Posts Tagged ‘ masked man ’

Masked Boyfriend Fucks Crying Lady Like A Canine

January 25, 2018
By

Ellie was inside her bedroom, preparing for the weekend when suddenly a guy wearing a mask forces himself on her. He makes her suck his cock plenty of times, and rams his thick dick on her tight and dry cunt until she cries out in pain. More At GirlsRavished.Com.

Masked Pop Attacks

January 21, 2018
By

 

A stranger trespassed in her apartment, and she was too scared to fight him off. He began harassing her, then told her she will be killed off if she didn’t submit to his demands. See what happens to her in Abusedteenagers.com.

Blonde Lady Brutally Ravish For Hump

January 17, 2018
By


Innocent college coed gets brutalized and forced to have sex by a masked man. She didn’t mind the news in her college so she became the next victim.Only at Abusedteenagers.com.

# The Night They Ganged Up On Cyndi

Cyndi Dawson was 25 and very pretty. She was, as one neighbor would
describe her, “really slapped together”. She was younger than most of
the women in the neighborhood and they were jealous of her. Whenever
she went outside to work in her yard the men of the neighborhood found
a reason to go outside.

She had thick, dark, shoulder length brown hair, and a curvaceous body
that she made no great effort to hide from anyone. In the summer she
favored halter tops and cut-off jeans. In the winter she wore tight
sweaters and equally tight skirts or jeans. The bra industry did not
prosper because of her. In fact her very firm 36C breasts appeared even
larger when she wore certain ribbed sweaters – another favorite of
hers.

But Cyndi had a weakness. Two, really.

The first weakness was alcohol. She couldn’t hold her booze at all. Two
beers and she’d be climbing on top of tables to dance. Three and her
skirt would be up around her waist. She had no inhibitions when she
drank – and no resistance.

The second weakness was men. She absolutely loved men. She loved their
attention, she loved how they smelled and, most of all, she loved men’s
legs. She craved their attention and was a notorious flirt – some
called her a cock-teaser. And she was.

Rumors of Cyndi’s neighborhood conquests were whispered among friends.
It was said that she had an ongoing liaison with their neighbor – a
landscaper, 25 years her senior – and there was the story of the night
she was caught giving head to a 15-year-old neighborhood boy behind the
garage. But the most popular rumor was not a rumor at all, but fact.
The story concerned the night she was gang banged, raped really, at a
party by, at least, a dozen men.

The irony of the event was, that it was set in motion by two
neighborhood women, Ann Ruskin and Joanne Martin, who had had just
about enough of Cyndi’s flirtations. Ann, the landscaper’s wife, had
originally planned to have her abducted and beaten, but Joanne
convinced her that by humiliating Cyndi in front of all the neighbors
the end result would be much more effective.

And so a neighborhood party was planned for the week after Hallowe’en.
Invitations went out to all the neighbors and, for good measure, Joanne
invited some additional male friends of her police officer husband. To
digress just a second, the police parties that Joanne had hosted in the
past generally got totally out of control and the cops were legendary
drinkers and womanizers. Cyndi had already attended one of those
parties and attracted lots of interest from the men in blue.

Cyndi’s husband, Walt Dawson, was a quiet guy who sold sporting goods
for a living. He was good at it, but often traveled and when he was
gone his wife was likely to stray. He knew of her indescretions, in
fact he was her second husband. He met her at a sporting goods
convention in center city Philadelphia where she was working as a
model. He actually dated her for two months before he found out that
she was married. On their second date she got so drunk that when he
took her back to her apartment she took off all her clothes and they
made love on the kitchen floor.

Walt had suffered through many of Cyndi’s flirtations, but did so
quietly. He simply wasn’t the kind of man to make trouble and he truly
loved his sexy young wife. But on the night in question Walt made a
decision that impacted what happened next, he decided that if Cyndi
acted like a slut again this night he would let nature take its’
course. He would do nothing to stop her and nothing to help her if she
got in over her head.

The party was in full swing when Walt and Cyndi got there. Kegs were
located in at least three rooms and hard liquor was set up on the bar.
The Police added a recently confiscated stash of marijuana to the
festivities and there were joints lit and in use all over the place.

