Emma Watson Fakes Story: "The Black Rape of Emma Watson 2 – Fat White Hope"

The Black Rape of Emma Watson 2 – Fat White Hope
By: JoanDoe
Email: [email protected] .com
Content Codes: Mf (f-16years old), rape, oral, mDom, first-anal,
drugs, inter-mast, very new pregnancy (preg) implied gyn, implied
viol, master/slave.
Celebs: Emma Watson
Disclaimer: This story contains content that should not be read by
people underneath the age of 21. It is 100% fiction and has no bearing
on reality whatsoever. 100% fiction means real life rape is WRONG. It
is not condoned. If you feel rape in the real world is a good thing,
bend over in a prison and whistle dixie. While I’m at disclaiming,
racism and bigotry of any kind are also really fucking stupid. Please
read the story codes above to ensure that you are not going to be
offended by the content.

The Black Rape of Emma Watson 2 – Fat White Hope

Sheik Ahmed’s brother had long felt that he, Mohammad, the western
educated and enlightened brother, would be better in charge of the
family fortunes. So it was that assassins – apparently in the pay of a
business rival – launched a rocket propelled grenade at the Sheik’s
armoured car.

There followed a battle between the assassins and the Sheik’s
bodyguards, which ended up with a sad loss of life on all sides.
Mohammad moved immediately to secure the family fortunes, ensure
accidents for disloyal staff, and get the new Desperate Housewives DVD
he’d been after.

It was while he was discussing matters of inheritance with the family
lawyer (an intelligent man with no love for the idea of a rocket
propelled grenade targeting his s own car) that two employees of the
late, possibly lamented somewhere, Sheik arrived with an English
schoolgirl.

Having discovered on their arrival that their former employer was dead
and that other men of their position had met with the aforementioned
accidents, they had tried to leave straight away with their charge.
The automatic weapons prodding their spines had prevented this.

“What… who is she?” asked the new Sheik, in Arabic.

“We brought her here for She… for your brother, master. He became
enamoured with her beauty.” The thug decided not to go into details
about the Harry Potter obsession; either Mohammad was well aware of
it, or wouldn’t care.

“She looks familiar,” he muttered, again in his mother tongue, though
he had a lot on his mind. The lawyer quickly filled him in on some of
his brothers less legal activities, while Mohammad’s face twisted with
outrage.

“What’s your name?,” he asked Emma Watson, in American accented English.

Now, following Emma’s sexual assault and rape by the African-American
who’d kidnapped her, Emma had been brought on the slow three day
journey to the late Sheik’s home country. The journey had been
especially designed to avoid the law enforcement agencies who were, by
then, quite keen to locate the missing 16 year old actress.

She still wore the replica Hogwarts uniform that Tyrone had dressed
her in, although it was somewhat dishevelled. What’d begun as sly
gopes of her bare pussy under the skirt had moved on to finger fucking
her, oral rape and finally spit roasting her. Her young body had
bounced between her two minders as they shot seed into condoms.

The comdoms made no real difference; Emma had been pregnant ever since
Tyrone fired his potent sperm deep into her fertile teenage womb and
one of the little tadpoles had breached an egg. The minders only used
the condoms because they didn’t want to explain to their master about
all the spunk dripping from the girl, or get any on the uniform.

Throughout the repeated violations and increasingly shameful orgasms
Emily had been told over and over what her new master would expect of
her; to ‘be’ Hermione at all times. To live his fantasy. So when the
man she thought to be the Sheik addressed her in English, she said,

“Hermione Granger, Sir.”

That rang another bell in Mohammed’s mind. A film he’d been to see
with one of his American girlfriends.

“Are you an actress?” he said, sure of it.

Emma gulped, seeing a test before herself. The minders had told her
that whatever games Tyrone might have played – they knew of his
bondage equipment – the punishments for disappointing her new master
would be far worse.

“No Sir. I am a schoolgirl witch, Sir.”

Mohammed blinked. Technically, he was supposed to have all witches
executed – but it was one law for the faithful, and one law for
masters, he supposed.

