Reinhardt had been eyeing tracer for a while now. Her British accent made his old heart skip a beat, and dat ass nearly put him to sleep. Whenever Tracer walked by, you could hear the thick gong of Reinhardt's Nazi cock hitting his armor as he became rock fucking hard. Despite his feelings, he knew his fantasies were evil, and at his core, he was good. As long as his fantasies stayed in his head, Tracer would be none the wiser. It had been this way for years, but one day, he had finally twisted and turned the thought into something he considered rational. He had to do it quiet, he had to do it quick, and he absolutely needed dat pussy.
Later
Tracer fought and thrashed against Reinhardt's impervious grip on her arms. One would think she could slip away with her chronal accelerator, but a well placed fist not only shattered her device, but crushed a few of her ribs. Her screams and breaths only made the pain in her abdomen worse. She hoped the blue light would come back on like it had always done before, but alas, it only flickered and sparked, but Tracer was an optimist, and every light brought forth knew hope, which was quickly dashed.
Tracer knew she could outrun/outmaneuver him, but up close and personal ,she was putty in his hands. Despite this crushing truth creeping its way through her frantic mind, she resisted the towering German with all her might. But in the end, Reinhardt got his way.
Reinhardt could subdue this petite girl with one hand, the other he used to unleash his massive 13 inch cock. Tracer, seeing the Nazi's second hammer, screamed for help and begged him for mercy, but it fell on deaf ears. He slammed Tracer onto the ground, breaking even more bones, and ripped her tight pants from her slender body. Tracer tried to crawl away despite the unbearable pain and crunch of her bones, she was running on a pure fight or flight mechanism. The hungry nazi mounted her and ramrodded her tight lesbian pussy. Tracer could feel her very insides being ruined by his cock. She played with dildos in the past with her Girlfriend, but this was as if she was being shredded from the inside out. She realized fighting was futile and whimpered and occasionally begged for Winston to help her. "Reinhard," hearing the brits cries of pain, sent a chill up his spine, he had heard the begging of previous foes, but something about this felt...wrong. But it felt more right, he continued pounding away until he and Tracer were sweating, he finally finished. He knew she would be gone in a few hours, either by death or without her chronal accelerator. He left her on the ground to perish. He stood up and adjusted his cock. Seeing the poor girl on the ground, ragged breathing, goggles fogging up with tears, it was too much, the horniness the forced him to commit this atrocity had left him with nothing but the pain and guilt. He sauntered away from the crying girl; a single tear rolling down his scarred face.
Tracer felt like her insides had been scooped out through her pussy. Sure, her GF liked to peg her with black strap-ons, but the Nazi's throbbing 1 footer hollowed her out like a pumpkin. She could feel the grinding of her broken ribs with every breath she tried to take, any time she attempted to move her shattered body refused sending insurmountable pain through her very soul. She laid on the cold pavement, tears rolling down her cold cheeks. She didn't know what was worse; someone she once trusted with her life had destroyed her mentally and physically, or that there won't be anything left for her friends or family to find. Reinhardt made sure to it that there wouldn't be any evidence left. With her chronal accelerator destroyed, it was only a matter of hours until she once again was lost to time itself, and all who had known her. Her silent tears turned to loud wailing sobs that fell upon deaf ears. Once she realized she was truly on her own she turned to her only source of peace, religion. She asked, begged the iris to take her away from the shame and pain she was enduring, but once again, her pleas went unheard. A once proud, beautiful, budding young woman in the prime of her life, beaten down to nothing more than a bleeding, broken rape victim, crying in some disgusting alley. As time dragged on and her throat became dry, she could feel herself become disassociated with the now, with a final, powerful scream strong enough to break the heavens, she called to Winston, her girlfriend, the iris, anyone and anything to keep her from drifting off into the hell that is time disassociation.
Once again, she went unheard. And soon enough all that was left of the great Tracer, was a pool of pussy blood.