The music was loud, the place was packed. There were close to thirty
people crammed in to Ruskin’s house. Some made their way to the
basement, the rest filled the upstairs rooms. It didn’t take Cyndi long
to get in the swing of things and she had barely removed her coat when
someone thrust a beer in to her hand. She smiled and drank it.

Joanne and Ann had let it be known to a few key men that they wanted
Cyndi to get worked over and degraded at this party they were more than
willing to help. Cyndi, being herself, quickly began to mingle and
flirt with the men at the party. It was 9 p.m. She was dressed in a
tight white ribbed sweater, a short black skirt and, for good measure,
a pair of black boots. Two beers became three, and then four and she
was completely blitzed.

It wasn’t long before she was cajoled in to dancing and she was more
than willing to let them maul and paw her. She loved the attention and
she was soon turned on. The dancing got more intense and more physical
and Walt sat there and watched as two cops sandwiched her between them
and began to grind with her. It was 10.30 p.m. Her skirt rode up to her
waist and everyone who was watching saw that she was wearing a pair of
lacey black panties. The sexual act got more aggressive and soon there
were a pair of hands under her sweater, massaging her tits. She wore no
bra. And then the dancing ceased and the assault began – and a crowd of
men gathered around her.

Her arms were pinned behind her back, thrusting her tits forward.

She struggled, she begged “please don’t do that, you are going too far”
but had no chance.

A young cop standing in front of her slid his hands inside the elastic
band of her panties and found the warm wetness of her clit. His fingers
probed inside of her – and there was a look of sudden fear in Cyndi’s
eyes.

“Stop it, this isn’t right,” she yelled.

And then her sweater was raised and her firm 36C tits were on full view
and another man began to fondle her breasts, pulling on her nipples
until they grew firm and rigid. Tears began to run down Cyndi’s cheeks.

Walt was watching, but not saying or doing anything.

The young man standing in front of her with his fingers in her cunt
looked at Walt as if to say “is this okay with you?”

Walt, understanding, stared back at him and said, “go for it”. It was
“Dance bitch,” somebody said and cranked the music up even higher to
drown out any potential protests from her. People in other rooms of the
house had no idea what was going on, but the loud music did attract
their attention.

Ann and Joanne stood by as Cyndi’s sweater was pulled over her head
leaving her naked from the waist up. They smiled at each other. Her
panties were soon down around her knees and any possible sounds that
would have come from her mouth were muted by a big meaty hand clamped
over it. She was actually being raped in the company of two dozen party
goers.

Before anyone realized it a bottle of vodka was being forced in her
mouth, her head pulled back by a man holding a handfull of her
bountiful hair, and she was swallowing it, at least swallowing the part
that didn’t run down her chest. It was midnight.

Cyndi’s head was spinning, she was drunk..and getting drunker..and in
the haze that was before her she could see countless blank faces and
feel scores of hands and fingers probing her, pinching her, tugging on
her enlarged nipples, prodding her between her legs, fingering her ass.

Ann set the stage with the proclamation, “the bitch is drunk again and
she’s ready to fuck the neighborhood..so let her..I hope they screw her
brains out..sorry Walt.”

Walt just nodded. He was sick of her act, sick of being embarassed by
her and he thought that, just maybe, this would cure her. If, of
course, it didn’t kill her.

He got his coat out of the closet and left. As he was going out the
door he saw Cyndi, now with her wrists cuffed behind her back, being
forced to her knees as a circle of men with their cocks hard and
extended awaited her. Men took turns grabbing handsful of her hair and
forcing their cocks deep in her mouth. One after another they came in
her mouth. She was gagging and gasping but doing her best to meet the
challenge. It was 12.30 a.m.

Soon the men got tired of waiting their turns and one big burly cop
took the initiative and shoved her on her back, two of them grabbed her
legs and spread them obscenely wide open. And then, in a flash, he slid
his cock deep inside of her as her boot-clad legs kicked wildly in the
air. Soon she was overwhelmed, fucking and sucking one after another.
People would pop by the room to watch and, sometimes, to participate.
Walt was home watching TV. It was 1.30 a.m.

