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Priyanka Chopra Hate Fucked-
Online Role Playing Hollywood, Bollywood, South Indian Cinema
05-22-2012, 07:40 AM
| Priyanka Chopra Hate Fucked |
Priyanka Chopra walked confidently through the
studio parking lot, her long black hair bright in the
Southern California sun. She was wearing a snug white
cotton blouse, a short black skirt, and sneakers with
white ankle socks. She had a purse slung over her
shoulders, sunglasses over her eyes, and an air of busy
distraction. In fact, she was distracted; she'd just
come from a meeting with one of the studio's producers,
and this was on her mind as she walked.
It had been a good meeting, but only in the sense that
it wasn't a disaster; she hadn't gotten them to take
the deal for her newest project, but at least they
hadn't turned it down. She was trying to think of some
way to get them to come across with the money, some
hook she could throw them, or a bone, and she was so
preoccupied with her thoughts that she didn't see the
man approaching her from between two cars.
"Priyanka?" the man said suddenly.
Priyanka jumped, startled, then focused on him and said,
"What is it?"
"Um, hi," the man said. "My name is Martin and, um, I
worked as a production assistant on your
movie, five years ago. Do you, um, do you remember me?"
Priyanka's first impulse was to tell the guy that she
would have no reason to remember some nobody production
assistant, but she checked it; one of the first things
she'd ever learned in Bollywood was that the place was
loaded with weirdos, perverts and losers, and she had
to be careful. This guy could have been telling her the
truth, but he could just as easily be trying to catch
her off guard.
So instead of just putting him in his place, she paused
and pulled her sunglasses down, pretending that she was
trying to recognize him. What she was really doing was
committing his face to memory; that way, if he did
anything creepy, she'd be able to pick him out of a
Martin (if that was his real name) was in his mid
thirties, about six feet tall, 200 approximate pounds,
brown hair and eyes, a little bit pudgy, acne scars on
his cheeks, blue work shirt and jeans, and thoroughly
awash in a dork aura. Priyanka suspected that even if she
had met him five years ago she would have forgotten him
about five seconds later.
"Oh, sure," she said, forcing herself to smile, "I
remember you." It was best to humor these types. "What
can I do for you, Marvin? Do you want an autograph?"
"It's Martin," Martin said. He was fidgeting slightly
and obviously trying not to wring his hands together.
"And, um, no, I don't want an autograph. Or, actually,
that would be cool. But that's not why I, um, why I
stopped you. I was wondering, Priyanka, if you would
maybe, um, like to um, go out with me."
It was all Priyanka could do to keep from laughing in his
face. Go out with him? Was he out of his mind? Did he
know who she was?
"Gee, Marvin, I dunno," she said as she let her gaze
drift to her left. She was looking for her car. "I
don't usually go out with guys... well, like you." Oh,
shit that was the wrong thing to say. "I mean, you seem
nice and everything." Yeah, right. "But, you know,
we're not really friends or anything. But I'd be glad
to sign something for you. You know, your autograph
book or whatever."
There was her car. Her darling silver Porsche. It was
already three years old and still worth more than this
creep made in a decade. Unfortunately, it seemed a
really long way away. Didn't this parking lot have a
"It's Martin," Martin said again, and the tone of his
voice made Priyanka return her gaze to him. He sounded
pissed for some reason. Kinda looked it too. "And I
don't want your autograph. It was nice meeting you,
Martin turned and walked away, hands crammed into his
pockets. Priyanka watched him for a moment, wondering
what that was all about, then she too turned and
resumed walking to her car. She tried to get her mind
back on the meeting, the possible deal, but for some
reason she couldn't. The incident with Marvin had left
her feeling unsettled.
There was definitely something not right about him.
Fans usually didn't just leap out at you like that, or
ask for a date right out of the blue. And they always
wanted an autograph. Even stalkers wanted autographs.
