Quickies are short bits of writing that are meant to stimulate the imagination. They have far less narrative than my stories. They tend to convey an idea, leaving you to fill in the blanks. If you are good at “reading what isn’t written” you will more than likely enjoy them. I hope so, anyway. ~ Jefferson
While running from the fight, Cletus and I caught ourselves a Yankee. It turned out that it was a woman pretending to be a man. We were going to try using her as a swap for our freedom if we were caught.
We tied her ankles together and her knees together. Her wrists were tied to her knees and her mouth was stuffed and tied with kerchiefs. She dozed on and off a bit, but most of the time kept a wary eye on us.
After about a bunch of hours and no sign of anyone finding us, Cletus stood up and said, to no one in particular, “It’s been weeks since I’ve had a bath. I’m dirty and smelly and coated with dry sweat. There’s probably not a woman alive that would want my peter in her mouth or up her cunt.”
Let me tell you, that girl’s eyes opened real wide. She certainly wasn’t liking what she was hearing. And what she heard next she liked even less.
“The gentlemanly thing to do, then,” Cletus said, “out of respect for the little lady, is to fuck her in the ass.”
That girl started carrying on and fighting against the ropes, but it didn’t do her any good at all. Cletus rolled her onto her side and laid down on the ground behind her. I saw him take out his knife and then I heard him cutting open the seat of her britches.
Less than a minute after he’d put his knife away, her eyes opened even wider than before. Then, they clench shut and she started squealing as loud as she could with them kerchiefs stuffed in her mouth.
She must have never done it that way before. Between the two of us, though, we got her used to it by morning.
Technology is amazing stuff. Holodecks are great for acting out the fantasy of raping the Starfleet officer of your choice. The only drawback is that the next time you see her, she hasn’t really been taken down the peg or two you want her to be. She’s still as arrogant as ever.
Portable transporters are amazing bits of technology too. It’s taken me a lot of studying in secret, but I could probably pass an Engineering exam. I’ve worked out how to override all the security systems necessary.
I’ve got an untraceable phaser to stun her long enough to tie her up, a hypo-spray to paralyze her vocal cords and another to make her body attack and destroy any foreign DNA. I’ve also got a scanner of my own design that will sweep the room and destroy any DNA traces left outside of her body.
No more holodecks for me. Tonight is the first night of many to come where I experience the real thing, complete with the traumatic aftermath. In a few hours, a certain bridge officer will have an uninvited guest in her quarters, in her bed, in her cunt.
I’ve got two stepsisters and neither is all that bad looking. At least, they’re better looking than any of the girls willing to go out with a nerd like me. I woke up once in the middle of the night and spotted my dad coming out of their bedroom. After a little snooping and investigating and a night with my ear to the wall, I figured out he had discovered a way of drugging them just before bedtime and then fucking them while they were unconscious.
At first I wondered why my stepmother had never woke up and caught him. After a little more investigation I learned he was drugging her too as sort of an insurance policy. None of the three of them seemed to know they were being dosed. But knowing what to look for, I soon knew exactly when they’d be out and he’d be in, if you know what I mean.
Around 2 am, I spotted dad heading to my stepsisters’ room carrying the damp cloth he used to clean them up afterwards. A few minutes later, I headed to his room with a damp cloth of my own. Even unconscious my stepmother is a great fuck, nice big tits and a tight pussy.
An hour later, my dad was back in his own room and I was heading for the girls’ room with my damp cloth once more in hand. They aren’t as stacked as their mother, but they’re both good and tight. The youngest is still a virgin, but that only applies to her pussy, if you know what I mean.
Before I learned my dad’s little secret, I wasn’t getting any three times a year let alone three times in one night. Thanks, dad.
“You owe us way too much money to be trying to cut a deal, Buttmunch. So, let me tell you how it’s going to be. We’re going to let you walk out that door. You’ve got one hour to get us all you owe us. During that hour, your pretty little wife if going to suck cock and get cunt pumped. Every minute you’re late getting back, your daughter is going to lose a piece of clothing. Once she’s naked, she’s going to start using her mouth. If you’re more than an hour late, she’s getting cunt pumped too. If you’re more than two hours late, you’re dead and they’re sold. That’s how it will be.”
No girl should ever have to hear what I was hearing, especially a naive virgin like myself. But there I was, huddled in the back of a truck with a small group of other young girls as an older woman told us, “You were betrayed, all of you. No matter what you were told in order to get you here, it was a lie. You have been sold, bought and paid for by the men driving this truck. These men only care about what is between your legs. You will let them fuck you, or you will be beaten and raped. You will work for these mean as whores, or you will be locked in a room, again and again, with men who have paid to beat you and rape you. If you become too troublesome, they will make a movie of you being tortured to death. These are ruthless men.”
Her voice got softer and sounded almost motherly as she added, “Let these men fuck you. Whore for them. Make their customers happy to be fucking you. Do this for your own sake.”
The truck stopped and everything got quiet, except for the sound of sobbing. Things were very bad and about to get much, much worse.
A moment later the rear door opened. We were in a large garage or small warehouse. Along one wall there were several cages. The doors of most of them stood open. Two contained young women. One had obviously been beaten and raped. The other, who had apparently been more cooperative, wept quietly as she put her panties back on.
The largest of the three men standing behind the truck gave the woman a questioning look. She nodded and whispered, “They know.”
The man looked at each of us in turn and nodded in approval. Whether he approved of our appearance or the fact we had been informed of our fate, I don’t know. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t change things. One of the younger girls started to say something in a language I don’t understand, but the woman quieted her with a terrified look and a shake of her head.
There was a bed with a bare mattress in the center of the room. The man pointed at it. Then, pointing directly at me, he said, “You’re first.”
Learnin’ a Girl
I’m a stern woman and I don’t take no disobedience or sass from no youngun, and I had had more than enough from my brother’s girl. She’d been left in my care for over a year now, and I was fixin’ to give her some learnin’ she wouldn’t soon forget. Her unders were lying on the floor, she was tied face down on her bed and had a knotted rag tied tight in her mouth. I had just flipped up her dress, wrapped the leather strap around my hand and reared back when my son, Chester, came into the room.
His eyes went straight to the space between her open legs. As mad as I was, I had to smile. My little boy was growin’ up. His cousin, though, didn’t like it one bit. She started twisting, turning and squealing. If she hadn’t had that knotted rag in her mouth, who knows what she might have said.
“Hush up,” I told her.
Can you believe it? She just got louder. Well let me tell you, I had more than I could take of her lip and was planning on really lettin’ her have it.
Chester looked at the strap in my hand and said, “She’s really been bad, ain’t she, Ma?”
“You darn tootin’, and she’s gonna pay too,” I told him.
His eyes went back to her lightly fringed little slit and and asked, “I been good, ain’t I, Ma?”
He had. After the horse whippin’ I’d given him a little over a year ago, he’d become the perfect gentleman, doing his chores when told with no complainin’ or disrespect.
I nodded, he smiled, and then he said, “I’ve been wanting to have a go at her, but she’s always mean to me. Can I, Ma? Can I?”
Well, that girl calmed down instantly and her big eyes opened real wide. When I didn’t say nothing, she got this terrified look in her eyes and shook her head the tiniest bit. I ain’t sure what made up my mind for me, the fact that she was more afraid of him than me, or the fact that she dared to try and influence my decision.
“All right,” I said, tossing the strap aside. “I can’t have the little cunt getting pregnant, though, and you know what that means.”
As his cousin threw herself a hissy fight and learned just how good I am at tying knots, Chester stripped out of his coveralls.
Displaying a tool any man would be proud of, my boy said to me, “I think she’s still a virgin too. She told me her daddy tried havin’ a go at her once, and she fought him off with a big stick. Let me pop her cherry, please, Ma.”
To tell the truth, I was a little ashamed my boy was still a virgin. There just had never been any other girls around, and I wasn’t inclined to let him have a go at me. This girl, on the other hand… She was crying pretty hard and was more or less out of her mind. When I grabbed her by the hair of her head and asked her if it was true, she managed to still be able to nod her head, though.
“You raised a hand to your daddy?”
“Ain’t nobody ever had a go at you?”
“And you turned down my boy? You ain’t never done nothin’ for him at all?”
Her eyes shut and she nodded again.
“Men have got needs and it’s a woman’s duty to see to them,” I roared at her.
Chester had already climbed up on her. Lookin’ into his smilin’ face, I nodded and told my boy, “Pop her cherry, but don’t juice her sluice. When you feel yourself gettin’ close to floodin’ her fun tunnel, you switch holes, you hear?
He grinned and nodded.
Then, I told his pretty little cousin, “Let this be a lesson to you. In the future, rather than using your mouth to make me angry, you start using it for satisfying Chester and making him your friend. Then maybe he’ll learn you how to stay on my good side.”