“A… what?”

“A witch, sir. I help Harry Potter in his fight against the dark one.”

Suddenly it clicked. Mohammed remembered Harry Potter, where he’d seen
her before, and the rest of it.

“You’re the actress from that movie? Aren’t you?”

“I…” Emma couldn’t take it. She dropped to the floor and started to
wail, crying “What do you want from me? They say you want Hermione! I
want to go home! I’m only 16!”

Mohammad put two and two together with the lawyer’s earlier update.
His brother had used the family’s wealth and power to… to have an
actress brought here for his amusement. His first reaction was to send
her home. His second was that, when they found out what his family had
done, the Americans would likely nuke them. No messing, no cluster
bombs, full on megatons. And maybe also sue for the family fortune.

It could not be allowed to happen. He looked down at the crying
schoolgirl for a moment, and realise he didn’t have it in his heart to
order a woman… have an accident. Tough one.

He switched back to Arabic.

“Take these two away and kill them. Do not let them speak to any
others.” The former employees were dragged away by even bigger armed
men.

“What happens to the other girls?” he asked the lawyer.

“Some are in the harem still, some were sold on… a few have died of
illness. This is the first time he has had anyone of any consequence
brought here. Two in the harem even came of their own volition to
escape the mid-west.”

Mohammed had been to the mid-west. He could see their point.

“We’ll have to give her to the harem keeper. She can’t be allowed to
escape, to tell of what she’s seen – or we’re finished.”

“Why not just have her killed?”

Mohammed threw a hard look at the lawyer, clearly indicating he would
prefer to have the slimy bastard killed instead. The lawyer decided
that as soon as he had done everything necessary with regards the
change of property, inheritance and so on, he would seek to retire
somewhere quiet and never speak of what he’d seen.

“What’s your real name?” Mohammed asked, softly, switching back to English.

“Emma Watson. Please, sir, they’ve… they’ve hurt me. They raped me. Those men…”

“I’ve just given the order for those men to be executed. I do not care
for slavery, or people trading.”

“Can I go home? Please?”

“I… I’m sorry, Emma. The Americans have no love for my people. If it
emerged that my brother had been paying for the kidnap of American
citizens and having them brought here… all of our money, our lands…
would be taken from us. My brother is dead, but it wouldn’t stop them.
You must remain here forever.”

Emma broke down into fresh tears and pleading, unaware that her ridden
up skirt was giving the guards behind her a prime view of her well
fucked cunt. Mohammed hardened his heart against the young girl’s
tears, and bade her sent to his late brother’s harem keeper.

Unfortunately for Emma, he didn’t consider the kind of man that the
late and perverted Ahmed would hire as a harem keeper; he only assumed
a matronly lady or Eunuch.

Emma’s tears slowly ceased as she was led through the luxurious
palace; the opulence only marred by the occasional evidence of recent
accidents. Even that was being scrubbed from floors, walls and
furniture.

She thought about her recent treatment; her repeated rapes and her
body’s repeated betrayal of her. How nothing since had felt so good as
being stuffed full of Tyrone’s cock, and how shameful the pleasure had
made her feel. She could feel the air conditioned breeze in the palace
against her short teen bush, her damp labia.
She thought about her last sight of her wounded mother, and how she’d
never see her family again. Never be a famous actress again. Maybe
she’d escape… maybe she’d be rescued. She wouldn’t give up hope. He
thought about how her subsequent rapists had used protection; she
wondered if she had caught anything from Tyrone (she hadn’t) and she
wondered if she was pregnant (she sure was).

Neither of the men escorting her spoke English, or were willing to,
and so it was in silence that they finally arrived before a set of
large wooden doors. Her escort rang the bell (a literal bell, with a
rope pull). Seconds passed, and then the door opened to reveal the
harem keeper.

“Your new master has sent you this girl. She must never be allowed to
escape. He would not see her killed.”

“What does he wish, with her?”