So, what was the deal with this guy? Had to be a very
wrong number. Maybe she should plunk down the money for
a bodyguard. Yeah, a bodyguard. That was a good idea.
Nice big handsome body guard.
With that problem solved, Priyanka was able to return to
the dilemma of what to do about this new project. She
recalled that, during the meeting, that one guy, the
producer guy, she couldn't remember his stupid name,
he'd spent most of his time working her tits over with
his eyes. Maybe that was the key, she thought. Play up
to him, flirt with him, let him think he's going to get
some. Hell, maybe even give him some. He was a fairly
good looking guy, despite that he was old enough to be
Yes, it was slutty, sleeping with the producer, but it
wouldn't the first time. Not even the fiftieth. Sex had
almost always been a bargaining tool for her. If you
wanted to be a success in Bollywood, you had to face
that reality. Sometimes you had to put out just to
That was how she'd gotten that role on The Wonder
Years, and also how she'd landed the starring role in
The Aitraaz (and lost her cherry, too). It got easier
after that, especially after fashion, but there were
still times when she had to at least tolerate some
creep trying to get into her pants.
Not that she didn't like men. She was straight (for the
most part, anyway), she loved to fuck, and, if she was
with the right guy, she could have totally mad fun. But
"the right guy" was almost a myth in Bollywood. It was
a world in which the assholes ruled, they lived in the
woodwork, and they came out at the mere presence of a
hot young chick. Sometimes they jumped out at you in
Priyanka finally reached her car and paused to get her
keys out of her purse. She was still somewhat deep in
thought (as deep as she could get, anyway), and so
didn't notice the man in the ski mask coming around
from the back of the van parked in front of her
Porsche. He came up behind her, walking almost
casually, and without a word reached out and grabbed a
handful of her bright blonde hair. He instantly yanked
on it, hard enough to pull her off balance and sending
her sunglasses flying.
Priyanka dropped to her knees and gave up a surprised
yelp, but she had no time to make any other kind of
noise before the man's fist smashed into her temple,
causing her to fall sideways onto the asphalt. She
managed to call out, "Marvin, help me!" before the man
kicked her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of
her. Priyanka doubled over, in part from the pain and in
part from an instinctive attempt to roll into a ball.
It didn't do her any good.
He kicked her again, then bent over and hit her several
times with his fist, on the head, the shoulders, and on
her arms when she brought them up to try to protect
herself. She cried out again, but it was a low,
frightened sound that didn't attract any attention.
When he was done hitting her, the man grabbed her by
the arms and seemingly without effort hauled her up to
her feet. He wrapped one arm around her midsection and
clapped a hand over her mouth.
Priyanka struggled feebly as the man carried her like a
rag doll to the van. The side door was open and he
easily tossed her through it. Priyanka landed roughly on
the carpeted floor, and a moment later the man in the
ski mask was in the van with her and sliding the door
Priyanka, though stunned and disoriented, managed to get
to her knees and crawl to the back door of the van. She
grabbed the handle and pulled but found it locked.
"Help me!" she called out desperately. "Marvin, help
That was all she had time to do before the man closed
in on her, grabbing her by the hair again and slapping
her several times across the face. Priyanka cried out
from the pain, and tears began to spill from her eyes.
The man shoved her down onto the floor, jamming her
lovely face down into the carpet, and for the first
time spoke to her.
"Don't fight me, bitch," he told her in a rough voice,
"or I'll beat you to death. You understand?"
"Please...." Priyanka begged, "please don't hurt me.
Please don't hurt me...."
"Too late for that, you stupid cunt. But if you don't
wanna die, you'll keep your shitty mouth shut and you
won't yell anymore or try to get away." The man hit her
hard on the shoulder. "'Got it?"
05-22-2012, 07:40 AM
| RE: Priyanka Chopra Hate Fucked |
"Yes....yes...." Priyanka said, weeping now. "Just please
don't hurt me anymore...."