I wish I had me one of those Polaroid cameras. You should have seen the look on that little cunt’s face. As Chester started opening her for business, you would have sworn she was eatin’ a big, nasty bug or something. Tears were pouring out of her eyes and she looked like she was gonna upchuck.
I waited a couple of minutes or so until she started hollering to high heaven and I was sure he’d switched holes and wasn’t up her baby-maker anymore. Then, satisfied that justice had been done, I gave Chester some privacy.
It was over two hours before that girl hobbled out of her room, as knock-kneed as a newborn calf. She took one look at me, started sobbing and said, “I’m sorry. It won’t never happen again, Ma’am.”
“You let him use your mouth regular, and you won’t have to take it up the heiny again,” I told her.
She swallowed and did a fair enough job of hiding her disgust. Then, nodding, she said, “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you, Ma’am.”
She got this sheepish look, and almost whispering said, “I don’t want to have no baby, and I’m afraid he’s going to ruin me so I can’t never sit down.”
Still having a serious amount of trouble walking, she went to the toilet and spit a half dozen times. She gave her teeth a real thorough brushing, cleaned up her face and gave her hair a quick brushing. When she went to the fridge to fetch Chester a beer, a mixture of poop, sperm and blood ran down the inside of her leg.
She must of noticed me looking. Hangin’ her head in shame, she said, “It’s too sore to clean up right now, and he said he ain’t done with me back there yet.”
“You tell him that I said he is,” I told her. “He can have one more go at your mouth today, and once a day from now on — twice on Saturdays, never on Sundays — suck your titties too, but what’s normally in your unders is off-limits unless I say different.”
She gave me the brightest, prettiest smile, saying, “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll tell him, Ma’am. I’ll be good, Ma’am. You’ll see. I’ll never sass you again, Ma’am. I’ll learn to use my mouth and hands real good. He said I’ll get used to taking it in my throat without gagging and that I’ll learn to like swallowing his stuff too, Ma’am, and I know I will.”
I smiled back at her. She went to her room, and I haven’t had a moment’s trouble with that girl since.
The Senator’s Wife
Getting the senator’s wife alone had been the tricky part. Finally, though, things worked themselves out. We nabbed her, took her for a ride and had her in an old abandoned building on the south side.
Eventually, with the help of my boys, I got her to the right room. She’d used up most of her strength struggling for the last half hour, and went down pretty easy. I had her pinned down on an old dirty mattress where I’ve pinned plenty of other girls, and for the very same reason. She knew why, too, just like they did. Women have a sixth sense when it comes to that.
One of the guys lit a cigarette and said, “Someone wants to send your husband a message. They hired us to rape you.”
“Shut up,” I snarled, glaring at him. “She already knows what, and she doesn’t need to know why.”
She definitely knew all right, but hearing it spelled out got her even more worked up. She was as hysterical as any I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few.
“Calm down!” I screamed at her, releasing her wrist, slapping her hard and then pinning her again.
She was still whimpering, whining and sobbing, but she stopped her futile struggling. Her body was still tense and quivering, though. It was a nice body, too. She was pretty hot for a woman her age. She had obviously been married for her looks a few decades ago, and knowing she was just high-priced arm candy had resulted in her taking real good care of herself.
“You listen to me, and you listen good,” I told her, moving my face in close to hers. “You know why we’re here, and you know that nothing you do is going to change that. There are four of us, and only one of you. We can beat you up, or tie you down, or just hold you down. You can cry and carry on all you want, but all that’s going to do is piss me off. I’m going to fuck you. We’re all going to fuck you. We’re probably going to fuck you two or three times each.”
That, of course, set her off again. It took two more hard slaps before she calmed back down.
“You didn’t listen,” I said, snarling at her. “Nothing you do is going to change that. You’ve been whoring yourself for years. The only difference is tonight it’s going to be us doing you instead of your mealticket. Take your fucking like the good little whore you are, and maybe you won’t wind up in the hospital or the morgue.”
That last word got her attention. Her arms went limp and she got this seriously worried look in her eyes. She took a quick look around the room we had her in. The only furnishings were the the filthy mattress she was lying on. There were no windows and there were three guys between her and the only door, four counting me. Her eyes closed slowly and she whimpered as a way of indicating her surrender.
Two of the guys came over and pulled her legs open. She shuddered a little in disgust, but didn’t resist at all. I gave her a little bit of a dry humping to test her resolve, grinding her mound. She nodded her head a little, agreeing to what I hadn’t exactly asked, but had.
“I’m going to take your gag off now,” I told her. “I’m sure you know why. If you make a sound or give me any trouble at all, I’m breaking your nose. If we have to make you ugly, your mealticket might decide to find himself another trophy, a newer, younger one. You know he’s been holding auditions. You’ve got respectability on your side, and you’re a decent looking piece of meat. You don’t want us changing that.”
A few seconds later, her blouse was open, her bra was cut and her tits were out. My cock went in her mouth and she started demonstrating her talent. The guys on either side were getting her ready for stage two. First her heels were taken off. Then, her skirt was pulled up and her pantyhose and panties were pulled down and off.
I wasn’t counting, but she gave more than a half dozen blowjobs, got her slit slopped six or seven times and took it up the ass at least twice. No woman likes to be raped, but she didn’t seem to hate is as much as all the others. It was probably the best screwing she’d ever had.
When we were too worn out to fuck her any more, she asked, “Can I hire you to keep those bimbos away from my husband?”
I nodded and she added, “Making them ugly is a requirement, not an option.”
Michelle stood on the opposite side of her boss’s large mahogany desk and began to tremble.
“What do you mean we’re being audited?” she asked.
Sam poured himself a shot of bourbon and drank it before replying, “Remember when you quit five years ago? Well, of course I had to hire a new accountant. He claims that I owe about a half million in back taxes, and if I don’t pay it he’ll report the company to the IRS. I think that means there will be an audit.”
“You’ve got to pay those back taxes, Sam, even if you have to sell your house and car. You have to pay those back taxes. You know what a full audit will find. You and I will both go to prison.”
Sam poured and drank another shot.
“I’m not sure I care,” he said, taking yet another drink straight from the bottle. “The business has all but failed. Selling it, my house, my car, everything I have would just barely be enough. I’d wind up broke, living in a rat trap with no future. Right now, federal prison doesn’t look all that bad. The only downside would be no sex, and I’m not getting any now as it is.”
“What about me?” Michelle asked, her voice shaking with fear.
Same gave her a wolfish smile and said, “Those were the days. When you first started here it didn’t take much to get you bend over my desk, raise your skirt and drop your panties. An extra few days of vacation with pay, a small raise, and you’d spread ‘em.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Michelle snapped. “If you got to prison, so do I. My signature was on every financial report yours was. You can’t do this to me!”
Patting the top of his desk at the center near the end, Sam continued, “Yes sir, right here. You even took it up the butt that one time.”
“Sam! Focus!” This is serious. You’ve got to pay those back taxes.”
Giving Michelle an expectant look, Sam said, “Convince me.”
“It’s simple,” her ex-boss said. “You have more to lose than I do, with your happy life and all. I might even be able to persuade them I’m just a dumb boss who knows nothing about accounting. You’re a CPA. You really want me to pay all that money to keep your sexy ass out of jail? Convince me.”
Michelle swallowed hard and her skin got clammy.
“Are you blackmailing me?” she asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice.
Giving her the wolfish smile again, Sam shook his head and said, “No, Chelle. No, I am not blackmailing you.
He picked up the bottle of bourbon again. Then, set it back down and added, “I just thought a little stroll down memory lane might convince me that sex is a pretty good reason not to go to prison.”
Glaring, Michelle told him, “We are not taking a stroll down memory lane. I am a happily married woman with two kids. I was young and stupid when I started here, but that was a long time ago. I was intoxicated by the power you had and was easily manipulated. All that’s changed.”
“Yes, now I’m the one who is intoxicated,” Sam said, laughing.
In a cold business-like tone, Michelle asked, “What are you going to do, Sam?”
“It’s time for plan B, I guess,” he said, calmly.
Raising an eyebrow, Michelle asked, “What’s plan B?”
Gently patting the top of his desk at the center near the end, Sam said, “Yes, Chelle. Yes, I am blackmailing you.”
Folding her arms over her chest, Michelle, sneered and said, “You can’t be serious.”
“Chelle, I considered committing suicide. Then I thought about what would make life worth living. I really enjoyed our quid pro quo sessions. You were a great piece of ass. I’m willing to bet you still are. You can call it blackmail, or you can take it as a compliment, but you are going to take it. So bend over, get your dress up and your panties down.”
As she shook her head adamantly, Michelle said, “No way!”
“There are only the two of us in the room, and we are unanimously unconvinced,” Sam told her, smiling.
Grabbing her briefcase, Michelle stormed out the door.
Two minutes later, the door opened again. Michelle came in and set down her briefcase. Without looking at Sam or saying a word, she walked to the end of his desk, bent over and raised her skirt. As she lowered her pantyhose and panties, she hissed, “I hate you.”