She was being totally used an abused. She was a piece of meat, nothing
more, nothing less. Ann and Joanne stood by and smiled as their nemisis
was reduced to a sobbing sex object. Her nipples were twisted and
pulled, pinched and bitten and fingers probed inside her when cocks
didn’t.

She was now sobbing hysterically from the abuse.

This went on for almost two hours – and she was entered by at least a
dozen men -and soon she was so full of cum that it was oozing out of
her cunt, covered her face and chest and hardened in her hair. One man
actually unloaded his cum in her ear. She lay there on the floor,
uttering some unintelligible sounds. Some said she was sighing, some
said she was crying, but it was unintelligble. She was well-used,
alright, and totally out of it. But there was still one virginal hole
left to fill, her ass.

Actually it was Joanne who suggested that Cyndi still needed to be ass
fucked and went looking for someone to do it. And she soon found him. A
black police officer named Ruddy. Ruddy had avoided the scene up to
that point and was down in the rec room shooting pool when Joanne came
and asked him for a “favor”. At first he declined but Joanne begged him
and he said that he’d consider it.

Cyndi was sprawled on the floor in a very unladylike pose..her legs
splayed wide apart.

“I want you to ass fuck her Rud,” Joanne whispered, “she’s a nasty
bitch and I hate her, I want her hurt and you are the guy to do it.”

“Alright, I will, but not here,” he said. He told them to take her
upstairs to a bedroom. “I don’t want no fuckin’ audience,” he said.

Joanne agreed and ordered Cyndi’s limp body dragged upstairs..and drag
her they did, by the ankles. She was a wreck.

The police carried her to an upstairs bureau and laid her face down on
it. They cuffed her wrists to the back legs and her ankles to the front
legs. Her ass was positioned for an assault.

She sobbed, “please don’t” when they were draping her over the bureau
because she knew what was coming. They ignored her.

Down the street Walt Dawson was sound asleep in his bed. It was 3.30
a.m.

Ruddy got naked and took his time feeling and stroking Cyndi. She was
virtually sober, all the booze had been fucked out of her. She was
hurting, she was bruised and she wished she was dead.

She felt the cockhead of her new assailant probing her anal regions.
She felt him pulled her buttocks apart.

“Oh please not that, please, I’ve never done that before,” she sobbed.

She knew that it was going to hurt, but had no idea how bad. After a
brief period of probing Ruddy mounted a full-scale assault and drilled
his very large black cock directly in to Cyndi’s ass-hole. The more she
pleaded the harder Rud shoved against her anus. She screamed as a pain
shot through her and she saw stars as his cockhead penetrated her anal
ring…and the pain was worse than giving birth. Her ass felt like it
was being torn open and, for good measure, he had one of her tits in
each hand and he was squeezing them as if they were oranges and he
planned on getting a quart of juice from each. She moaned and cried and
screamed as he sank deeper and deeper inside of her. Finally her
muscles loosened up and his cock slid in and out with ease. She felt
her ass filling up with hot fluids.

Her head hung down low enough so that right before she fainted she saw
the streams of blood running down both her legs. She was unconscious
when the streams turned pink, her blood mixing with Ruddy’s semen.

It was after 4 a.m. when Ruddy declared himself finished with her and
for the next 45 minutes other men took turns poking their cocks deep
inside her ass too. It didn’t matter to them that she was unconscious
because most of them were too drunk to even care.

At 5.30 am the last guest left. All except Cyndi that is. Joanne and
Ann were still not completely satisfied with Cyndi’s degradation and so
they took a magic marker and wrote “fucked by a dozen” across her chest
and dragged her outside the house. They loaded her in the back of
Joanne’s station wagon and drove the two short blocks to Cyndi and
Walt’s house. There, as Walt slept, they dragged her limp body in to
the backyard and suspended her, by the arms, from a birch tree.

At 10 a.m. Walt found her and cut her down. Within three months the
Dawson’s moved from the neighborhood and within a year they were
divorced.

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Teeny gets fucked by a burglar

December 29, 2017
By

Teeny gets fucked by a burglarThis young redhead was so scared to see a burly masked man in her place that getting her to service his cock was like the simplest task ever! She was afraid to move or even squeal when he fucked her on cam for Abused Teenagers!

