Uncle Tom and me

By: Alcarisma

UNCLE Tom and me, we work as a team. Moving around the country servicing clients. We're proud of our efforts, always strive to do a professional job. The job description? Rapists to the Rich. In the course of a day's work we might pick up a little cash, the odd fancy camera, jewellery and stuff. But thieving's not really our game. We just love the chase, all the planning and then the sex. Oh yes, the sex. They say rape is about power, not sex, but I beg to disagree. Ask old Tom. The big blackamoor can never get enough. I would say he's a bit greedy even. And I never tire of watching him on the job because actually he's made it into something of an art form and sometimes I'm quite happy to open a bottle of wine, provided our hostess has a supply of decent claret, and indulge in some spectator sport.

Today, for example. Tom's removed his pants for this one and his heavy tool is pumping her from behind with such urgency that you would think he was drilling for oil. And her underwear is around her ankles which is one of his trademarks 'cos he don't like 'em fully naked and her bra is pulled up over her tits for the same reason and all the sweating, panting and crying adds a heady spice to the steamy old broth.

The client displays a decent amount of terror which is nice 'cos we like to think of ourselves as Urbane Terrorists helping to tip the social scales back into balance as it were. Not that we ever carry out our threats to carve these ladies up, cut off their breasts, scar them for life with acid and all that kind of menacing nonsense.

Tom and me, we are white hot for the pleasuring but we don't do violence. Just now the old boy is about to reach his first climax. The brunette object of his passion is bawling her eyes out so he gives her a little slap to calm her down, pulls out and sends a hot gusher up over her back.

My oh my, just look at that thing, coal black and with the texture of a rhinoceros hide. 'Cos Tom's well into his second midlife crisis although it don't appear to have dampened his enthusiasm.

This woman, says her name is Bonnie, smells of fear and expensive perfume and she has a nice house, all tastefully done out, so we make her pull up her pants and get her to straighten herself out before bundling her into the big bedroom for a little more social research.

Tom spreadeagles her on the bed and ties her hands and feet to the ironwork while I sort through her stuff in the drawers. I'm looking for sex toys and the like to get an angle on what Bonnie and her husband are up to in bed but there's nothing like that, only a modest pile of banknotes so we'll have those for a start.

Meanwhile, Tom's gaze has been roaming over Bonnie's curves and the bulge in his trousers signals that he's ready for more, so down they come and he's on the bed astride the woman who tries to look away only Tom insists, she has to keep her eyes on his huge erection until it dribbles pre-cum in sympathy with the tears trickling down her cheeks and he gently slips her pink panties down until they are strung between her open legs, then grunts contentedly as he enters her and the big pump starts grinding.

Actually, for all her distress she's lucky this one. 'Cos it's Monday and Tom's rules of engagement mean that he won't be able to indulge in any of his favorite perversions, just straight sex on behalf of all those deprived slum-dwellers who will never get the chance to see a bedroom like this let alone penetrate the inner recesses of its fragrant mistress.

Tom's cumming again and since it's straight sex he'll drop this load inside. And to be honest the action so far has got me going as well so I expose my manhood while unclasping Bonnie's bra and letting her generous breasts loose so that they fall to each side, lovely things. That's one thing I insist on. Tom can have his little quirks but our clients must have good-sized titties.

So while Tom shudders to a halt inside Bonnie, I trail a snake of pre-cum over her lips. She squirms and gags and gasps: ''Why are you doing this?''

Tom wipes his brow, croons back: ''Honey, it's just that you are the object of man's desire and there ain't nuthin' more to it and if'n you had the sense to be born ugly none of this would have happened.''

As if to say: Now look what you been and gone and made me do. To be honest, it's been a heavy few weeks and I'm not at full stretch so I content myself with a quick bang (won't say it wasn't most enjoyable) and finish up by shooting over her face which is the way they do it in porn movies although I do think some of them could try to be a bit more adventurous.

Leaving Bonnie tied to the bed gives us a bit of time to get clear of the house and stroll to where we've left the car a few blocks away. We've got some miles to cover before the next assignment and that's one I'm really relishing.

Tom and I have been researching the project on and off for months. We first set eyes on Jane gunning her Porsche out of a carpark so fast that she almost ran us down. She swore and gave us the finger as if it was all our fault and that's when we decided to give her a special character reading in the comfort of her home.

Some home, too. A few days' surveillance led us to the swanky pad Jane shares with her broker husband Greg. We checked out their names and backgrounds through discreet inquiries. On a later visit to the area we decided to get close and personal to the golden couple, observe their lifestyle as it were, 'cos we're always conscious of our mission and its social obligations.

Naturally they have dinner parties attended by loads of glamorous people and Jane seems to spend half her day at the hairdressers and at her health club while ol' Greg blasts off downtown to make more millions at whatever financial sharkpool he swims in.

Tom, who has done his share of housebreaking and the like and is an electronic geek, gains access without difficulty and bugs their vast bedroom for a laugh. Some nights, when we've got nothing better to do, we hunker down in our van and eavesdrop, nearly pissing ourselves at their idiotic small talk about money and status and stuff. Then it's bed and all the usual huffing and puffing which doesn't interest me much although a glance at Tom tells me is paying close attention.

One thing does emerge, however, and that is Jane's aversion to oral sex. Poor ol' Greg is always pestering her for a blowjob but Jane's having none of it and usually has to give him a handjob instead.

Mental note to self: Must get Tom to teach her some manners. She's a bit of a bitch actually which you can get away with when you're her age, mid-30s, but won't go down too well when she's a wrinkled old shrew.

Well, it's finally time to start the ball rolling, a Friday which is fine for Tom's precious rules and regs and won't tie his hands in any way. Jane has a morning appointment after Greg leaves for work which gives Tom plenty of time to dismantle the alarms.