“But I don’t want to, daddy.”
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to,” my father said. “I told you to take your fucking pants off.”
I’d seen how badly he beat my mother the last time he was this drunk, and I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to me. Yanking on my hair, he said, “And your panties too.”
He’d walked in on me and Billy Ferguson. I thought we had the house to ourselves, and I’d let Billy get a lot further than I ever had before because he’d asked me to the prom. When daddy came in my room, Billy was sucking on my titties and had his hand between my legs. He literally got dragged by the hair and thrown down the stairs. And I got slapped hard across the face.
“It’s not how it looks, daddy, I swear. I wasn’t going to let him go all the way.”
Pulling back his fist, he snarled and said, “I’m not going to tell you again.”
Nodding as hard and fast as I could, I pulled my belt out of my jeans and handed it to him. Then, I unbuttoned them and pushed them down. Fighting back tears, I lowered my panties and bent over the bed.
“You think you’re getting the belt?” my dad asked, tossing it aside. “Take them all the way off and spread your legs, you little cocktease. You’re getting your cherry popped. It’ll serve you right for letting boys get you off and then sending them home with blue balls.”
“Oh, God, no,” I cried. “It’s not like that. We just pet some.”
He slapped me again, even harder.
“You get them hard, don’t you?” he asked.
Too terrified to lie, I nodded.
“You don’t even let them get a sniff of your virgin pussy, you don’t take it up the butt or give them a blowjob, either, do you?”
I shook my head.
“Not even a handjob?”
I shook my head again.
“You’re a fucking tease, just like your mother and just like your sister. I put your mother in the hospital and you saw the black eye your sister got. If I have to beat the shit out you, I will. On your back. Legs open. Now!
It took one more hard slap across the face to convince me. Anyway, that’s how I got my my cherry popped.
Being a young girl and being at someone’s mercy are a horrible combination. My father, brother and I were traveling cross country when the world went haywire. For weeks we barely escaped certain death. We finally thought we’d found a safe haven, but soon learned we weren’t the first to find it.
On a lonely stretch of road, miles from any other building stood an old two story garage. Downstairs were mechanics’ bays. Upstairs was a small apartment. That was Quentin’s little kingdom. We were being chased, and he hurriedly ushered us in through one of the large garage doors, closing it just in time.
With the scraping of claws against the metal doors and howling as a backdrop, he said, in a quiet, self-assured voice, “In times like these, kindness costs.”
“It’s not much, but I’ll happily give you all the money we have,” my father said.
Leading us to a door in a recently constructed block wall the separated the bay we were in from the other two, Quentin asked, “What the hell am I going to do with money? You know what it’s like out there.”
He opened the door into the adjoining bays long enough for us to look through, and then closed and locked it again. On the other side, the two bays were one large room subdivided into plywood and cardboard cubicles. In the common area, a small group of dejected men sat around a heater.
“We’ve recently had a vacancy,” Quentin told my father. “It’s yours, if you’re willing to pay the price.”
“I don’t understand,” my father said.
With a sick, twisted grin on his face, Quentin said, “Let me spell it out for you. That big garage door there opens by remote control. I can go upstairs and open it. In a matter of minutes the three of you will be dragged outside and eaten alive. Or, I can let you and your son live in the recently vacated cubicle next door.”
“Me and my son? What about my daughter?” my father asked, with a tone that was suspicious, worried and angry all at the same time.
Quentin walked over to a metal counter bolted to the outside wall, patted its surface and said, “She pays the price.”
“You can’t be serious!” my father yelled.
Picking up a large steel bar, Quentin chuckled and said, “I’m as serious as they come. I already have a pretty decent collection of the wives and daughters of those men next door living upstairs with me, but I’m in the market for some fresh young talent. Now if you’re opposed to the idea of me having sex with your daughter, well… That’s going to happen either way. I’d rather not beat the crap out of the two of you and rape her, though. It’s generally a waste of pussy. A girl who has just watched her loved ones beaten down, and knows they’re going to be thrown outside, generally fights to the death. She always get’s fucked, but she doesn’t always survive. She’s usually beaten badly enough that I usually just open the big door and be done with her too.”
With that, he used his other hand to grab me by the wrist and drag me toward that counter.
Much to my horror, my father just stood there, hanging his head in shame. Quentin put his hand between my shoulder blades and shoved, forcing me to bend over. In my ear, he whispered, “Pull your pants down, darling,”
My father cringed, and put his arm around my brother. Then they both turned around and went to the far corner, obviously not wanting to watch, but more importantly, not willing to interfere.
“Pull your pants down, darling, or I’m going to start getting rough,” Quentin told me.
I felt like I had no choice, so I did as I was told.
My husband is a rich and powerful man. Somehow he was still sent to prison for a long time. I’m pretty sure he knew I was the one who put the cops onto him. He hadn’t divorced me, though. That would have caused more scandal. He hadn’t had me killed either, but only because he wanted to do that himself. I’m certain of that. He was up for parole again and I was terrified.
An overweight, balding man had come to my office at the children’s charity where I do volunteer work for his second visit since my husband’s incarceration.
“You know why I’m here, don’t you?” he asked, with his little piggie eyes exploring my cleavage.
I covered myself with my hand and nodded.
“I again have the deciding vote as to whether your husband gets out of prison. I don’t think you want that to happen,” he said, shifting his eyes to mine.
There was contempt and a touch of anger in those eyes. I wasn’t handling things well, and I knew it. Slowly and discreetly, I uncovered my breasts, lowering me hand to my lap. He gave me a small, sick little grin and then blatantly continued his ogling. He was a voyeur. I knew that from his previous meeting. He would also “inadvertently” brush against one breast or the other before leaving. He liked my breasts, but there was something else I knew he wanted.
Rising from behind my desk, I removed my blazer, tugging down on my top so that I was showing even more cleavage. More importantly, though, was the fact that the top of my slacks were now visible. They weren’t all that tight, but they still gave me what a cretin like him would call a camel toe. He practically started drooling.
I felt, filthy, humiliated and degraded, but I knew if this man didn’t vote the way I needed him too, I’d be dead before the end of the month. Dying inside was better than dying.
Finally looking up from my crotch, he said, in a quiet, shaking voice, “I am seriously thinking of voting to keep your husband in prison, but I’m not sure. I thought you might be able to convince me that I should.”
Using the act of repositioning my purse on my desk as an excuse, and trying my very best not to be obvious about it, I leaned over and so that he had a much better view down my top. I gave me the same sick smile he had before. This time, however, I got the feeling that although he was pleased, he was pleased in a different way. I suddenly realized that it wasn’t what I was doing, but the fact I was doing it.
Rising from his seat, he came close, much closer than the last time. I thought I knew what to expect, though. As predicted, he slowly lifted his right hand, brushing it’s back against my left breast. What I didn’t expect, though, was the fingertips of his right hand lightly brushing me through the front of my slacks. I gasped slightly and our eyes locked. He was as nervous as I was outraged, but we both knew who held all the cards. As if to drive that point home, both of his hands came to rest on my shoulders, pressing down almost imperceptibly.
My voice shook uncontrollably as I looked into his sweaty face and said, “You can’t possibly be implying what I think you’re implying.”
“What you think I may be implying is immaterial,” he said, his voice shaking almost as badly as mine. “Demanding anything of you is out of the question. Even suggesting anything would be inappropriate. What you choose to do voluntarily, however, is another matter.”
With my skin crawling, I asked, “And if I voluntarily do what I think you’d like for me to do, you’ll vote to keep him in prison?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” he said, with a smirk.
He took a half step back and just stood there, expectantly. I opened my purse. Inside I have a small 9mm pistol I carry for personal protection. For the longest time I considered killing the creep. Then, shuddering with revulsion, I took out a hankie, wiped off my lipstick, and sank to my knees.
I’m a man who respects punctuality. That’s why I was doubly pleased when at exactly midnight there was a knock on my hotel door. Wrapping a towel around myself, I answered it. I was even more pleased when I saw how young and pretty the woman was.
“Mrs. Carlson?” I asked.
She nodded. Some women are into this kind of thing, but I could tell from the look on her face as I ushered her inside that she wasn’t one of them. Still, she’s the one who knocked on my door, not the other way around.
“You’re here of your own free will?” I asked, for the sake of the hidden camera.
She started to say, “My husband told me you’re a very powerful man, and that…”
“That’s not what I asked, Mrs. Carlson,” I said, cutting her off. “ Are you here of your own free will?”
The humiliation in her eyes deepened, but she nodded.
“Good,” I said, lying down on the bed. “You might as well take off your coat. You’ll be staying for breakfast.”
She stalled for the longest time, but eventually opened her coat, pulled it off her shoulders and let if fall onto the carpeted floor. Underneath, she wearing a white ‘babydoll’ with lace crotchless panties and white ‘fuck me’ heels. Her pussy had recently been waxed and was smooth with outer lips so tight only the tiniest bit of clit hood and inner labia peeked out through the slit between them.