"And no more goddamn talking." The man smacked her on
the back of the head. "Now, lie down on the floor and
Priyanka did as she was told, laying flat on her stomach
with her arms out at her sides. The man in the ski mask
went to a tool box against a side wall and opened it
up, took out four items. He set them next to Priyanka's
prone body, then picked one of the items up. It was a
roll of duct tape. He tore off a strip, then grabbed a
handful of Priyanka's hair and pulled, making her yelp.
He slapped the tape over her mouth, then let go of her
Priyanka let her face fall back to the carpet. The next
item the man picked up was a pair of handcuffs. He
grabbed one of Priyanka's arms, yanked it behind her
back, and secured one of the cuffs around her wrist. He
did the same with her other arm, and now Priyanka was
handcuffed and laying flat on the floor, her breasts
getting painfully mashed beneath her. She was crying
now, loudly and desperately, but because of the duct
tape the sounds were greatly muffled.
The next item was another pair of handcuffs. The man
picked these up and hooked them onto one of the belt
loops on his jeans, then bent over and grabbed Priyanka
by her arms. He roughly pulled her up to her knees,
then dragged her over to a spot next to his tool box.
There was a horseshoe shaped bar there, each end of
which was welded to the wall. He forced her to sit with
her back to it, then secured one cuff around the bar
and the other around the chain between the two cuffs
around Priyanka's wrists. She was now manacled to the
wall and completely unable to escape.
The man slapped Priyanka's face once, then reached for
the last item he'd taken from his tool box: a long
sharp butcher knife. He held it up in front of Priyanka's
face, only an inch from her eyes, and told her, "You
give me any trouble at all, you filthy whore, and I'll
shove this up your cunt and fuck you with it till
you're dead." Priyanka moaned pitifully.
The man pulled the knife back a bit, and with his other
hand he grabbed the front of her blouse. He yanked on
it, snapping all the buttons and exposing her chest.
Priyanka was wearing a black lace bra, obviously designed
to push her breasts together and make them look larger.
The man grabbed at the bra, pulled it out, and sliced
it between the cups with the knife. The bra fell open
and Priyanka's breasts spilled out into full view.
They were magnificent breasts, full and round, slightly
pointed, and topped with small pink nipples. The man in
the ski mask ogled them for a few moments, then dropped
his knife and with both hands began fondling them. He
was rough, squeezing and pulling and pinching them,
causing Priyanka to whimper with more pain. He ignored
her. He continued to play with her breasts for another
minute, slapped each of them a few times, then picked
up his knife again.
Next he pulled Priyanka's skirt up to her waist, which
was a bit of a difficult task, since she was sitting on
a portion of it. Once he had it up, however, he used
his knife to cut away her panties, standard white
cotton things with tiny pink flowers on them, like a
little girl's underwear. He tossed the panties to the
side, then jerked her knees open. Now he could see her
And it was a beautiful cunt. Full and womanly, slightly
swollen lips (probably from getting fucked by every guy
with money she came in contact with), and covered with
a healthy bush of dark blonde hair.
"Wow," the man said to her, "you're a natural blonde.
Imagine that." He jammed one finger into her, all the
way up to his third knuckle, then pulled it out and put
the tip of his knife up to her opening. Priyanka squirmed
and whimpered some more. "Just remember what I told
you. You give me any bullshit, any kind of bullshit at
all, and you get this up your snatch. Now, leave your
legs just like they are. Don't close em."
He moved away from her, back to his toolbox, and took
out a camera. He moved back in front of her, but as far
to the other side of the van as he could get, then took
several pictures of her as she sat there, handcuffed
and weeping, tape over her mouth, tits hanging out, and
her cunt exposed like a golden treasure.
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 Priyanka and told her, "Don't go
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.
Priyanka 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.
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
I could die today, Priyanka 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 Jewish
religion when she was twelve and she'd had to suck some
creep's cock just for a part in a stupid television
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
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 San Bernardino mountains. He then drove north, up
into the mountains and toward Big Bear 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. Priyanka 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. Priyanka 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?"
