Tamannaah Forced By Fan English Part 2

Tamannaah Forced By Fan English Part 1
Tamannaah Forced By Fan English Part 3
When he was done with the pictures the man in the ski mask returned the camera to his tool box, then knelt down in front of Tamannaah and told her, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He slapped her across the face once more, then moved to the front of the van. He got in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and began driving.

Tamannaah was sore all over. Her head and face, mostly, where the man had hit her the most, but her arms and legs too, her back and shoulders, her stomach where he’d kicked her. Her breasts too. He’d squeezed them and slapped them so hard she was sure they were bruised now. She understood, though, that the pain she was in, the possible damage he’d already done to her, was the least of her worries. As she sat there in the back of the van, handcuffed and cramping up in the darkness, she knew that there were worse things in store for her. Much worse.

He was going to rape her, of course. The way he’d looked at her after he’d pulled her bra off, the way he’d stuck his finger in her cunt, those things made it clear that rape was a certainty. Probably beat her up some more, maybe even torture her. But as terrible as those prospects were, what was worst was that he hadn’t done any of those things as soon as he’d gotten a hold of her; he was actually taking her somewhere. Probably out into the desert, or up into the mountains, some secluded middle of nowhere place where he could leave her when he was through with her. Where he could dump her body.

I could die today, Tamannaah told herself, and she shuddered with the thought. She’d managed to stop crying some time ago, but now that the specter of death loomed over her, she felt the sobs trying to return, to burst out of her. It took all she had to keep it inside; the man might hear her and stop the van and come back to make her shut up. To kill her.

I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die. Please, God, don’t let me die. Just don’t let me die. But she knew her God wouldn’t hear her; she’d never paid him much attention in her life, she’d abandoned her religion when she was twelve and she’d had to suck some creep’s cock just for a part in a stupid show, and she was sure that He was abandoning her now. It was up to her to survive this if she could. She’d have to give in, be submissive as possible, do whatever he wanted . Give it up for the right to live. Just like in Bollywood.

The man in the ski mask drove for more than two hours, long after the sun had gone down. He drove primarily on the Riverside Freeway, until he reached the turnoff for the mountains. He then drove north, up into the mountains and toward Lake.

He didn’t go as far as the lake, though; about two miles from there he turned off onto another, smaller road, and followed it as it wound around the mountain. Once it leveled off he turned again, onto yet another road. This one led through a stand of pines to a small cabin on a ridge. There was a fairly large parking area in front but he chose to drive around to the back and park directly behind the cabin. He stopped, shut off the engine and the lights, then sat there in the driver’s seat for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette and staring out the windshield at nothing.

Finally, he stubbed out his smoke and made his way to the back of the van. Tamannaah sat there, handcuffed and frightened, helplessly waiting for whatever he would do. The man slapped her face, then reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a set of small keys. He used one of these to unlock the cuffs that were holding her to the horseshoe shaped bar. Tamannaah immediately fell over on her side, but she made no attempt to escape. The man knelt down next to her, grabbed her by the hair, and said, “You’re gonna come with me now. And you’re not gonna try to get away, you understand?” Tamannaah nodded.

The man reached under her, grabbed one of her breasts and squeezed, and Tamannaah cried out in pain. Then he stood up and looked down at her for a long moment before slowly reaching up and removing his mask. Tamannaah gasped in surprise through the duct tape over her mouth. It was Ramu.

“That’s right, slut,” Ravi said. “It’s me. I got my date with you anyway. Except, instead of the nice romantic date you would have had if you hadn’t been such a stuck up cunt, you’re gonna get the really bad version. I’m gonna show you what happens to snotty little starlets who think their smelly pussies are too good for me. You’re gonna learn your lesson, you rotten tramp.”

Ravi smacked her again, then turned and left the van through the side door and came around to the back. He unlocked that door, opened it, then reached in and grabbed Tamannaah by one arm. He roughly pulled her out, letting her fall onto the ground, her naked breasts in the dirt. He shut the van door, then bent down, grabbed her again by one arm, and pulled her up to her feet. “Walk toward the house, cunt.”