The speaker shrugged; he had come to the palace as a supporter of
Mohammed and had no idea how the harem keeper operated.

“Do whatever you usually do.”

“As you wish.” He motioned to Emma and, hesitantly, she walked inside.
The door shut behind her; the noise seemed like a final closure on her
old life. She turned towards the harem keeper, an imposing African
with skin as black as midnight. She felt her pussy twitch as she
remembered Tyrone. Her rapist.

“I am your master now. You will refer to me as master until you earn
the right to call me anything else. You will do as you are told.
Everyone you will meet is your superior. You will do what anybody
tells you. You will learn. If you learn fast, and well, then things
will go well for you. If you do not, you will be punished until you
do. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Emma chewed on her lower lip, wondering if he would let her go
home. He didn’t sound like the merciful sort. He was easily eight
inches taller than her five-five, and nearly as muscular as Tyrone had
been.

“I see that you do not understand. If you understood, you would have
said Yes, Master.”

“I mean, Yes mas-“

“SILENCE! Now, Strip off your clothes; I strongly advise you not to
make me ask you twice.”

“Yes, Master.”

Still in the windowless corridor behind the wooden doors, frightened
of being naked in public but even more frightened of her new captor,
Emma stripped naked and piled the replica uniform in front of her.

“No panties? I see then that you are no virgin.”

Emma blushed, trying to cover her perky teen breasts with one arm, her
cunt with her hand.

“Hands by your sides.”

Emma complied. The Harem Keeper walked around the naked girl,
examining her closely. He pushed open her mouth with his dark fingers
and checked her teeth. He pushed his index finger into her vagina, and
wiggled it around.

“How old are you?”

“16 years, Master.”

“How many times have you had sex recently?”

“I… I lost count, Master. Many times.”

“Are you a slut?”

“No Master. I was raped.”

“I give you my word that you will be raped not one more time while
under my control.”

Emma looked up hopefully, and then the Harem keeper pushed his finger
back inside her.

“This is because from this point forth you have no human rights. You
are property. You have no right to give consent, no right to say no.
You will come to earn rights, with time.” He had slid another finger
inside Emma’s snatch, and began pumping them inside her, while he
spoke. He felt her body respond almost straight away, arousal juices
getting her wet.

“Do you understand?”

There were tears in Emma Watson’s eyes, but her heart was beating
faster, her pussy was feeling so good. She hated the pleasure.

“Yes Master.”

“Very good. First you will be tested for disease – our medical
facilities are extremely advanced and we will have all results inside
two weeks. In that time you will be locked in a solitary room and fed
daily. You will not have to earn this food. Once all tests are
completed, your training will begin. I suppose I must train you to be
a good wife, though from what I understand the new master has little
need for you in that respect.”

He paused, enjoying Emma Watson’s soft moans as her finger fucked her.
His touch was skilful and experienced, and she was close to another
climax. Her clit was swollen with blood, and when he caught it with
his thumb the girl’s whole body juddered. She clasped and unclasped
her hands, barely able to stand. Chasing the climax.

She almost screamed when the harem keeper pulled his hand away, and
clasped both behind his back.

Emma wasn’t going to beg. Not a rapist. Not after all that had
happened. Yet the burning heat between her thighs was so great, she
heard herself whine slightly. Her thighs were sticky, her bush soaked;
dropped of arousal even splashed onto the floor.

She clenched her fists by her sides, refusing to give him the
satisfaction. Calling him master was one thing, but this… Her flushed
face and barely controlled frustration told the harem keeper all he
needed to know. He laughed heartily and plunged his fingers back
inside Emma Watson, thrusting until her knees buckled and she
collapsed to the floor, shaking and crying with pleasure.

The harem keeper had a powerfully throbbing erection, but he wouldn’t
risk it in the girl until after she’d been tested; it wasn’t like he
was short of pussy to use anyway. He wondered how far he could take
things with an apparently in-attentive master giving him the run of
the place.