We are nicely settled in the lounge when we hear the Porsche crunching up the drive. There's a back entrance where our van, false plates and all and newly painted with the name of a bogus cleaning firm, is parked. Big Maxwell, that's Tom's boxer dog, is snoozing peacefully inside. More about him later. So I'm slumped in a leather armchair slurping wine when I hear Jane enter through the front door. She moves into the kitchen area and starts rattling about, maybe preparing a meal. I'm eyeing up the pictures on the wall to see if any are worth taking later when Tom, already getting over-excited, trips over his big feet and brings a heavy oriental vase crashing to the floor.

In a flash Jane's rushing into into the room, eyes wide with fright when she spots the intruders. Tom jumps her and pins her arms behind her back while I tape her mouth. Tom shoves her roughly into one of the armchairs. He's a gentle giant really but we have to do a bit of terror to get the client's co-operation. Tom brandishes one of his props, a wicked looking blade. That should do the trick. Jane's cowering, panting with fear. I pour another glass of claret and survey the scene. Plenty of time. Good wine, good taste. Cool. Tom doesn't drink alcohol, no stimulation required.

Pawing the floor like a stallion already. So what's in the package? Calls for a little unwrapping maybe. She's wearing a designer dress in a pastel blue which goes well with her blonde hair. Dark eyebrows, though, so not a natural blonde. We'll have to see. Big tits, of course, just a peep of bra strap showing at the shoulder. I like that. Tom wants to play games so first we have to guess what color panties she's wearing. I say blue to match the dress and Tom goes for white. He flicks her dress up over her knees. They're white and frilly which means he gets to go first.

Next it's that blonde hair. As Tom runs his hands up her thighs she lashes out with her legs but a wave of the knife settles her down again. He slips off her panties, kneels down at the front of the chair and pries her legs open. Grunts. Not blonde. Trimmed.

First task: shave the rest of that tidy bush. Tom carries lengths of cord. I slap Jane's face and show her what to do. Chest strapped to chair, legs over each arm of the chair, ankles tied to the stumpy wooden chair feet. Like she was in gyno stirrups. A perfect cunt now exposed, flared lips complete with clit ring.

I marvel that a woman who exudes so much sex can't bring herself to suck her husband's dick, but there you are. It takes all sorts. Tom has been exploring the bathroom, returns with Greg's electric shaver and a razor. He has removed his trousers and is highly inflamed. You can tell he thinks she's a special case this one. My god yes. Jane sobs quietly as Tom fires up the shaver and buzzes between her legs before lathering her and smoothing everything with the razor. He's panting like a dog, buries his nose in her bare slit, tugs at the clit ring with his teeth.

She's a beauty, toned and tanned, and I can't wait to get at those tits. Tom releases the cords, hauls Jane to her feet, tears off the dress. He hauls her bra down over her magnificent breasts, forces her to all fours and mounts her. I roll under her so that her swinging tits brush my face as Tom gets into his rhythm. We stay like that for some time until Tom remembers that Jane needs instructing in fellatio and pulls out.

He rips the tape from her mouth and thrusts his glistening cock into her face. ''Now bitch, suck it.'' Jane gives a wild shake of her head. ''Suck it or I'll cut you.'' Jane takes the throbbing organ in her mouth and gags.

It's my turn to mount her from behind and I do so with pleasure. Tom forces his cock into her mouth and pumps while Jane gags and dribbles. He blows his load and it trickles down her chin and forms a pool on the fluffy white carpet. I cum inside her and she slumps to the carpet curled up in a ball.

Intermission. I pour another glass of claret while Tom pads to the kitchen for a fruit juice, his heavy ball sac slapping between his legs. When he comes back he says: ''I'll get Maxwell.'' Tom puts his trousers back on, scoops Jane's panties off the floor and stuffs them in his pocket. See ol' Max, waiting in the van out the back, has been trained to share his master's love of women and one sniff of Jane's panties is all it will take to drive him into a frenzy of anticipation.

While Tom goes for the dog I get Jane on all-fours again and give myself a treat. She has prominent nipples which will look even better stretched and adorned so I tie each one tightly with cotton until the purpled buds are standing to attention. She moans with pain and humiliation but I pay no heed. I prick her nipples with the tip of the blade, just a touch to remind her who's in charge, before ramming her again from the rear, urgent strokes inside her silky hole while I tug at the cotton like a pair of reins to make her tits swing. She cums with a shudder, hates herself for it but can't help it. I know from experience that many women will experience involuntary orgasm during rape because their bodies cannot simply close off from the intense stimulation. Jane bucks and a high-pitched nasal whine comes from her mouth just as I blow my wad and Max tows Tom into the room.

Within a second the slobbering hound has identified the source of the scent from the panties and has his wet nose buried in the blonde bitch's smooth crack. He licks her anus furiously and scrambles to mount her. Horror is etched on her face. She cannot believe what is happening. Tom tightens the lead and lets the dog, already starting to cum, mount. Max humps eagerly.

Now Tom has his cock in the woman's mouth, his balls ready to gush. His eyes glisten. He is in a transport of sensation and pleasure. So that's how we finish the lesson. And what a sensation it has been! Tom and me and Max, we all love this woman's body, her cunt, tits, her slippery sensuous bits and pieces. Love them. She hates what has been done to her but she will have her revenge, of course. The Rapists to the Rich, having left a trail of DNA and other clues across the nation, will die in prison. While I'm thinking about this, wondering how long it will take the dog to unknot from Jane's well-fucked hole, I pour the last glass of wine and say to Tom: ''Ever think of retiring from this game? It's exhausting.''

The End