed right in her face, as loudly as he could. He felt his floor muscles contract, effortlessly pulsing stream after thick stream of hot cum inside her. Involuntarily, he spasmed as hard as he could in his restraints while screaming at the top of his lungs the entire time. He heard himself gasping for air. His blood burned. He whited out. His hips instinctively tried to buck. He felt his hot cum bottom out in her and start to splash back down his cock, and he continued spurting - six... seven... eight massive spurts, he lost count. Spurt after spurt, it was beginning to backwash out now, flooding with nowhere to go. Each new spurt created a fresh pulse of cum flooding out of her tight pussy lips, pooling around the base of his cock. It seemed endless, until he was spasming idiotically but nothing more was coming out. He had long run out of breath for screaming. Foaming at the mouth, he closed his eyes and then he blacked out.

Stanley woke up, in his car, in the parking lot of the university library. He couldn't remember when he had fallen asleep. He felt empty, in every sense of the word, but not sure why. He also felt groggy and cold; his window had been rolled down. He looked around in confusion. Unconsciously, he touched his hair, instead feeling smooth skin. Where was his hair? Adjusting, he looked in the rearview mirror and noticed his own bald scalp, with a barely visible circular row of stitches around the crown. "Okay" he said to himself numbly. He was definitely confused now. He felt like he had woken from a bad dream, but wasn't sure if it was over yet. With the distinct feeling he was forgetting something important, he tried starting his car. He felt too spent to have any hope of recalling it and was glad when it barely started, and drove home automatically.