He led the naked English girl to a room where old veiled women washed
her thoroughly. Emma felt her body responding even to their rough
hands as she was scrubbed from head to toe. They were extremely
thorough; Emma had never felt so physically clean as she did after
they’d finished – another separation from her old life.

They chose to speak no English and discussed the new arrival over her
head. After drying Emma’s body off, they sat her in a chair. She
realised the harem keeper had departed though she couldn’t remember
when. The oldest of the women began to cut Emma’s hair. There was no
mirror that she could see, but the sheer quantity of locks falling
about the chair told her she was losing a lot of it.

“Wait! What are you doing? Please don’t!”

Both of them ignored her. The younger woman approached with a tub and
a razor blade. When she knelt between the 16 year old’s thighs, Emma
tried to hold her legs closed – the woman was old, but she was wiry
and strong, and forced her hand in to rub the shaving foam into Emma’s
bush.

Soon the same foam was being applied to Emma’s closely cropped head,
and before long the only hair left was her eyebrows. They even lifted
her arms, but after a brief discussion decided that her already
recently shaved pits could wait until her crotch and head were shaved
again – they knew that as a new arrival she would be regularly shaved.

Emma Watson held her hands against her incredibly smooth head with a
sense of wonder. After all the sexual violations, this seeming denial
of her femininity felt like a rejection. The ladies professionally
applied after shave salves to head and crotch, and then the newly bald
girl was led through into another room.

She gaped at the mirror she saw there. Emma Watson, as a famous
actress, was used to seeing her image from many angles in photos. She
couldn’t believe how different her face looked without her beautiful
hair. Her pussy, surprisingly, didn’t look so changed. Her bush had
been short to start with and the shaving simply revealed more clearly
the secondary sexual characteristics puberty had wrought.

“I’m Dr Jones. Get in the chair.”

She broke off staring and looked around. Even with the heavy
middle-eastern stylings, she could tell she was in a doctors office as
advanced – maybe more so – than any general practitioners’ in London.

“You’re Welsh?” she said, with considerable surprise, when she
recognised the accented lilt in the white man’s voice.

“Shut up. Get in the chair. You won’t like it if I make you.”

The doctor’s voice was harsh and unfeeling, lacking the warmth that
even the stern harem keeper possessed. He was short, barely an inch
taller than Emma – even in her bare feet – balding, and overweight.
His red hair clashed with skin that seemed far too pale for the
region; Emma wondered if he was forced to stay away from the sun
because of a tendency to burn too easily.

For the doctor’s part, he saw another freshly arrived slave. He didn’t
think of them as wives and he truly resented the girls who were now
considered to outrank him. The former Sheik had hired him following
convictions for sexual assault in his home town of Cardiff and he’d
lived out there ever since. He hated the weather, the food, the people
(as a member of the racist political party Plaid Cymru he’d only
accentuated his dislike moving out of Cardiff) and the lack of respect
he was paid.

But he was competent at least to do all of the tests required of him,
and over several hours and in as many humiliating ways as he could, he
tested the Emma Watson. With the labs and technology at the palace’s
disposal, they would have all the results back shortly with the
longest taking two weeks.

Emma was close to exhausted when it was all done. Her body was sore
from the numerous samples taken, and she’d been really embarrassed by
the stool and urine samples the doctor had made her donate. She sank
back into the chair and gratefully accepted the glass of refreshing
water offered. Dr Jones watched her drink with barely suppressed
excitement, and caught it when it slipped from her limp fingers thirty
seconds later.

“That old nigger Winston is terrified of catching something from one
of you girls,” he told the sleeping woman as he unbuttoned his shirt,
“but see that boyo who sent you out here has never once sent a
diseased girly. You’ll be pregnant, oh, no doubt about that, but not
diseased. So now Jonesey’s getting himself a piece of you, Miss ‘Emma
Watson’ ” – during the testing, he’d obtained many details. Emma had
looked like she might cry when he’d laughed in her face at the
suggestion that, as a famous actress, the award he’d get for helping
her would be more than he could hope for.