I could tell she wanted to cover herself. More than that, she wanted to grab her coat, throw it on and bolt from the room. Instead, she just stood there, shaking and fighting back tears. It was more than likely her first time to be in the sort of situation she was in. She didn’t know what to do, other than do as she was told.
Giving her an expectant look, I patted the bed beside me. She took a step closer, stopped, covered her mouth with her hands and then took another step. With a deep breath and an attempt at holding her chin high, she dropped her hands to her sides, took the remaining three steps and sat down.
I opened the front of the towel I was wearing. She glanced at my thick hardon, cringed and clenched her eyes shut. Reaching up and gripping the back of her neck lightly, I started pulling her pretty face to where I wanted it, telling her, “You better get used to parting your lips and working your hips with some strange man’s cock in you. Your husband is out of his league when it comes to high-stakes poker.”
I think any other woman in my position would have done what I did.
For a week I’d been getting text messages and emails from someone who knew something I thought was a well-guarded secret, something terrible. I was sure it would only be a matter of time before I’d be blackmailed. In fact, I’d already been gathering together as much money as I could. Only one of my three best friends would help, though.
Nine days ago exactly, I was jolted out of a dream into a nightmare. In the middle of the night, while I was sound asleep, a man had somehow gotten into my apartment. Leaping on top of me, he clamped his hand over my mouth, silencing my screams.
“I’m the one who knows,” he whispered in my ear. “Would you like to open your legs for me?”
His thighs were straddling mine. In less than a minute’s time, the opposite was true and I could feel his stiff penis pressing against my mound through the sheet that was between us. I was shaking uncontrollably, but I didn’t resist or make a sound, even when he uncovered my mouth. He uncovered my breasts and sucked on them, and then he uncovered the rest of me.
I sobbed and whimpered, but I didn’t say anything or do anything he didn’t tell me to do. The taste and feel of his penis sliding back and forth across my tongue was terrible. Its saliva-slickened head pushing past my labia and into my vagina was even more terrible. As hard as it is to imagine, at the time, the thought of him telling what he knew seemed like it would be the most terrible thing of all. I was letting him rape me in order to protect more than just me.
He’s been back every night since. Now he knocks and I let him in. I’ve lost count how many times he’s raped me vaginally, always starting or finishing in my mouth. He’s taken me anally twice. I’m not even five foot tall. I’m very slim and extremely small back there. I can’t tell you how much it hurt. The end is in sight, though. I only have to endure seven more nights of oral and vaginal hell.
The thing I was being blackmailed with involved three other women. He told me he raped the first one, who’s a man-hating lesbian, only twice before she sold out the second. When the first had completed what he called the transition week, he began raping the second one. After more than two months of raping her every night, he raped her teenage daughter. That’s when she sold me out.
Last night concluded with an exceptionally painful anal session that ended in my mouth. And, well… The transition week starts tomorrow with a promise of no more anal. Next week, he’ll turn his attention to the fourth woman. I feel awful about that, but I think any other woman in my position would have done what I did.
I’d only been in the Middle East a few days, and I wasn’t yet accustomed to the heat. I’d stopped at a small shop on the edge of a tiny village I was passing through to get a bottle of water. After downing about half of it, I began to feel dizzy. That’s when I saw the telltale wet spot on the label. Someone had peeled it back previously and used a hypodermic to inject something that rendered me unconscious in only a few minutes.
When I came to, I was being dragged into the stall of a stable. My wrists were chained to the wall in front of me and my ankles to the walls on either side. A rope from an overhead pulley was tied around my waist and pulled , forcing me onto my knees. With my head beginning to clear, there was no doubt in my mind what was going to happen next. My khakis were unbuttoned and sliced from the fly to the rear waistband. In no time at all, they were bunched up like leg warmers around my lower thighs. The crotch of my panties was cut, one half left dangling and the other flipped up over my back.
In less than ten minutes time, I was being raped for the third time since being dragged into the stall that became my home for who knows how long. From the sounds reaching my ears, I determined there were two other girls there too. The one in the stall to my left prayed in Hebrew when she was alone. The one on the right spoke a dialect of Arabic I wasn’t familiar with.
We obviously weren’t in the same small village where I’d drank the water. There were just too many men for that. Each of us was raped a half dozen to a dozen or more times a day, depending on who the men wanted and how much they were willing to pay. Being a young, American girl, I was by far the most popular. When one man was raping me, there were often another one or two waiting in line behind him.
In that stall, I lost my virginity, my innocence, my faith, my love for my fellow humans, and my will to live. Now that I’ve been rescued, I might in time regain my will to live. The rest is gone forever.
How it Began
My period had just ended, and my hormones were raging. I was in the shower with my face pressed against the wall and my legs spread. My hand was between them and I was diddling myself. I was close to climaxing and I didn’t even hear the door open. My stepfather had walked in on me.
Yanking open the shower curtain and turning off the water, he grabbed my arm, dragged me from the tub and down the hall to his room. My mother was putting away clean clothes. A basket of folded shirts was on the bed.
“Get out, and take the laundry with you,” my stepfather told her. “I using the bed.”
Terrified, I looked at my mother and said, “Mama?”
For a second I thought she was going to say something. Then, she got that same whipped puppy look she got when he brought drunken women home from the bar. Hanging her head in shame, she picked up the basket and left.
That was the first of many times my stepfather raped me. Each and every time, my mother was fully aware of what was going on. Never once, did she do anything to stop him, not even when I was eight months pregnant with his child and he began sticking it somewhere he hadn’t before. I was screaming and she knew why, but all she did was offer me some antibiotic cream each time I staggered down the hall to the bathroom so that I could clean myself up.
“Oh my God, we’re going to be raped,” Kelsey said, for like the third time. I looked at Perry. She was scared, real scared.
“What are we going to do?” I asked her.
She just shook her head and said, “I don’t know.
“We’ve got to think of something!” I told her. “It’s up to us. Hancock is advocating suicide. Kelsey is ready to just lie down and spread ‘em. Neither one of those options sounds acceptable to me.”
Perry’s eyes glazed over a little, she nodded and said, softly, “Kelsey has never been in a situation like this before. Hancock has. These guys aren’t gentlemen who are going to stand in line patiently as the one before him has a pleasant little visit with your vagina. Some of them are more interested in sticking it someplace I’m sure Kelsey has never had one before, if she’s even had one at all. No, two and three at a time is how we’ll be getting it. And, they’ll enjoy hurting us as much as raping us. To them, it’s the same thing.”
“You’ve been in a situation like this before too, haven’t you?,” I asked, seeing the look on her face.
The angry voices outside got louder as the door between them and us began to weaken. Perry nodded solemnly. Then, fighting back tears she began to undress, saying, “If you want to have something to wear afterwards, take off your clothes now, because Kelsey is right. We are going to be raped. And, believe it or not, our best option really is to just lie down and spread ‘em.”
They fight to last man. Last man dies. Many good Bl’taci warriors die, too. Almost all. Much metal and pretty stones. Ours now. Flesh prize, too. Gr’pen bring me Fairy Princess. She half tall. She scared. Little wings moving fast.
Tiny eyes open wide. She held tight. She lifted by pretty hair until tiny mouth open wide, too. Almost not fit. Gr’pen push head, make mouth full. Head go in and out. No breath for her. Small white face turn red. Princess pleasure me. Little wings moving very fast. Face very red.
If she dies, no matter. She has sisters. They are all my flesh prize. She swallow much. She not die. She held down for mating. Wings pierced and chained with iron. Very tiny. Very full. Screams loud. Very pretty. Two sisters. Wings also pierced and chained with iron. Watch and wait.
Gr’pen choose woman of champion for flesh prize. Pierce wings and chain her with iron. Other women flesh prize for warriors. Time for sister. She bleed on me. Very pretty. She scream louder. More tiny. She full, no matter. All flesh prize screaming loud. Celebration begin!
It was horrible. It was just like that movie “Speck” where a madman holds six student nurses captive in their apartment. There were only five of us, but we were student nurses and he certainly looked just as crazy. With a big knife in one hand and a gun in the other, he’d herded us all into the bedroom I shared with Lindy.
“Pussy… Pussy… Who’s giving up the pussy. That’s what you’re all wondering, isn’t it? You know someone is getting raped, and you’re wondering if you’ll be the lucky girl. Well, it’s a long night and I’ve got a lot of stamina. Each and every one of you are going to take a turn. You’re all spreading your legs and dancing the mattress jig. The only real question is who goes first.”
Then, pointing directly at me, he said, “You. Strip down, pick a bed, and get ready to shake the sheets. And just to make sure no one runs off, the rest of you are going sit on the floor with your pants down and your backs to the door. Keep your eyes and ears open, and you’ll get a little preview of things to cum, and I do mean cum.”