Priyanka nodded. The man reached under her, grabbed one
of her breasts and squeezed, and Priyanka 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. Priyanka gasped in surprise through the duct tape
over her mouth. It was Marvin.
"That's right, slut," Martin 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
Martin 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 Priyanka 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."
Martin held onto the handcuffs that still bound her
wrists together as Priyanka stepped and stumbled toward
the house. She tried to look around as she went and
Martin 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 Martin 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. Martin
turned on a light, blinding Priyanka for a moment, then
guided her through the kitchen and into the living
05-22-2012, 07:40 AM
| RE: Priyanka Chopra Hate Fucked |
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
Martin guided Priyanka 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."
Priyanka looked at him with wide beseeching eyes,
obviously not wanting to be watched as she performed
such a private act. Martin slapped her face and said,
"Do it, whore."
Priyanka reluctantly went over to the toilet, let Martin
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 Martin tore off a large
wad of toilet paper and efficiently wiped her cunt,
then flushed the toilet.
He pulled Priyanka back to her feet, then took her back
into the bedroom and pushed her toward the bed, telling
her, "Lay down, pussy."
Priyanka 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
Martin 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 Priyanka'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 Priyanka'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 Priyanka'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.
Priyanka made a plaintive noise to communicate her
discomfort but Martin 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
"There," Martin said, staring down at her completely
exposed cunt. "Perfect." He bent over her and very
carefully removed the duct tape from her mouth. Priyanka
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.
Priyanka closed her eyes and turned her head, staying
that way as Martin silently removed his shirt, his
shoes, his jeans, and his underwear. Once he was naked
he crawled onto the end of the bed. Priyanka 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. Martin groaned with pleasure as he
buried his cock all the way into Priyanka's cunt. Priyanka
began to cry, soft girlish sobs accompanied by tears
spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks. Martin
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
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 Martin continued to lay on top of her,
catching his breath, his cock still inside of her.
Priyanka was still crying, though her tears had slowed
and her weeping had become more of a self pitying
murmur. Martin 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.
Priyanka stood in the shower stall, trying to focus on
the warm spray of water and to ignore Martin'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. Priyanka 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."
Priyanka moved her legs as wide to each side as the
shower stall would permit her and Martin bent down,
brought the nozzle of the douche bag up to her cunt,
then carelessly pushed it into her. Priyanka 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 Martin 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."
Priyanka reluctantly did as she was told. Martin placed
one hand on her waist, and with the other he pushed the
nozzle of the douche into her ass. Priyanka cried out at
the pain and closed her eyes as tight as she could.
Martin squeezed the bag and warm water shot up her ass,
then began to leak out. As soon as the bag was empty
Martin pulled the nozzle out and tossed it onto the
floor of the shower stall, then grabbed Priyanka 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."
Martin 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. Martin 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 Priyanka 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.
Priyanka opened her mouth and he shoved his cock inside.
He was large, and his cock immediately slid all the way
to the back of her throat, making her gag. Martin
pulled it back as if he hadn't meant to choke her, but
then shoved it in again just as far. Priyanka gagged
again, and gave up a small cry of protest. Martin
either didn't notice, didn't care, or both. He kept
shoving his cock deep into Priyanka's mouth, fucking her
just as hard as he'd fucked her cunt, and Priyanka had to
struggle to breathe.
After almost a minute of this he suddenly stopped,
jamming his cock into her one last time, and groaned as
he came. His sperm flooded Priyanka's mouth, pouring down
her throat and spilling out past her lips and down her
chin. She pulled her mouth away from Martin's cock,
turned her face, and made a retching sound as she spit
out his come. Martin still had a hold of her hair and
yanked on it, shouting, "Get your cocksucking mouth
back over here, bitch!" He shoved his still hard cock
back into her mouth and told her, "Now, suck on it!" He
hit her on the head with his fist. "Suck on it,
Priyanka began sucking on Martin's cock, not the way she
usually performed oral sex, but literally sucking on it
like a straw.