He slipped shirt and white doctor’s coat off together, revealing a
hairy but pasty-pale body with an obvious gut. Kicking his shoes off,
he unbuttoned his pants and dropped them to the floor with his
underwear. Dr Jones fat cock was a mere five inches long, standing
straight and hard from a ginger bush.

The pungent smell of his sweaty cock would have disgusted Emma if she
wasn’t drugged into unconsciousness. The smell seemed to almost
intensify as the fat Welshman pulled back his foreskin with one hand
and, gripping Emma’s now-smooth head with the other, pushed his chessy
bell-end into the sleeping girl’s angelic face.

He liked seeing her cheek bulging out as he pushed his cock against
the inside, enjoying the wet warmth of Emma’s mouth. Keeping one hand
on the back of her head, he dropped the other down to molest the 16
year old’s breasts.

Emma gagged in her sleep as his cock prodded the back of her throat,
but he pushed harder until his fat crown popped into Emma’s tight
throat. He humped her face, balls slapping on her chin, as the gagging
and coughing of the increasingly red faced girl pleasurably squeezed
his prick.

He felt his balls tightening already and pulled out, dropping his
other hand from her breasts. He thought for a moment about pushing the
teen rack around his short shaft and fucking them until he spewed his
seed over her neck, but he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance at
her.

Sweating heavily by then, Dr Jones draped the teen’s unconscious body
face forward over his desk. He knelt down behind her and licked her
arsehole, but after the thorough cleaning there was barely any body
flavour. He swirled his tongue around Emma’s puckered star and pushed
it inside, feeling the muscles tight resistance.

He stood and reached for a tube of surgical lubricant, applying it
evenly over his shaft and then working it around and into the
unconscious girl’s last virginal hole. He finger fucked her arse with
smooth, lubricated strokes, opening her up to receive his shaft.

The doctor aimed his straining prick at Emma’s hole, pushing it
against the hot flesh.

“This one’s for Wales, you English bitch.”

He eased his cock in, buggering her with one swift thrust. The
exquisite tight heat of Emma Watson’s ass drew a happy grunt from the
rapist as he gripped her hips and humped happily away.

“So… damn… tight…” he muttered, leaning down to press his fat hairy
gut against Emma’s smooth back, and reach around for the limp girl’s
breasts. Emma was totally unaware of her anal rape, even as the doctor
sped up his pelvic thrusts so that the desk rocked with the motion of
the fucking.

“All you English bitches are good for… taking welsh cock up the arse!
Little slut!” Jones didn’t care Emma couldn’t hear him as he continued
to taunt her. He moved one hand from pawing an erect nipple and
managed to get it down between Emma’s legs and the desk.

As he squeezed her clit, her rectum tightened around his cock. He came
five inches inside Emma Watson’s ass, shooting watery spunk towards
her bowel. The Doctor came in five spurts, before slowly withdrew his
wilting cock. He paused to admire the speed with which Emma’s asshole
closed up behind his fat crown, though a tricky of stained sperm
leaked down towards her pussy.

After catching his breath for a few seconds, he cleaned his soft cock
off with tissue paper and wiped a couple of sheets down Emma’s crack –
enough that she wouldn’t be dripping spunk as she was wheeled to the
new arrivals’ solitary cell.


So it was that Emma Watson awoke in a dark room a couple of hours
later. Covered in smooth white sheets, she reached for her head and
her crotch and felt the new baldness of both. She was 16, and she was
scared in the unfamiliar dark. Her bottom felt odd as well, though she
had no idea why.

After being kidnapped by Tyrone, assaulted by her captors and then
today’s humiliations Emma thought that whatever came next couldn’t be
worse. She could be strong, and refuse to give into whatever else they
had planned. She wouldn’t let her body betray her any longer.

Emma Watson realised she was fingering her shaved pussy. Whatever
tomorrow brought, she thought, it was probably already too late.

End (unless I write another part)

Author’s note: Please feedback. I am especially interested if you did
not like this story, as I would like to know why. I was very grateful
for the comments I read on the forum after the first part.

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