I was just starting to believe that the three men who had invaded our home really were only looking for a place to hide from the police. Then, as I was washing the dishes after serving them what was meant to be our dinner, two of them began duct taping my fiance to a chair and the other came into the kitchen and said, “I think it’s time I give you another mess to clean up. You’re coming to the bedroom with me, pretty lady. In no time at all, I’ll have you full of stiff meat and getting a generous helping of the slippery stuff. And that’s just the beginning. Being such a pretty thing, I’m afraid it’s going to be a long night for you, your pussy, mouth and butt.”
Being the Dean of an exclusive girl’s school has certain perks, as you might imagine. Some of the girls have rich powerful fathers. They’re a great networking source. There are others, though, that come from lower income families and get in on scholarships. Their presence benefits me in an entirely different way.
The more “experienced” ones in their circle have nicknamed me Mr. Handsy. It’s fairly common knowledge among them that if they’re in my office, they’re going to be subjected to a major groping if they don’t want to suffer the severest consequences of whatever got them there in the first place. And the fact they’ve been forewarned and had pretty much accepted it before walking through my door, actually makes it easier for me, especially if they’re there for something that gives me extra leverage.
There was this one girl named Hope. She was highly intelligent, but extremely naive. Furthermore, her family could barely afford clothes nice enough to keep her from getting picked on by the other girls. She was pretty and more vulnerable than most. I couldn’t have been happier, and she couldn’t have been more worried.
Some of the untouchable girls had set her up. They’d talked her into going to a party and had got her extremely drunk and had probably slipped her some ecstasy too. It may have ended there if her impromptu cherry popping hadn’t happened within sight of a security camera. Having sex on campus wasn’t only grounds for being expelled, it would also made it very difficult to return to her holier than thou family and the little bible thumper town they lived in.
Hope had obviously been told what to expect. She had that look of humiliated resignation in her big brown eyes. In less than three minutes time, she was on the verge of tears and my hand was up her dress. I made the usual threats and asked her if she knew how important it was that she not make me angry. She nodded. Even so, that didn’t stop her from putting a little bit of a struggle as I brought her little tits out for a good sucking.
The real tears didn’t start, though, until I moved her into position and told her that the only way no one would find out about the first time she was fucked was if no one found out about the second time she was fucked. She really didn’t like the sound of that, and it took another round of threats before she finally acquiesced. She took her clothes off, and I bent her over my desk.
That was during her first semester. Since then, I’ve had her twice more. Most recently, a few of the rich bitches needed a favor and so I told them to set her up for another visit to my office. She’s gotten better with her mouth, more than likely practicing on her boyfriend nightly. She let me fuck her face and pussy without too much coercion. When I told her I was going to fuck her in her in her little trailer trash asshole, though, the look she gave me was priceless.
I may be a 16 year-old boy, but I’m smarter than most 16 year-old boys. I’m smart enough not to let most people know how smart I am, and I’m pretty brave too. Some might say brazen. That’s why I had the courage to walk in on my new stepmother only moments after she’d put on a clean pair of panties after her shower.
She pulled her dressing gown tight in an attempt to keep me from seeing her rather awesome tits, before turning to face me. Being pretty much see-through, the gown didn’t hide much. Her panties were see-through too, and I had a clear shot of her neatly-trimmed, red-haired landing strip.
“What do you want?” she asked, her tone of voice making it perfectly clear just how little respect she had for me. That was fine. I didn’t have much respect for her, either. She was clearly a trophy wife who had married my dying old wreck of a father for his money. She was just a whore trading her rather spectacular body for a ton of money.
“What do I want?” I asked, snickering. “I want you take those panties back off, lie down and spread ‘em.”
“You’re crazy!” she said, and started toward me like she expected me to turn and run.
I held my ground, and told her, “You haven’t seen crazy. Wait until my father hears you’ve been cheating on him. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up in the hospital. More likely, though, you’ll end up in a shallow grave somewhere. Powerful men have powerful friends.”
She stopped. There was still a look of determination in her eyes, though. She may have thought she was still in control of the situation, but I knew better. Glaring at me, she said, “I’m not cheating on him.”
“Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t,” I said, shrugging. “Does it really matter? If I tell him you are, who is he going to believe, his innocent young son who he thinks is totally clueless when it comes to sex, or his slutty wife who cheated on her first husband?”
She didn’t answer, but I could see the wheels turning in her head.
“My dad hired a detective,” I told her, stepping further into the room and closing the door behind me. “As the PI so quaintly put it, you were knocking boots with your mechanic,Terry Bronson. Take the car in for a lube job, climb in the back seat, and… Well, there are so many cute little puns I could use, but I think the one I like the most has to do with your credibility being flat on its back, like you’re about to be.”
Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, before finally saying, “If…”
“Not if, when,” I said, interrupting her. “When you agree to my terms, I’ll give him a forged report and put the original away for safe keeping. And just so there is no confusion about the terms, let me explain a few things to you. The only money I’ll ever see from my old man is in a trust fund. Keep your hands off it. The rest of his money is all yours, if you play your cards right, and I’m sure you know how to do that. The only thing that’s changed is he isn’t the only one who is going to be fucking you. In fact, since I’m a lot younger than he is, I’ll probably be spending much more time between your legs than he will.”
Taking another deep breath, she said, “There’s no need for greed. Your father has enough money to divide three ways.”
“Three ways?” I asked.
She nodded, telling me, “You met my daughter at the wedding. She may be young, but she isn’t entirely inexperienced. Her daddy started educating her early, if you know what I mean. She’s a lot like her mother in that way, and in other ways too. You forge that report. I’ll get your father to put some more money into your trust fund. My daughter will move into the room across the hall from yours. Between now and when your daddy dies, you can spend as much time between her lips and legs as you want. She won’t be your friend or anything remotely like that, but she’ll put out whenever you tell her too. I’ll see to that.”
“She’s pretty, that’s for sure,” I said, nodding. “She’s got nice tits for her age, too. I still want to fuck you, though.”
Her face reddened a little with anger, but her nightgown hit the floor. As her panties fell around her ankles, she sneered and said, “Just this one time, and never again. Is that clear?”
“As long as we’re clear on what one time means,” I told her, reaching out a feeling her up, working the tip of my finger into her narrow little slit. “First, you’re going to get on your knees, and you’re going to suck and swallow. Then, you’re getting on your hands and knees, and I’m fucking your cunt until I’m limp. A second blowjob is optional. But I think you’re going to want my cock as hard as you can get it, because my definition of one time includes fucking you in the ass. Oh, and the arrangement with your daughter includes fucking her in the ass any time I want. Deal?”
I saw her clench her butt cheeks a little, and the anger in her eyes deepened, but my sexy little gold digger of a stepmother licked her lips, knelt down and hissed, “Deal.”
Do it For Daddy
The look of hurt betrayal on my wife’s face made me feel awful. She’s been legal for more than half a year now, but I swear that she’s still as naive as a twelve year-old. It didn’t matter, though. It was what it was.
“I don’t understand,” she said, in her little girl voice.
Pulling her out of the shower and pushing her toward the bedroom, I told her, “You don’t have to understand, baby girl. You just have to do as you’re told. This guy could send me to prison. And where would you go, back to living with your parents? No. I’m not having that.”
“But can’t it be something else?” she asked, looking like she was about to start crying.
As I nudged her toward the bed, I said, as calmly as I could, “Do you think this was my first choice? I offered him plenty, but there’s only one thing he wants — your tight little butt. He’s going to be here any minute, and he wants you face down and waiting, with your legs open and your backdoor greased. Pretend you’re unconscious. Now I’ve told you once, and I’m not going to tell you again. Lube it up, and lay it out. Do it for daddy.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a nearly lifeless woman being dragged off to a cage and tossed onto a heap of women in similar condition. Directly in front of me a poor girl is bent at the waist, chained down on something akin to a sacrificial altar. She’s conscious, but won’t be much longer. A stream of thick white liquid runs from her gaping mouth and pools in front of her pretty face. Her shackled ankles hold her legs spread wide. Between them stands a brute, not quite a man, but not quite an animal either. A Rhefarthian. He is about to impale her with the largest penis I’ve ever seen. It’s purple, long and fat, covered with pulsing veins and large wart-like lumps. There are countless other males of his kind behind him, their numbers disappearing into the distance. As I hang by my wrists with the rest of the females of my tribe, two Rhefarthian women begin stripping me from the waist down. Dear Gods, protect me. I’m next.
What I Did
“Yes, Reverend? You wanted to see me?” I asked.
He was normally a very kind man. The look he gave me, however, was anything but kind, as he told me, “Have a seat, Margaret.”