Fucked Without Pity

November 12, 2017
By


This young woman was just minding her own business relaxing at home when a masked man suddenly barged in her apartment. From there he began roughing her up and fucking her. View the action only at Abusedteenagers.com.

Pistol-Whipped and Fucked

November 3, 2017
By


Pretty teenager Marie was tucking herself to bed, excited for a road trip she planned with her friends the next day when a masked man entered her bedroom. He carried a gun and threatened to kill her if she didn’t fulfill his wishes. Watch more only at Girlsravished.com.

Teen Gets Violated On All Holes By Masked Lad

September 24, 2017
By


Abby was trying to get some sleep when a masked assailant barged into her room, forced her to strip off her clothes, and pressured her to take his cock in different positions, humiliating her. All this and more only at Girlsravished.com.

Teeny gets fucked by a burglar

August 7, 2017
By

Teeny gets fucked by a burglarThis young redhead was so scared to see a burly masked man in her place that getting her to service his cock was like the simplest task ever! She was afraid to move or even squeal when he fucked her on cam for Abused Teenagers!

Cruel Masked Brother Forces Slut to Screw

June 23, 2017
By


Joan was making herself comfortable in her new digs. Unfortunately for her it was located in a bad neighborhood. One guy trespassed his way to her pad and all her holes, fucking her without mercy. See her ordeal only at Abusedteenagers.com.

Fucked with a Gun in Her Head

May 10, 2017
By


Mary was new in town, living on her own. She was about to go to sleep when a masked man trespassed, gun on his hand. He fucked her and beat her up without mercy. Witness the action at Girlsravished.com.