Ravi held onto the handcuffs that still bound her wrists together as Tamannaah stepped and stumbled toward the house. She tried to look around as she went and Ravi told her, “Don’t bother looking around, whore. You’re out in the middle of nowhere, so even if you did manage to escape, you wouldn’t have anywhere to go. Just keep moving.” They came up on a porch and Ravi went ahead of her to open the door. He held it open and told her, “Get inside, slut,” and she went inside. There was a tiny washroom with a washer and dryer, and immediately to the right was a doorway that led into a kitchen. Ravi turned on a light, blinding Tamannaah for a moment, then guided her through the kitchen and into the living room.

He didn’t stop there, but continued on through the living room to another doorway. There he stopped, reached into the room and flicked on the light, then pulled her though the doorway and into a bedroom. There was a large bed against one wall, a nightstand next to it, and a chest of drawers along another wall, but no other furniture. There was a bathroom to the left and Ravi guided Tamannaah to it.

He turned that light on too, then told her, “Go ahead and piss, or shit, or whatever you have to do, but do it now, because you might not get a chance later on.” Tamannaah looked at him with wide beseeching eyes, obviously not wanting to be watched as she performed such a private act. Ravi slapped her face and said, “Do it, whore.”

Tamannaah reluctantly went over to the toilet, let Ravi pull up her skirt, then sat down. She pissed, the sound reverberating loudly against the bathroom walls, and as she did so tears spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. Once she was finished Ravi tore off a large wad of toilet paper and efficiently wiped her cunt, then flushed the toilet.

He pulled Tamannaah back to her feet, then took her back into the bedroom and pushed her toward the bed, telling her, “Lay down, pussy.”

Tamannaah clumsily crawled onto the bed on her knees, then just as clumsily lay down. Because of the handcuffs she was forced to lie on her side. While she did this Ravi opened the bottom drawer of the dresser and took out a steel chain, approximately three feet long, with a set of handcuffs attached to each end. He secured one set to the handcuffs around Tamannaah’s wrists, and the other set he secured to an iron eyebolt that was screwed into the bed’s oak headboard.

“There,” he said. “Now you I know you won’t be running away on me. Miserable fucking cumbag.”

He went to the dresser again and brought back a large hunting knife. He used it to cut Tamannaah’s blouse, the straps on her bra, and her skirt, then removed all of these items, along with her shoes and socks, leaving her completely naked. He put the knife down on the nightstand, then placed one hand on Tamannaah’s shoulder and pushed her over onto her back. Her arms and hands were stuck under her now, forcing her to arch her back, and the handcuffs were digging into her wrists.

Tamannaah made a plaintive noise to communicate her discomfort but Ravi ignored her. He grabbed a handful of her hair and lifted her head, slid a pillow under it, then let her hair go. Next he grabbed both of her feet and pushed them closer to her butt, causing her to bend her knees, then took hold of her knees and moved them in opposite directions, making her spread her legs.

“There,” Ravi said, staring down at her completely exposed cunt. “Perfect.” He bent over her and very carefully removed the duct tape from her mouth. Tamannaah parted her lips as if she was about to speak but he held up one finger. “Don’t talk. I’ll hit you again if you talk. But feel free to cry, or to scream, or whatever else you feel you need to do.”

He stepped back from the bed and began to undress. Tamannaah closed her eyes and turned her head, staying that way as Ravi silently removed his shirt, his shoes, his jeans, and his underwear. Once he was naked he crawled onto the end of the bed. Tamannaah continued to keep her eyes closed and her face turned away as he moved up the bed, up between her outstretched legs. He settled himself on top of her, placing his hard cock right up against her cunt. He slid one of his hands under her, holding her like he would a lover, and kissed her cheek. His other hand moved down between their bodies, gripped his cock, and positioned it so that the head was touching her pubic hair.

“You’re gonna like this, you sloppy slut,” he said, then pushed his hips forward.