I have to admit, I was scared. And having him coming over and towering over me made me even more scared. He sort of smiled, but it sure wasn’t a friendly smile. He stroked my hair for a second. Then, his fingers tightened into a fist. He wasn’t actually pulling my hair, but he had a firm hold on it. Forcing me to look up at him, he said, “You’re not that pretty. Now when a plain looking girl like you is popular with the boys, that tells me one thing. You’ve been sucking a lot of cocks. I knew if I kept a close eye on you, it would only be a matter of time before I caught you in the act.”
Still holding me by the hair, he used his other hand to take a photograph out of his pocket. It was me and Bill Horton in the garden behind the rose bushes. And, well, you can guess what it showed me doing. I didn’t suck a lot of cock, though. That was only the second time ever. I was popular with the boys because if they made out with me I’d let them suck my titties, feel me between the legs and sometimes even put their hands in my panties. I was still a virgin, though.
As I was forced to look into that intimidating face I heard the Reverend’s zipper being lowered. Then, I heard him say, “I could tell your parents. I could have you expelled. I could publically humiliate you. Or, you can come to my office each and every evening and get down on your knees. You can pray for forgiveness while you’re down there. It doesn’t make any difference to me as long as you suck and swallow.
He pulled on my hair, forcing me to slide off the chair and onto the floor in front of him. What else could I do other than what I did?
As I sat cowering next to my husband on the sofa, one of the men who had muscled their way into our home smiled at me and said, “I know it’s a cliché, but it’s one of the things movies get right. When it comes to making an example of a deadbeat, nothing quite does it like raping his wife or his daughter. You don’t have any daughters. So, I guess we all know what that means. I just have two questions. First, are you going to undress yourself, or do we have to strip you? Second, are we doing this in a bed, or do we take you down on the carpet and spread you right here on the living room floor. Now before you answer those questions, because this is probably your first time and it ain’t ours, let me explain how these sorts of things usually transpire. You’re about to get repeatedly fucked by a half dozen men you’ve never laid eyes on, two or three times each, possibly more than one at a time. You’ve probably guessed that part. You probably also know that your husband has to watch as you get pumped full of cum each and every way a woman can, as I said, repeatedly. What might be news to you, it that you or your husband trying to defend your honor and getting one or both of you roughed up or killed isn’t a requirement. But from our point of view, it isn’t a problem either. One thing is for sure, though. In less than five minutes, you’re going to have a stranger’s dick in you. How we get from here to there, and whether afterwards you take a shower, a trip to the hospital or a trip to the morgue, is entirely up to you and your level of cooperation during what is sure to be a long night for you, the two fuck holes in your panties, your pretty mouth, and of course your throat. You see, I love throat-fucking a girl as much as some guys like ass-fucking them.”
Women can behave so strangely when they’re in a no-win situation. Trust me, I know. I’ve been an active player in that no-win situation more than a few times. The official count, the rapes the cops know about, is six. That’s one of the ways women behave strangely. Most don’t tell a soul. The unofficial count is twenty-three and a half.
I say a half because I’d grabbed this one girl, a waitress on her way to her car after closing time. I had her blindfolded and tied to something secure in a secluded place, or at least a place I thought was secluded. I’d given her a preliminary face fuck, and put her gag back in. Her panties were off and her legs open when it was suddenly very important for me to be somewhere else. I only hope that whoever the bastard was that interrupted my fun at least had the decency to use the pussy I’d gone to so much trouble to make unconditionally fuckable.
Anyway, she was one of those I call a bargainer. You get a girl on her own and in a situation where running isn’t an option. Either she tries escaping down what turns out to be a deadend, backs herself into a corner, or you simply got a fistful of her hair before she realized she wasn’t alone. She ain’t going anywhere but down. Every now and then, they don’t even have to see the knife or be threatened before they start bargaining. The words vary, but they always make the same deal with the devil. They’ll do anything if you promise not to hurt them. And make no mistake about it, nine out of ten of them know that means getting fucked in all three holes.
A bargainer will generally stay as quiet as a mouse, because they’re afraid of you getting angry with them. Some will waste a little breath begging even as their letting you play with their tits and grope their crotch. So, maybe some haggling takes place, but it’s just to ease their own conscience because they’re ashamed of themselves for giving up without a fight.
Regardless of whether they stall, plead and cry their eyes out, the deal is made. If I’m comfortable enough with my surroundings, I do them right then and there. More often than not,though, they get bound, gagged, and taken for a ride in the trunk of my car. Either way, whether I have to unload them first or not, a suggestive push downward on the top of head, a little whimpering and they’re on their knees, coming face to face with what’s going in their face. Of course that’s not the only place it’s going, but it’s a good place to start, with one thing leading to another. I get sucked and they get fucked.
Another type is what I call a defender. They let their actions speak louder than their words. In fact, they can’t use words since they’re the type to scream if you don’t keep your hand over their mouth. You also have to make a show of strength, dragging them around by their hair, twisting a tit until they go down, that sort of thing. They put up a bit of a fight, but it’s more a delaying tactic than anything. It’s a balance between trying to convince you they’re too much trouble, while not making you too angry, being sure that’s something they’d regret. They push at you, try grabbing your arms, their legs flail around and they twist and turn. When the castle walls, so to speak, are breached, it’s another matter entirely.
Once you get between a defender’s legs and have made short work of her panties, it’s all over. You stab your hard cock into her cunt like a battering ram and the battle has been won. The fight goes out of them when your dick goes in them. From that point on, she just lies there sobbing, riding out the rest of her rape. It’s like she’s less freaked out about being fucked than the fact you’re a stranger and it wasn’t her choice. So, once you’re pumping away inside of her, it’s not as big a deal. Or does she think that lying there like a dead fish will ruin my fun? I’ve had women who were totally unconscious and still enjoyed the hell out of fucking them. Or, is it simply a matter of coming to the conclusion that she can’t avoid being raped any longer, and it’s time to avoid being killed for being so much trouble. Who knows. Like I said, women are strange.
Last but not least, there’s the warrior princess. She thinks what she’s got is so extra special it’s worth fighting to the death rather than sharing any of it. Her slippery little slit is so magnificent in her own eyes that she doesn’t just behave like it’s the best, she acts like it’s the only one. Men are expected to jump through all sorts of hoops and spend a fortune on her to even feel the outside of it, let alone the inside of it.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a class thing. Some of them run in the diamonds, caviar and champagne circles, but not the majority of them. Society slits are usually bargainers. Your average warrior princess is more likely to be trailer trash with an attitude. Maybe they get that way from fighting off daddy, their brothers and cousins. Whatever the case, when I get ahold of one that wants to fight to the death, I’m up for the challenge. A few punches to the face will generally daze them enough that you can give them a real good shot or two to the midsection and knock the wind out of them. Once she’s down and gasping for breath, it’s a lot easier to get her arms behind her back and handcuffs on her wrists. Gagging her when she’s in that state will often cause her to pass out. By the time she comes around, my dick is up her ass. Sure, she’ll twist and turn and thrash around the whole time, but that’s part of the fun.
Anyway, women are strange. They all react to being raped differently, like is somehow makes a difference.
I never dreamed I’d be in a hostage situation. We were a small school in a quiet midwest town. But there I was with a room full of fifth graders and a man armed with a bomb, an assault rifle and two pistols. All the children were face down on the floor. Some of them were crying. I was sitting in a chair beside my desk, facing them. The man, who had told me to refer to him as 666, was seated beside me, with the barrel of the rifle pressed into my side.
Placing his left hand on my thigh, he said, softly, “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a classroom, but I remember like it was yesterday the time Mrs. Gallo turned in her seat, parting her knees just enough for me to see up her dress. She was wearing white cotton panties. She was Italian, and had really thick, dark hair. This was back when women didn’t shave their pubes. Her bush was so full it made her underwear bulge in the front. Let me tell you, mine was bulging in the front too.”
In reaction to 666’s words, I crossed my ankles, clamped my knees together and pressed down on my skirt. He grinned and applied gentle outward pressure on my thigh, saying, “You’re wondering how many times you’ve inadvertently given the boys a beaver shot. I’ve sure you have. Who knows when the last time was, but maybe you should give them one right now. It would give them something else to think about. You can even pretend it isn’t intentional. What do you think?”
What did I think? I was appalled. I wanted to tell him so, but I didn’t. There was so much I wanted to say to him, but I was afraid to say any of it. I’m not qualified to diagnose a psychotic episode, but the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice made me think that was exactly what I was witnessing. One wrong step would mean the death of everyone in that room. I was never more sure of anything in my life.
When I didn’t respond, physically or verbally, 666 applied a little more pressure on the inside of my leg and asked, “Well?”
“They’re just children,” I whispered, hoping I didn’t sound too confrontational. “They’re scared to death and you can’t blame them.”
Taking his hand off my leg, 666 grinned and said, “You’re scared to death too. You know what they say, though. It’s always best to humor a crazy person, and I’m as crazy as the come. And you are going to humor me, aren’t you? You’re going to humor me for your sake and theirs.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. The look on my face told him everything he needed to know. He told me to stand up. I did. He smiled and motioned with his hand. He told me to move my chair so that it was sitting sideways behind my desk. I did. He moved his chair too so that we were facing each other, leaned the rifle against the wall, and sat back down.