# The bashful pervert

This story contains adult subject matter, which may be offensive to
some or illegal within certain jurisdictions. Reading further places
legal and ethical responsibility with the reader. This story is a work
of fantasy, and none of the acts or attitudes described within it are
necessarily endorsed or tolerated. Those who cannot separate fantasy
from reality are mad; those who conclude that fantasy must therefore be
banned are probably not doing well either. See the end of the post for
information regarding redistribution. The Collaborator by She was led
into the clearing with her expensive Paris dress already torn off below
the waist, exposing her pale, shapely legs in their silk stockings and
the lacy panties beneath. Neither of the two hard-faced men who held
the chains of her manacles spoke, or slowed when she cried out, as she
stumbled blindfolded over some obstacle in her path, or brushed up
against some thorned bush which tore her stockings. She was led to the
clearing, and the men who had towed her in her chains like an animal
yanked them downward, forcing her to fall to her knees. She screamed,
and begged them to act like true and gallant Frenchmen, at which some
hollow voice made a hacking laugh, and then fell silent. There was a
clicking sound. Simone knew there was a crowd around her. She could
tell by the cigarette smoke that made her cough, by the rustle, the
bitter whisper of one to another. There were men and women, all around
her, watching her as she knelt, wrists chained before her. And she was
terribly afraid she knew why. “Let’s have it out in the open,” said a
rough voice then, and the blindfold was whipped away. Dusk had fallen,
but the moon was out for her to see every pair of eyes in the village,
staring at her with undisguised hatred. The short length of the chains,
fastened to the base of the marble bench, forced her to kneel, but now
her legs shook and she could almost not stay kneeling. “Simone du
Papillon,” said Raymond, his voice pronouncing the name as he had
spoken of the Boche, of the Germans. “Collaborator.” “No!” she
shrieked. “No, you must understand, it was not my fault, I never
collaborated!” The Paris dress was already torn, and what was torn
didn’t count, but everyone could see the stockings and the panties,
also gifts from Helmut. She tried to make them understand. “I did only
what I had to! I would have suffered otherwise!” Raymond’s spit hit her
just on her cheek, and her shock stopped the words in her throat. “Had
to, tramp? Everyone else in this village DID suffer, you filthy little
Nazi’s slut.” There had been an approving murmur from the gathered
crowd when the gooey spit, tasting of his harsh cigarettes, had hit her
cheek; now there was another approval as the knife she knew he carried
_snicked_ open, and the Paris dress with its lovely rosettes was slit
up the back. It fell to the ground, and she flushed as her generous
breasts swayed under her. “Please! I’m innocent!” she screamed. “I
demand a trial!” In her mind, she knew that if she could only make them
understand, that if they could only see how much nicer it was to
receive Helmut’s presents — and some other things from him — they
would understand that she COULDN’T have done other than she did. But
the same hollow voice — she now knew it was old Rostand, the grizzled
grandfather who ran the bakery — laughed again. Raymond sat down on
the bench, with her face between his legs, and pulled her head roughly
up level with the crotch of his harsh-fabric trousers when she tried to
bow her head. “You had your trial, slut,” he hissed at her. “Every time
you walked through the village streets on the arm of your Gestapo
lover, you tried and convicted yourself.” He loosened the belt that
held up his rough laborer’s trousers, and they slid downwards, exposing
a cock as red as a rooster’s comb and swollen with veins. “Now everyone
in this village who has suffered from your crime will get a piece of
your punishment.” She mewled in fear. Surely this couldn’t be
happening! Surely he could not expect her, a lady, a lady of
refinement, to allow in her mouth his rough peasant — He gagged her
with it, and the gathered crowd murmured approvingly. She tried to
scream, but his rough dirty cockhead was filling the back of her
throat. “Try to bite, little pisette,” he whispered to her, “and I’ll
find another use for this knife than just removing your clothes.” Her
throat tightened with panic, choking her again on the throbbing head of
his phallus. Tentatively, she pulled her head back only enough so that
she could breathe around his manhood, and let her delicate tongue sweep
along the underside of his prick. That was what she had always done
with Helmut when she was afraid he might be angry at her. Raymond
stiffened in her mouth, and laughed, softly. “I knew you would still be
a collaborator, you dirty whore.” He raised his voice. “Come, everyone!
There’s enough of her for all! Take what you want from the slut, she’s
taken enough from us!” The circle of villagers moved closer, and there
were men — and women — who came to her, touching her, pawing her.
Someone grabbed the silken middle-strip of her panties and yanked them
down. She tightened her legs to stop the theft, and got a vicious smack
from a bare hand across her ass and pussy that shocked her into opening
her legs, letting the garment be stolen. Pasquette, the pig farmer, put
his dirty hands on her right tit, roughly pinching and twisting the
nipple, and squeezing it between both hands as if he milked it. Her
eyes flooded with tears. These dirty peasants! Yes, she had sucked
Helmut’s manly rod, and swallowed his hot salt juices; she had enjoyed
his rough attentions to her breasts, letting him squeeze and suck; she
had even spread her legs for him and let him fuck her pussy with his
hard violent strokes. But Helmut had kept his body clean, had been
fanatical about scrubbing off every last bit of dirt! Whereas the cock
she could feel pushing its clumsy way inside her cunt, she could almost
feel it covered with mud and filth as the owner grabbed her hips and
