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Title: Candid Calendar

Author: TheBigLove126

Celebs: Emma Watson

Codes: MF, celeb, rape, anal, viol

Summary: Emma Watson’s calendar is not what she thought it would look like

Disclaimer: The following is a rape story featuring a real female celebrity and a fictional male. Any similarity to reality is coincidental.

If you have any questions, comments or other feedback to this or any of my other stories; feel free to contact me at – thebiglove126@yahoo.com or chat with me on YIM, I am almost always online. When it comes to request, I will take them if they interest me, I like the celeb (no Miley, no Ariana, no Scarlett, no Kardashian, no Upton) and the request is not too detailed (I don’t like planning out stories, I like to write as I go).

“Ms. Watson, Greg Wilcox will see you now,” the receptionist said.

Emma Watson was visiting the office of Mr. Wilcox, the creator of the ‘Feminism Plus Calendar’ series, a series of calendars starring famous fem-fighters. Emma had participated in a photoshoot a month earlier. Unlike most calendars with half-naked women gracing the pages, this one featured the twenty-five-year-old dressed in long dresses, business attire, nothing more risqué than a one-piece bathing suit. She was very proud to participate in something that many other women would be taking part in. She had not seen or heard anything about the other ones but today, she got to see her finished product.

The currently-brunette Brit walked into the room dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a black t-shirt covered by a long white coat. As she approached the chair, she peeled the coat off and folded it up, resting it next to her while she sat down. Emma played around with her shoulder-length hair as Mr. Wilcox, dressed in a cheap suit with his long, red hair in a ponytail, walked in with the calendar in hand.

“Hello Mr. Wilcox,” she said in her beautiful accent.

“Call me Greg,” he said, shaking her hand. “How are you doing today?”

“I’m good, just eager to see the calendar,” she responded as she rested her folded hands on the brand-new table.

“You are going to love this Emma,” he said, laying it down on the table. “I can call you Emma, right?”

Emma nodded as the man showed her the cover. The picture that as chosen as the lead shot was one of her with a flower-print dress that fell to her ankles. On her feet were a pair of black heels, her wrist covered in various bracelets and her hair done up like a princess.

“That’s damn pretty,” she said. “I loved that dress.”

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“Yes, well we determined that it was the best shot of any outfit we had,” Greg explained. “If you loved that, you will love what is inside.”

Greg lifted the page to show a four-month page for the end of 2015. All four pictures surrounded a picture of her sitting in a board room, at the head table with her feet up on the desk. She was dressed in baggy jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, a glass of wine in hand.

“I remember that wine, it was shit,” she said with a chuckle. “I look pretty good like that, though.”

“I think you look really good in the next picture,” Greg said as he turned the page to January.

The look on Emma’s face changed from enjoyment to horror. On the page was not a picture from a photo shoot. It was not even a picture she had taken willingly. The brunette stared at a full-color, high-definition picture of her naked in the shower at her Los Angeles condo. She was facing the camera, which looked to be hidden in the corner of the ceiling. Her shaven pussy was in clear view, soap dripping down her body while her hands were thoroughly cleaning her b-cup breasts.

“The hell is this!?” she screamed. “Is that…where did you get that?”

“We have our ways, Emma,” Greg responded as he flipped to February.

The picture for February featured an equally-as-nude but not nearly as wet Emma, sitting on the toilet, her hand pushing down on her pussy while she did her business. The girl had a huge smile on her face in the picture.

March featured a shot of Emma shaving her legs, her bare ass and the lower end of her pussy lips clearly visible. April showed her admiring her nude body in the full length mirror, her hands pushing her breasts together, giving herself a temporary big cleavage. May showed her squatting on the tile floor, looking for something under the sink, her breasts in clear view.

“Enough! This is fucking bullshit!” she said, slamming her hands down on the table.

Greg ignored her and flipped to June. This picture was clearly from a different day as she was sitting on the closed toilet lid, spread eagle with a hairier cunt on display. She held a razor in one hand and a can of shaving cream in the other. July and August both showed her shaving while September was the most horrifying picture for the woman.

September featured her immediately after she shaved, still holding the razor but holding the handle against her clitoris, her eyes closed and her lower lip between her teeth. October had the razor almost all of the way inside of her cunt. November had a capture of her orgasming, taken in mid-spray. She had her eyes wide open and her tongue hanging out as she watched the spray shoot out of her pussy. The misery came to a close with December, a picture of her sucking on the razor win her right hand while the left was tow-knuckles deep in her cunt.

Emma was almost crying. She was both extremely angry and extremely horrified at what she had just seen. She had just been forced to watch her most private moments in high quality photographs. Slowly, her brown eyes, stained with tears, looked up at Greg. She wanted to jump across the table and choke him to death but was frozen.

“Why? Why this? Why Me?” she asked quietly.

“Because I am sick of you feminist fuck-heads thinking you matter in this world,” he said, slamming the calendar closed. “Who the fuck is going to buy a calendar of a hot bitch dressed in suits and long dresses?”

“People who don’t see women as object!” she yelled back, her voice cracking as she wiped a tear away from her face.

“Fuck that, you ARE objects! People want softcore porn as their calendars,” he said. “This will sell MUCH more than the piece of shit you wanted.”

“You are not going to sell that!” she screamed.

“Like hell I won’t!” he yelled back. “The whole world will see the real Emma Watson.”

“I’ll sue your ass!” she said, standing up.

“People won’t un-see this,” he responded. “When people see the name ‘Emma Watson’, they won’t think of Hermione Granger, they will think of the girl who gets off from shaving her twat!”

Emma looked at him with disgust and grabbed her coat. She started towards the door when Greg stood up. Pulling the handle, Emma learned that the door was locked. She pounded her fist on the door, yelling for someone to let her out.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Greg said as he walked up behind her, slapping his hand over mouth.

The man picked Emma up as she tried to kick herself free. He carried her over to the table and roughly slammed her down. The Brit groaned in pain as she landed tailbone-first on the hard wood. While she was temporarily vulnerable, Greg hauled off and slapped the young woman across the face as hard as his shoulder would allow three times. Emma immediately grabbed for her face and winced.

Emma felt Greg’s hands trying to pull her boots off. The feisty girl started to kick at him but not before he had pulled her footwear completely off.

“Get away from me!” she screamed.

Read Moore

Originally posted 2016-01-05 01:06:15.

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