“They can’t see you below the waist now,” he said, pulling a pistol from the back of his belt and placing it in his lap. “They won’t see you giving me a beaver shot. In fact, if you’re discreet, they won’t even notice you taking your panties off. They won’t see you taking them off, sitting down and opening your legs. But, if you’re as smart as I think you are, I will. Do it quick, or I’ll up the ante and make you do it in front of the desk, along with the fingering you’re going to get, and the blowjob you’re going to give.”
I never imagined I could become a junkie. It started with just a little marijuana. I used it to help me sleep after downing coffee all day to stay alert as I put myself through college and worked two jobs. I had to in order to support myself and my little sister. I don’t know if it’s the sort of thing any Black dealer would do to a High Class Honkie Ho, as he liked to refer to me, but Dwayne had systematically gotten me addicted by lacing my pot with meth.
At first, I didn’t even know how strung out I was. Then came that fateful night I’ll never forget as long as I live. Needs need to be met. Money was refused, and demands were made. I refused, of course. I refused over and over again. Eventually, though, just as Dwayne knew they would, my clothes came off and my legs spread. I’m trying to get clean, but it isn’t easy. And although I am loath to admit it, and cried my eyes out each and every time, I’ve lost count of how many time I let him stick his big black cock in my mouth and pussy, leaving me feeling slimy inside and out.
Then, one day, things went from bad to worse. Dwayne came over unexpectedly early. My little sister was still there, getting ready for school. I could tell by the look in his eyes that he had planned it that way, too. With a wide, gold-toothed grin, he pushed me out of the way and eyed Lilli, saying, “Come here, you little cunt.”
I tried to intercede, but Dwayne punched my face so hard I saw stars. As I fought to remain conscious, he told me in a hateful voice just loud enough for me to hear, “Shut the fuck up, and stay out of my way. I’m going to crack her open, and nothing you say or do is going to stop me.”
Terrified, Lilli tried to push past us and out the door. Dwayne closed it, and blocked the way.
Attempting to look much calmer than she actually was, Lilli said, “I have to go to school.”
“Not today,” Dwayne told her. “The only place you’re going is on your back. Losing your virginity is about to become a history lesson you won’t ever forget. Like it or not, you’re my new private supply of white pussy.”
I tried to step between them, but Dwayne hit me again. As I lay on the floor with my head swimming, he threw a bag of meth at me, saying, “You start turning tricks tomorrow morning, or I’m killing you both.”
Then, he shoved Lilli. I couldn’t see, but I could still hear. I heard Lilli being thrown onto the sofa. I heard her clothing being ripped. I heard her cry out as her hymen was ripped. I had to lie there helplessly as she was raped three times, twice vaginally and once anally, with forced blowjobs in between.
When Dwayne left, he took Lilli with him. I didn’t stop crying all night. It’s morning now, though, and I know that any minute some strange man will knock on my door. I also know, that as much as it will destroy me to do so, I’ll strip, lie down, and spread my legs for him.
Tasha is my number one recruiter. She’s a second generation hooker, but she’s really good at looking naive. She’s also very good at spotting girls who actually are clueless about the ways of the world. Her intense dislike of turning tricks is plenty of incentive for her to turn girls instead, girls to service the Johns so she only has to service me. Spreading her legs is something she absolutely hates to do, even for me. I still do her, though, because she’s a good clean, tight fuck, and it makes her work harder at finding me new pussy.
We’d spent the morning at the bus station, and she’d struck out. As a way of encouraging her to try harder, I took her into the men’s room, put her on her knees and put my big Black dick in her little White girl mouth. Even more than taking one up her cunt, she hates sucking a guy off. Saying she’s totally disgusted by taking a load in her mouth and swallowing it, is an understatement. After a few minutes, though, I had her doing both.
I let her use the toothbrush and paste she keeps in her purse for just such occasions, and then took her to the train station. We were barely in the door and she made a beeline for a young blonde across the room. The girl was pretty and fresh-faced enough she’d easily turn twice the tricks and make me more than twice as much money as my current high-earner. And although it can sometimes be a chore, I was looking forward to breaking this one in and teaching her that she’s going to whore for me, whether she likes it or not.
I always get close enough to hear what’s being said. My cum in her tummy and the memory of my cock in her mouth was encouraging Tasha to do her best. The look I was giving her, though, the look that said she’d get slamfucked in the ass with no lube if she lost this girl, is what really got the sweet talk flowing. With a smile that radiated pure innocence, she started rolling out her best line of bullshit ever.
“I know you’ve got no reason to help me,” Tasha said, practically in tears. “I was wondering, though, if you had some money you can give. I ran away from home and I don’t have enough money for a ticket.”
“Where are you going?” Haley asked.
“I don’t know, just away from that bitch. She caught my boyfriend trying to have sex with me. She put me on restriction for a whole month. A month! He’s really cute and has a car. Lydia, my ex-friend is letting him do her at this very moment, I just know it, and I’ll lose him. I hate that slut. I hate my mother. I hate all three of them.”
Haley put her arm around Tasha, who flashed a knowing look in my direction. She’d hooked the new fish, and just had to reel her in. Sniffling, she held on to her new friend like her life depended on it.
“Your mom doesn’t sound that bad,” Haley said, hugging Tasha and gently stroking her short black hair. “Trust me, I wish I had a mother who was more interested in protecting me than mine is. You should go home. You really should.”
The look on Haley’s face told the whole story. She’s been the quintessential upper class goodie-goodie, a Girl Scout and a cheerleader until the night daddy, or more likely stepdaddy, tried to get up her cunt. Unless I’m wrong, and when it comes to things like this I never am, she’d gotten away with her cherry still intact. On the other hand, she was turning her lips inward like she could still taste his cock and cum. Closing her eyes and shuddering, the vision of where that cock would go if he ever got a second chance, played in her head like a porno.
Tasha slipped a small bottle out of her rear pocket. With her face hidden over the girl’s shoulder, she gave her eyes a couple of squirts of saline. Then, looking Haley in the face, she asked, “Will you come with me? Do you need a place to stay? If mom knows you talked me out of running away, I’m sure she’ll let you stay. I could really use a new best friend, one who isn’t a boyfriend stealing slut.”
Tasha’s mom is one of my whores too. Her name is Kerry and her specialty is guys who like fat broads. She’s got thighs twice as thick as a normal-sized woman, and tits the size of bowling balls. She’s great with her hands and mouth, though. And in spite of all the cocks she’s had up them, her cunt and ass are still tight. She makes me good money. More importantly, though… Tasha is the bait, and her mom is the trap. Just like flypaper for hot little twats, the sweetness brings them in, and the stickiness makes them stay..
As Tasha and my newest little whore headed out the front way, I slipped out the side. Tasha knew to take the scenic route and give me time to get back to her mother’s first. I was waiting in the second bedroom when I heard them come in. There was a few minutes of chit chat, more hugging and the usual female bonding stuff. It was almost time for Haley to face the music. As I positioned myself to where I’d be behind the door when it opened, I heard Kerry say those fateful words, “You’ll be staying in here.”
I just love when the bright smile leaves a gullible girl’s face and is replaced with fear and dread as she realizes she’s been tricked and betrayed. First Haley saw the sign that said condoms are required and anal is $50 extra. Then she saw the handcuffs attached to the iron headboard. She spun around, but the door was already closed and a rather large and intimidating woman was backed up against it, holding a Coke bottle by its neck. It was filled with sand.
“I said you’re staying in here,” Kerry said, firmly.
“What’s going on?” Haley asked.
Grinning and stepping closer, I said, “It ain’t what’s going on. It’s what’s coming off. That, by the way, would be your clothes. It’s time to see what I’m selling and sample the merchandise. I’m betting you’ve got some really nice holes, and I’m looking forward to finding out.”
Kerry shoved Haley backwards and raised the bottle like a club, saying, “It’s also time you learn the rules of the house. Rule number one is, whenever you’re told to strip and spread, you strip and spread. This here is your new owner, and he’s going to fuck you. Now you listen and listen good. I’m only going to tell you once. Strip and spread, you worthless little twat.”
“She isn’t worthless,” I corrected. “A little twat is worth good money, as long as you don’t have to fuck her up too badly.”
Haley backed away from both of us. She looked at the bed and the cuffs, and then yanked aside the drape, discovering that the only window was bricked up. She started shaking uncontrollably and saying over and over, “Oh my God! Oh my God!”
Shifting the bottle from hand to hand, Kerry said, “Do you know how many times God has come to this room and saved a girl? Not once.”
Kerry spit on the floor and repeated, “Not once. And some of us prayed and prayed fucking hard. No, he just sat by and watched as we did our first week or more of whoring right there in that bed where you’re going to do your first whoring too for as long as it takes for you to accept how it’s going to be from now on..”