forced it in to the hilt. Raymond had gripped the edge of the marble
bench with one hand and the hair at the back of her head with the
other; instead of making her suck at his cock he was thrusting his
pecker violently into her mouth, shoving it deeper in rhythmic thrusts
that gagged her and made the tears roll down her cheeks. “Slut!” he
cried. “Whore! Cunt! Trollop! Bitch! Take my cum in your throat, you
Nazi’s whore!” With that he began to spurt, the salty seed flooding her
mouth. “Swallow it! Every drop!” he ordered. Her sore, abused throat
struggled to obey. He pulled his rod from between her lips and slapped
each of her cheeks roughly with it, smearing them with saliva and cum.
“Now clean it off.” Simone had no choice but to extend her tongue and
lick the drops of thick liquid from the still semi-rigid tool. Raymond
slid from the bench, and another sat down in his place. Simone was
distracted by pain and shame as the oaf at her back finally loosed his
come in her tunnel, a tunnel nearly bruised from his clumsy thrusts.
When she could blink away the tears, she saw Jeanne-Marie sitting in
front of her face. Her heart leapt. “Jeanne-Marie!” she cried
gratefully. Her good friend Jeanne-Marie, with whom she had gone to
school, was the only other woman of refinement in the village, who
could understand that such peasants had no right to abuse her. “Save
me, Jeanne-Marie! You have to explain to them!” But Jeanne-Marie looked
nothing like her friend, now. “Explain what?” Jeanne-Marie asked
coldly. She brought her hand from behind her back, showing the lacy
sheer panties that Simone had been robbed of. “Explain nothing. Because
of your treachery, my husband who went to the front will never be
returning.” She pulled up the hem of the dark skirt she wore, showing a
bush of dark curls. “So until I have another husband, you will do for
me what he loved to do.” Simone tried to turn her head away, but a pair
of hands caught her head and forced her to stare at Jeanne-Marie’s
furred snatch. “Jeanne-Marie!” she screeched. “You cannot be one of
those, those…. damnee femmes!” Jeanne-Marie slapped her face, hard.
Whoever was holding her head in place for it gave a low, nasty chuckle.
“No, I am not the kind of woman whose dreams are filled with the
tongues of women. But you are not a woman, filthy Simone. You are a
traitor and a slut — lower than any woman could ever be.” Simone
stared at the dark masses of curls, and recoiled from the smell that
emerged from there. She realized that Jeanne-Marie must not have washed
at her bidet for days… as many days as this torture for her had been
in the planning. The meaty pecker that plundered her snatch now
throbbed and sprayed in climax, and Jeanne-Marie stifled Simone’s cries
with her cunt, pressed so hard against Simone’s face that she had
little choice but to lick the hot and musky-wet pussy lips presented to
her, and nuzzle the erect clit with her nose. Jeanne-Marie’s twat
muffled her cries when some man lifted her entire lower body off the
ground with one strong arm and with the other smacked her ass cheeks
hard and without stopping for at least five minutes. The night’s
shaming continued. Simone grew too exhausted anymore to open her eyes,
and guess which pecker or slit or bottom was being pushed against her
mouth; she had long ago lost count of how many men of the village could
now say they had left their white trails of sperm deep inside her cunt,
smeared across her thighs, or decorating her tits. At least one young
teenager, for all the young men had attended the gathering, had settled
for hosing her with a great stream of piss when he couldn’t attain
sufficient stiffness to fuck her opened cunt. And throughout the whole
affair, there were occassional bright flashes of light, blinding in
their intensity; she heard the voice of Royeau the mayor laughing as he
described how the pictures would be the village’s expression of
gratitude to all the poor soldiers recovering from the war in hospitals
at the front. Finally, it seemed as if the night might be over, as
there were no more cocks being thrust in her mouth or pushed between
her struggling thighs, no more hands grabbing at her breasts or roughly
squeezing her mound. She trembled, and no longer had the strength to
stay on her knees, but lay crumpled with the ground against her cheek.
She had only one blessing for which to thank a God who had failed to
rescue her from this: no one had attempted to penetrate her tight
bottom. Helmut had been too horrified by uncleanliness to ever think of
it, but in the days when she had had a husband, he had once forced
himself on her petite rosette with his hard cock and sodomized her for
an hour, ignoring her screams. But now the night was quiet enough that
above the hushed whispers of the crowd, she could hear the tapping of
Rostand’s cane. Rostand was an old grandfather, though his first and
only grandson had died at St. Lo; surely he could not have a erection
sturdy enough to penetrate her with? He could not even stand straight,
nor walk without his cane, a staff of unvarnished wood that was thicker
around than her forearm. She could hear Rostand speaking, but the words
were not clear. Two village men came to help Rostand in whatever it was
he planned; they hauled her to her knees again, though they had to
support her in that position. She remained with her cheek resting on
the hard dirt, eyes tightly closed against the mud her fallen tears
were making. Her ass cheeks were abruptly spread painfully wide, and an
ungentle hand slapped her tight opening with a wad of some sort of oil
or grease. She moaned weakly as the hand spread the grease, coating her
asshole thoroughly, and let out a shriek as it pushed the grease into
her bottom with two thick fingers. When her husband had buggered her,
she had ached for days after; her only relief was that Rostand, an old
man, would have a smaller and weaker cock. She screamed as she felt the
head of the cane nestle at the entrance to her greased bunghole. THE
END

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SURF IN STYLE... THE SEX TRACKER! XXX