"That's it, whore," Martin said. "Suck the last of my
cum out like the cheap little cocksucker you are."
Priyanka continued to suck, tears once again streaming
from her eyes. After about fifteen seconds Martin
pulled his cock out of her mouth and rubbed the tip of
it all over her face. He started with her lips and
chin, where some of his sperm still lay, and smeared it
onto her cheeks, her forehead, her eyelids. He smeared
some onto her nose as well, and even tried to push some
of it up her nostrils.
"There we go," he said. He pushed his cock back up to
her mouth. "Now, lick the rest of my cum off my dick,
Priyanka, crying now, dutifully licked his cock clean.
Once all the cum was licked up Martin pulled his cock
away, slapped her face, then got up off the bed.
"That's all you get for now," he said. He secured the
handcuffs on her wrists to the set fixed to the
headboard. "It's getting late, and I need my sleep. You
were a good fuck, bitch. But next time you suck my dick
you better act like it tastes like ice cream."
05-22-2012, 07:41 AM
| RE: Priyanka Chopra Hate Fucked |
Alone in the dark, Priyanka lay on her side, curled up in
a fetal position, and cried. She wanted to go home. She
wanted this to end. She prayed to God to save her. She
apologized, to God, to Martin for having been mean to
him. She asked for her mommy. She even asked for her
daddy, even though she hated him. Even though he'd done
that awful thing to her. As awful as what Martin was
doing to her now.
She'd been sixteen then, and had just come home from
court, where she'd had herself legally emancipated.
She'd done it so that she could work longer hours for
the movies she was working on. Daddy had opposed the
idea from the start, had accused her of abandoning her
family. She might have changed her mind, but she knew
that what he was really mad about was that she didn't
intend to share any of her new wealth with him. He just
wanted her money. And when she'd come home and
announced that she'd gotten a favorable decision in
court, he'd gone into one of his typical rages.
But instead of just storming around the house and
threatening to disown her, he'd dragged her into his
bedroom, thrown her onto the bed, torn her clothes from
her body, and shouted at her, "You wanna be a movie
star, you goddamned whore? You wanna get fucked by
every man in Los Angeles? Then here, let me join the
crowd!" And then he'd fallen on her, shoved his cock
into her, and fucked her. Priyanka had begged and pleaded
for him to stop but he wouldn't. He just kept fucking
her and calling her a whore and a slut until he came
inside of her. Afterward, he'd left her there on his
bed, telling her, "Now you can say you've fucked every
man in Los Angeles. And you won't call yourself my
daughter anymore. From now on you're just a common
whore, and God will destroy you like he did Sodom and
Less than a month later she missed her period and had
gone to the doctor and learned that she was pregnant.
She hadn't been a virgin when her father raped her, but
neither had she been with any other man around that
time, so the baby had to be his. She'd gotten an
abortion as soon and as secretly as she could, then had
carried on with her career as if nothing had happened.
It had been the most terrible time in Priyanka's life,
even more terrible than what she was now going through,
so in that respect at least, she believed it was a good
thing that she could recall it all, and remind herself
that things could be worse.
Still, as she finally cried herself to sleep, her
daddy's words echoed in her mind. She knew he'd been
right, not in raping her, not in making her pregnant
with his incestuous child, but in his prediction of
what would become of her: she was facing her fate now,
her destruction, and in some respects she deserved it.
Martin woke her up by repeatedly hitting her on the
head, shoulders and back. At first Priyanka didn't know
what was happening, had no way to respond but to try to
get away from the pain. The handcuffs kept her tethered
to the bed, though, and all she could do was try to
roll up into a ball.
