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She wanted to dominate you, but it became HER lesson.

on Bob's king-sized bed, "take your fucking dress off right now!"

It couldn't be real, she thought, but realized it probably was.

"Bob," she licked her lips, her voice wavering, her throat parched with fear, "you... you shouldn't do this! It's against the law!"

He laughed, a big hearty laughter. "Against the law?" he asked, "it will be your word against mine. Everyone else out there hates you, you fucking hippie whore, you and your inbred car and your howdy-toidy wines. They'll testify I was with them all along."

Fear gripped her in cold hands. Her stomach cramped and her heart was beating fast. He was right, she knew, he'd rape her and they'll all say he was fine. There was no way out...

It started as a feeling of pressure being released. She felt a little warmth between her legs, warmth that spread quickly in her underwear. Warm wetness was spreading against her butt cheeks, pooling under her, dripping through her dress and onto the bed below her. She was shocked to realize she's wetting herself. She tried to command her bladder to stop, to hold, but her body seemed to ignore her commands. Her pee was rolling under her thighs, dripping down the side of the bed. The smell was strong, overwhelming. A puddle was quickly forming under the small of her back.

"What's this?" he asked, "wet yourself?"

"Bob, please?" she tried, tears coming down her cheeks, "please, let me go. You're... you're married! What would Angela think?"

"It was her idea, bitch!" he said. She felt his hand against her knees, pushing them apart. Would it really be the redneck wife's idea, she wondered. Yes, she thought, she did deny Bob's requests for some family time off in recent months, despite his pleas that it was important for his wife and their kids. Trust the little country wench to plot revenge, not understanding the importance of work... His hand was moving on her thigh. She told herself to pull her thighs together but her body still refused to obey. She felt his hand hitching her dress up, exposing her purple undies. He pulled the undies down her thighs, putting the gun down and using both hands to slide the wet panties down her legs and take them off.

"Bob, please," she whimpered weakly, then nearly gagged as he pushed the undies into her mouth. The taste of her pee overwhelmed her. She gasped but couldn't seem to get her hands to move and get it out of her mouth. She was being weak, the thought hit her, and she was not in control. This bearded mountain redneck was going to have his way with her and all her strength, all her independence was worthless, useless to save her.

She was both fascinated and horrified when she realized that for some reason she was aroused. Oh, she had not had a man since college, over seven years now, but that really wasn't it, was it? She did fine without sex. No, she realized, it was the loss of control that was arousing her. There she was, helpless, gagged, tasting her own pee, powerless... and all the stress of day by day control seemed to go away. For once, she was not in control. The responsibility wasn't hers. It was... liberating.

His thick, callused finger found her clit and she gasped as he touched it. She was shocked to find herself wet. She squeaked as his finger began rubbing her clit, massaging over the it, then moving the folds aside to expose the sensitive part underneath. She felt shivers going down her spine coupled with a strange sensation of warmth in her stomach. She made a gasp and tried to tell herself that it's a gasp of fear.

His finger slid down, rubbing in circles around her wet vulva. "You like that, don't you, whore?" he asked. She whimpered and clenched her teeth not to moan. This had the effect of squeezing more of her pee out of her underwear and she drank it so she wouldn't choke. His finger pushed into her and she couldn't help a muffled moan escaping through her. He was raping her, she thought in fascinated horror, and she was enjoying it!

His finger moved in her, pushing in and pulling out, again and again.

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