His cock nudged up to her cunt lips, then pressed past them. It slid slowly but easily into her; she obviously wasn’t that tight. Ravi groaned with pleasure as he buried his cock all the way into Tamannaah’s cunt. Tamannaah began to cry, soft girlish sobs accompanied by tears spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks. Ravi didn’t care; he simply pulled back out of her about halfway, then pushed into her again, then pulled out, then pushed in, grunting and groaning as he slowly fucked her.

He continued to kiss her as well, on her face and neck, and brought one of his hands out from under her to caress and squeeze her breasts. As he fucked her he increased the speed of his thrusts, but he never reached the point where he was pounding into her or treating her harshly in any way, remaining gentle and relatively slow in his sexual use of her. When he finally reached the point of orgasm, he groaned softly and pressed his cheek against hers, thrust himself into her one last time, and came.

When he was done Ravi continued to lay on top of her, catching his breath, his cock still inside of her. Tamannaah was still crying, though her tears had slowed and her weeping had become more of a self pitying murmur. Ravi kissed her again, on the cheek, then touched her chin and forced her to turn her face to him. He kissed her once more, this time on the lips, then softly told her, “Should have saved some of that crybaby shit for later, cunt. I was being nice this time, but from here on out it’s no more Mr. Nice Guy.” Then he spit in her face.

Tamannaah stood in the shower stall, trying to focus on the warm spray of water and to ignore Ravi’s hands as they roamed all over her body. When he’d brought her into the bathroom, telling her “You need to clean your dirty ass,” she’d hoped he would take the handcuffs off and let her do it herself, but instead he chose to leave them on, and now he was cleaning her. He spread a lather of soap over her shoulders, down her back, over her butt, then over her breasts and belly.

Not surprisingly, he lingered over her breasts, squeezing and pulling on them as he soaped them down. He passed over her cunt, though, moving on to her legs and feet. When he was done he took the shower head down and rinsed her all over. Tamannaah wondered why he hadn’t cleaned her between her legs, thinking that maybe he was one of those sickos who liked a woman to be dirty down there. She didn’t know if she should be thankful for that or not, but even so her heart sank when she saw him reach into the cabinet below the sink and pull out a douche bag.

Oh God, she thought, he’s going to try to use that on me. She felt herself near tears again, but she knew she wouldn’t cry; this wouldn’t be nearly as bad as what he’d already done to her. “Spread your legs, whore.”

Tamannaah moved her legs as wide to each side as the shower stall would permit her and Ravi bent down, brought the nozzle of the douche bag up to her cunt, then carelessly pushed it into her. Tamannaah felt a jab of pain, but only for a moment, then the sensation of the water being squirted into her from the bag. After about ten or fifteen seconds Ravi pulled it out of her, took the nozzle off, and used the shower spray to fill the bag again. He douched her a second time, then repeated the filling process.

“Now, turn around,” he said, “and bend over, cunt.”

Tamannaah reluctantly did as she was told. Ravi placed one hand on her waist, and with the other he pushed the nozzle of the douche into her ass. Tamannaah cried out at the pain and closed her eyes as tight as she could. Ravi squeezed the bag and warm water shot up her ass, then began to leak out. As soon as the bag was empty Ravi pulled the nozzle out and tossed it onto the floor of the shower stall, then grabbed Tamannaah by her hair and pulled her up to a standing position.

“Just wanted to make sure your asshole was clean,” he said. He smacked her face lightly with his other hand. “Asshole. Now, come on.”

Ravi pulled on her hair again and she clumsily got out of the shower. She stood still while he toweled her dry, then followed him as he led her by the hair back into the bedroom. He pushed her and she fell onto the bed. Ravi roughly turned her over onto her back, pushed her legs apart, then got on top of her and shoved his cock into her. He fucked her hard, hurting her as he jammed his cock into her again and again. After a few minutes, he suddenly stopped and pulled out of her. He got to his knees, grabbed Tamannaah by her hair, and pulled her up to a sitting position. Then he was shoving his cock against her lips.

“Open up, cocksucker,” he ordered.