I could hear my cunt squish as I made my way deeper into the park, the fog surrounding me again, almost obliterating my vision as I progressed by touch and intuition. I tried to suppress the continuous sensation emanating from the depths of my throbbing pussy, but all my effort brought was further excitement between my cunt-juice-glazed thighs.
Feeling I couldn't go on like this, I sat down against a tree and pulled my skirt up to my waist, sending my fingers flying to my sopping cunt in furious masturbation so I could finally come and get on my way. But no matter how hard or creatively I manipulated my loose, sticky pussy lips and turgid, stiff clit, all that happened was that I got more turned on.
Realizing that it would take more than my busy fingers to make me come, and, struggling to live, with my incessant arousal, I got up and tried to put my cunt out of my mind, plunging forward in the misty darkness with an agonizing clutch between my legs.
I stumbled through the darkness, despairing of ever seeing light or open spaces again, so dark and increasingly dense was the sinister park. Then, suddenly, my eyes focused on a broad clearing, and as I burst free of the clinging vegetation that had been increasingly hampering me, I realized that I had found a meadow, long wet grass taking the place of the overhanging foliage. Up above, for the first time since I had entered the park, I could see the moon, its light faintly but distinctly struggling through the fog. I noticed that it was a full moon and felt an added eeriness shoot through my body, feeling with the fire between my legs that the mythical power of the full moon was going to turn me into something I couldn't control.
But I had to control myself. It occurred to me that I had to harness my twitching loins and put them to work to create a provocative picture that would attract the rapist if he was anywhere around, without leaving myself hopelessly vulnerable, a hapless victim of my own emotions. I smoothed my skirt down, plastering it over my aching hips and taut belly, feeling the steam of my cunt radiating under the fabric. Making no attempt to curb my swinging hips, I found a path cutting across the meadow and began walking slowly along it, really undulating forward rather than merely putting one foot in front of another. Every nerve in my body was searingly open, waiting for whatever was going to happen next. It occurred to me that, perhaps, revenge was what I was lusting for all along – and the most primal kind of revenge: sexual revenge!
Yes, that was it, I was sure of it. The symbolism was just too glaring to ignore. I knew I had to tame the cruel cock of the rapist and avenge all the victims and Ted's death before I would finally feel the fires within me quell.
Spurred by my insight, I slung my hips viciously as I shimmied forward, calling out in the night to be attacked, set upon, brutalized, as I sought what I was certain was my inevitable avenging collision with the maniac they called the Mad Rapist.
CHAPTER NINE
I was on the far edge of the meadow when I first heard the noise, the sound of someone or something cutting through the tall grass, wet footsteps sloshing in the night.
It was far away, apparently on the other side of the meadow, but unmistakably coming toward me. I peered through the fog, straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of whatever was following me. The mist swirled smokily over the expanse of the meadow, hanging like a stagnant cloud over the grass, defeating my attempt to see anything. However, I could hear the footsteps getting closer, closing in on me as I stood riveted at the edge of the meadow trying to anticipate what was going to happen.
And then suddenly, after what seemed an eternity, I saw it, my eyes picking up a wake of mashed grass that had been left in a trail before I distinguished a dark-clad figure moving in a straight line across the meadow toward me, now within feet of me instead of yards.
Something within me told me to run, that nothing would attract the figure – if it was the rapist – more than an apparently fleeing potential victim. You didn't attract a rapist by offering to fuck him, but by being afraid of him. No, it would be no fun if he thought you wanted to fuck. Force was the hallmark of deviate sex.
As I ran, the fog, which had momentarily abated, fell to the ground again, obscuring my path. Unexpectedly I felt the wet resistance of a large bush I had not seen and toppled backward, landing on a bed of cold, wet meadow grass, my skirt bunching around my waist as my legs parted reflexively from the impact of the spill, the hot mound of my panty-less cunt exposed to the night air, still aroused.
I struggled to get up, not wanting to face my potential assailant in such a helpless position. My hands and feet slid helplessly against the slick grass as I clambered vainly to get up, panic setting in when I realized from the ever-present footsteps that the figure in the fog was getting nearer and nearer, closing in on me.
And then, just when they were so loud they seemed to be crashing in my ears, the footsteps stopped. I cocked my head, searching for them, but there was nothing.
Maybe he lost me, I thought.
I began looking for some traction so I could at least get into a kneeling position to check out the situation. And then, as I moved my hands around, they were no longer touching grass. They were feeling something slick and hard.
Leather!
I was feeling a boot. A pair of boots were resting just inches from me. High-topped, tightly laced boots. Boots whose owner loomed above me right at this moment, holding me as helpless prey for his deranged desires. I was trapped.
I forced myself to look up and rasp, "I know you're there. Who are you?" The boots were so black they just seemed to melt into the night. Their owner was apparently clad in black to avoid detection, so that looking up only brought me a silent, misty cipher as a response to my question.
"Please, please," I pleaded, starting to become frantic, "at least say something… show yourself."
I heard the swishing rustle of leather being swept aside and realized from the air that whooshed above my face, curling the fog, that a cape or heavy cloak was being briskly swirled apart above me. And there before my bulging eyes was the evidence of its removal – over a foot of gleamingly pink, jutting cock, the biggest prick I had ever seen.
I had heard and read enough descriptions of it to know that I was face to face with the legendary cock of the Mad Rapist, looming garishly out of a totally black background, seeming to penetrate the foggy air like a thunderbolt from outer space. It seemed to hang over me like a guillotine as I struggled to get up, slipping and sliding on the wet grass, the cheeks of my bare ass grinding into the soggy morass of the drenched meadow. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make any progress. At first I blamed it entirely on the slippery grass, but finally realized that it was more than that. My cunt seemed anchored to the ground, begging, for the most dangerous cock to which it had ever been exposed.
It was clear now. I was the hopeless prisoner of indecision, my brain screaming for me to flee and my cunt begging me to stay, my helpless body paralyzed by the tumult raging within it. As I cringed, throwing my arms over my face in terror, my cunt did just the opposite, thrusting itself upward, foaming at the swollen lips and begging to be fucked, wantonly lusting for the thrill of thrills.
I didn't have long to wait as leather-gloved hands, invisible in the misty darkness, grasped my hips, pulling the lower part of my body upward, drawing my lusting cunt toward the twitching cock that filled my eyes with its glistening immensity. Kneeling, the darkly invisible figure gradually lowered itself to meet my loins midway until, shockingly, I felt the first nudge of the enormous prick against my straining hungry pussy, the drooling lips of my cunt sliding against the powerful prick.