"Wake your shitty ass up," Martin said. "Time for
breakfast." He bent down and unlocked the handcuffs
that were securing her to the bed. "First, though, you
gotta go to the bathroom. Don't want you pissing the
He led her roughly into the bathroom and stood and
watched as she used the toilet, then wiped her cunt and
her ass with large wads of toilet paper. He brought her
back into the bedroom and shoved her onto the bed,
secured her to the headboard again, then left her alone
in the room for a minute. When he came back he had a
plate of bacon and scrambled eggs, along with a cup of
coffee. Martin helped her to sit up, then sat on the
edge of the bed and fed her the food. Priyanka ate
eagerly, and carefully sipped the coffee when it was
offered to her. As soon as she was finished with the
food Martin took the plate and cup away, returning just
a few moments later.
"Time to go to work, whore," he told her, then grabbed
her by her ankles and pulled her down near the end of
the bed. Priyanka's arms were wrenched upward behind her
back, the handcuffs cutting into her wrists, and she
yelped with the pain. Martin slapped her face, then
fell on her and started fucking her hard. As he shoved
himself into her he whispered in her ear, "Dirty
fucking slut. Got all that money and fame by giving up
your ass to any slimeball with a cock, didn't you? You
fucking whore. You know the only thing I regret about
all this, bitch? I don't have a dog. Cause if I did I'd
let it fuck you silly. Then I'd make you suck its dick
and swallow it's come. Filthy goddamn stuck up whore."
After another minute or so, Martin stopped and pulled
his cock out of her. He turned her over onto her
stomach and commanded, "Get your knees under you and
stick your ass up in the air, cunt."
Priyanka dully complied, seeming to not even care what
was happening to her anymore. When she was in the
position he'd demanded, Martin grabbed her by the hips
and shoved his cock into her cunt again. He slammed
into her repeatedly, showering her with more insults
and accusations, until once again he pulled out of her.
A moment later he shoved his cock into her ass, hard
and deep, and Priyanka screamed into the mattress.
Instinctively, she tried to get away from the pain
invading her body, but the combination of the handcuffs
and Martin's strong grip on her kept her in place as
Martin fucked her in the ass.
"I don't know what you're crying about, you fucking
slut," Martin said as he continued to slam his cock
into her. "You're tight, but you're not that tight."
Priyanka continued to cry and moan into the mattress as
Martin raped her. Finally, after about half a minute,
he shoved himself into her one last time and groaned
with satisfaction as he shot his come deep into her
Immediately afterward he pulled out of her, slugged her
hard in the middle of her back, and said, "I gotta go
clean your dirty shit of my cock now, bitch. Don't move
or I'll cut your tits off and shove em down your
He got up and went into the bathroom, cleaned himself
thoroughly, then returned the bedroom. Priyanka lay where
she'd left him, still with her face in the mattress and
her violated ass up in the air, crying and moaning. He
ignored her as he quietly got dressed, then once again
unfastened the handcuffs from the headboard. He pulled
her by the arms and threw her onto the floor at the
foot of the bed.
"Time to get up now, sleepyhead," he said. He kicked
her in the left breast and Priyanka let out a yelp of
pain. "We're going on a field trip."
Priyanka tried to get to her feet but she couldn't quite
manage it. Martin leaned down, grabbed her by the arms,
and hauled her up. Once she was standing he grabbed one
of her breasts and pulled on it, leading her out of the
room. He led her out in the opposite direction that
he'd brought her in, through the living room, the
kitchen, then the washroom and out onto the back porch.
The van was in the same place it had been before, and
the rear doors were open, waiting for her.
Martin picked her up like a groom picking up his bride
and carried her over to the van. He tossed her onto the
carpeted floor, then climbed in and secured her
handcuffs to the bar welded to the wall.
"Don't move," he told her, then shut the doors of the
van and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the
engine, and in the next moment the van began to move.
This is it, Priyanka told herself as the van rocked and
bumped along the road. He's going to kill me and dump
my body somewhere. They probably won't even find me
until I'm nothing but bones. She didn't want to die.
but there was no way out of this for her. Martin had
complete control of her, her body, her fate. It was so
unfair. Yes, she'd done some bad things in her life,
made decisions that she shouldn't have made, walked a
path that would not bring redemption from her God. All
this pain, all this misery and terror, the rapes and
the beatings, she deserved them, but she didn't deserve
to die. Why was God making her die when she was still
so young that she could turn things around, right all
of her wrongs? She still had time.
The van suddenly slowed, then stopped, and Martin shut
off the engine, and Priyanka thought, No, you don't.
You're all out of time.
"Last stop," Martin said. "This is where you get off
for good, cunt."
He unfastened Priyanka's handcuffs from the bar and
pulled her toward the door of the van. He slid the door
open, then grabbed her by her arms and threw her out
onto the ground. She landed and rolled onto her back,
and when she looked around she saw that she was in a
secluded area surrounded by trees.
Martin jumped down from the van and grabbed her again,
pulled her up to her knees. He slapped her face, then
yanked open his jeans and pulled his cock out. He
shoved it up to her lips and Priyanka opened her mouth.
"I'm not gonna fuck your mouth this time, shitbag," he
told her. "This time, you're gonna suck me off just
like you do all those assholes in Bollywood. Show me
what a good cocksucker you are."
Priyanka complied, leaning forward and slipping her mouth
over the end of his cock. She began to suck him as
earnestly as she could, moving her head forward and
back as she did so.
"Oh, yeah," Martin said, grabbing a handful of her
hair. "That's good, bitch. You really are a good
cocksucker. You better swallow all my come too, or I'll
shove my knife up your ass."
Priyanka continued sucking until Martin groaned and
pulled her head forward by the hair, forcing his cock
to the back of her throat, and came. Priyanka choked and
gagged, but she managed to swallow most of his come.
When he was done, Martin pulled his cock out of her
mouth and slapped her again, knocking Priyanka down onto
"One last thing," Martin said. "The one thing you
deserved to have done to you all this time." He was
still holding his cock, and now he pointed it at her
and began to piss all over her. Priyanka moaned in
disgust and humiliation, and she reflexively turned her
face away, but she didn't offer up any other resistance
or protest as Martin's warm piss splashed all over her
hair, her face, her breasts, her stomach and legs. When
he was done, Martin grabbed Priyanka's hair again and
forced her to look up at him. He wiped the end of his
cock all over her face, then put it back in his pants.
"Well, that's about it," he said. "I did all I planned
to do." He turned away as if he were going back to the
van, then stopped. "Oh wait. Just one more thing." Then
he turned around and delivered a savage kick to
Priyanka's face. She fell over onto the grass and Martin
was immediately on top of her, beating her brutally
with his fists. He hit her repeatedly on the head, the
shoulders and back, then turned her over and began
pummeling her face and breasts. He beat her until she
When he was done he got up, breathing heavily, and
walked over to one of the nearby trees. He picked up a
large rock and brought it back, stood over Priyanka's
prone body, hefting the rock in his hands.
"I oughta kill you," he said. He stood there for
several more moments, considering, then finally dropped
the rock on the ground and said, "Fuck it. If you live,
you live. If you die, you die. I don't care anymore."
He turned and went back to his van, got in and started
the engine, and drove away, leaving Priyanka lying on the
grass, nude and bruised, her hands still handcuffed
behind her back.
It was by chance that, only five hours later, a couple
hiking in the woods discovered Priyanka Chopra's
nude body. They thought she was dead at first, and
reported it that way to the local authorities, and
because of the confusion that was what was initially
reported on the news that evening. But Priyanka was still
alive. She was taken to a hospital and eventually
recovered from her injuries, but she never uttered a
word about what had happened to her or who had done it.
She kept it to herself. Because in Bollywood, if you
wanted to survive, you sometimes had to put on a pretty
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