Flattening herself against the wall, Haley cried out desperately, “Tasha!”
“What?” She asked. “Do you want her to undress you and cuff you to the bed like her own mother cuffed her to the very same bed when she was quite a few years younger than you? She got fucked the first time by the same man that’s about to fuck you. The only difference is I only had to wipe away a few tears, I didn’t have to beat her senseless like I’m obviously going to have to do in your case.”
Kerry reared back with the bottle and I reminded her, “Not in the face, and try not to break any bones this time.”
“Wait!” Haley gasped.
As she lowered the bottle, Kerry looked at me and said, “It was easier with drugs, like when you trained me.”
“Not enough guys like banging a fucking zombie,” I told her. “But a young, pretty girl who bawls her eyes out… That’s another story entirely.
Turning back to Haley, Kerry asked, “Well?”
Stalling as long as she dared, Haley said, in a voice just above a whisper, “If you let me go…”
“For Pete’s sake,” Kerry said, interrupting. “How stupid are you? If we let you go, it’s because you’ll be dead or ruined to the point no one wants to fuck you anymore. So, unless you’re in a hurry to be either, you better strip and spread like you were told.”
Smiling, I added, “And if you cuff yourself to the bed, I’ll use lots of lube during your booty hole’s breaking in period.”
Kerry snickered, reared back with the bottle again, and said, “Well, twat, you’ve been offered the best deal you’re getting offered. Have you decided how your first fuck as a whore is going down?”
“I think it’s her first fuck ever,” I said, taking off my shirt.
Kerry swung the bottle, missing Haley by less than in inch, saying, “Yeah, well nothing special about that. You’ve popped a lot of cherries, including mine, my daughter’s and more than a dozen more I know about. So Goldilocks is going to bleed on your dick too. Big deal.”
Haley tried to get around Kerry, and failed. The big woman clotheslined her, lifting her completely off her feet. A split second later, Haley was in the last place in the world she wanted to be — flat on her back on the training bed. Before she could even think about how’d she’d gotten there, Kerry flopped down on top of the poor girl, crushing the breath out of her.
Even though her entire right side was completely immobilized, Haley’s left leg was free and flailed wildly. Her left wrist, however, was held in a vise-like grip and was being cuffed to the bed. A moment later, her right leg was flailing too as Kerry rolled off the bed, taking control of Haley’s other arm as she did so.
As I waited for her to exhaust herself to the point she couldn’t kick anymore, I started opening the young blonde’s blouse. She was wearing a sports bra. When I pulled it up, my eyes were treated to some of the firmest little tits I’ve ever seen. She was practically flat chested. The sick bastards that like to pretend they’re fucking a kid were going to love her. Grinning at Kerry, I said, “Give her double side ponytails first thing in the morning, and wax her twat.”
Then, grinning at Haley, I said, “From now on, if anyone asks, you tell them you’re fifteen.”
As a rule, I only cuff a girl by one wrist. It sort of sends the message that they’re not just being held down for a few fucks. They’ll be feeding themselves, taking care of personal hygiene between tricks, and putting on or taking off any clothes I decide might up their earning potential. It generally meant, though, that their first few fucks required some assistance.
So, while I opened the front of Haley’s jeans, Kerry kept the girl’s arm pinned as she said, “The ones who like them young, like them scrawny. If we starve a little meat off her bones, make her even less curvy, and put her in clothes that are too big, she can pass for thirteen, or even twelve, making you twice as much each time she gets a dick stuck in her, assuming you don’t stretch her out too much fucking her yourself. Your big dick nearly ruined that little gook. Splitting a girl’s taint can cause all kinds of medical problems. It was months before she was fuckable anywhere but her mouth.”
“That’s what happens when a girl is that small and fights that hard.”
Then, smiling at Haley, I told her, “Just relax and I’ll get your little virgin holes open for business without hurting you too badly.”
The leader stood before the survivors and said, “There aren’t many of us left. It’s a large land, and for now it belongs to us alone. How long it will be that way, there is no telling. We must multiply, and multiply quickly. So from this moment on, I proclaim there will be no pairing and no refusals. Any male may mate with any unrelated female of childbearing age who is not already pregnant, any time he wishes. No one but he has any say in the matter.
“That’s rape!” a woman’s voice called out.
Many more women spoke out angrily in support of her. The leader held up his hand, calling for silence. When he could be heard again, he said, “Women, call it what you will, but spread your legs. Men, fill their cunts with sperm and their bellies with babies. Let the fucking begin!”
A woman sleeping restlessly was shaken awake one morning by her twin, nineteen-year-old daughters.
“The enemy’s army is only a short distance away. What shall we do?” they asked, trembling visibly.
With sad resignation, their mother told them, “Bathe and rest. You’ll wish you could to do both long before you’ll get another chance. Don’t bother perfuming your privates, either. You could smell like wet dogs and there would still be a line of soldiers at the foot of your beds waiting for the one on top of you to finish.”
“They wouldn’t rape a virgin, would they?” the more naïve of the two asked.
Her sister looked at her for a moment as if disbelieving her own ears, and then turning back, asked, “Can’t you protect us?”
Shaking her head slowly, her mother answered, “I am still young and pretty enough that there will be a line at the foot of my bed too. Now hurry and take your baths so that there is time for me to take one too..”
The more experienced of the two girls whispered to her terrified sister, “You don’t want to be a virgin when the soldiers arrive; you’ll be singled out for more attention. During your bath, shove a finger into yourself, and then two. Push both of them in their entire length and twist them around.”
The mother of the two frightened girls nodded and added, “I’ll prepare us each a cup of oil. If we are naked and waiting and do not resist, if we make our insides slippery when we hear the soldiers entering the front door, we can at least reduce the pain of enduring what we must.”
Deliveries in the Rear
I’m a very overworked businesswoman. So, when some printing that was supposed to go directly to the mail house was delivered to my office instead, I was furious. The printer apologized and gave my company a large discount, but the packages still had to get to their destination immediately. It was too late in the day to have them delivered again or to use a courier. I had to do it myself.
When I got to the mail house, there was a sign beside the front door that read, “Deliveries in the Rear.” Sighing in frustration, I drove around to the back. There was a loading dock. I pulled up beside it. Opening the hatchback of my Audi, I took one of the boxes and placed it on the large wooden structure that came up nearly to my shoulders. I planned on the doing the same with the other box, and then going up the stairs at one end and ringing the bell.
The second package had shifted on the drive over and slide toward the front of the car. I had to bend over and stretch to reach it. Just as I did, I felt a metal cylindrical object press against the base of my skull.
“Don’t make a fucking sound. Don’t make a fucking move. If you do, I’ll blow your fucking head off,” a gruff, menacing voice said.
I was paralyzed with fear. I don’t think I could’ve made a sound or moved.
“Close your eyes. Keep them shut. Keep your mouth shut, and open your legs,” I was told.
Still too afraid to respond, I didn’t move. I heard the unmistakeable and terrifying clicking sound a gun’s hammer being pulled back. As if by black magic or evil wizardry, my eyes snapped shut and my legs moved apart all by themselves. I was in shock. I had to be. My unseen attacker’s voice seemed far away and inside my head, both at the same time. My body didn’t do what I wanted. I did what he wanted, and it was fully cooperating with what was undeniably my impending rape.
I could still feel the barrel of the gun against the back of my head. I also felt the spine of a large knife moving up my calf as it cut open the pant leg of my capris. It stopped for a moment at the back of my knee, and then continued up my thigh. If I could have found my voice, I might have begged for him to stop. Instead, I remained silent, and was reminded, “Don’t move, and don’t make a sound.”
The gun pushed a little harder into the base of my skull, and the knife moved sideways, opening the seat of my pants. Tears began welling up in my eyes and running down my cheeks as the blade slid under my panties. The knife made another sideways slice, and their crotch fell away, leaving me in a further conflicted state. My body was available and ready for sex, my vagina was even getting wet, by my mind was silent screaming in horror.
I heard an evil chuckle followed by the sound of a zipper going down. Turning my lips inward, I cringed. I felt the bulbous head of the penis of the man I was only a second away from no longer thinking of as the monster holding me at gunpoint and forcing me to do as he pleased. Instead, he would be the monster raping me. The hand of a clock somewhere in Hell ticked. The beast chuckled again and pushed forward, entering me. Due to his girth and length, it took a few more pushes before my vagina stretched and took as much of him as it could.
For the next few minutes, I just stood there bent over and spread, dying inside, as he slid in and out of me. He seemed confident and in control, stroking slowly and deliberately as if he knew we wouldn’t be discovered. In fact, a delivery van drove by, but we were shielded from view by my car. It didn’t seem to worry my rapist at all, he didn’t miss a stroke as he used my body for his carnal pleasure.
Eventually he pulled out, saying, “That’s enough of that. Time for ‘delivery in the rear’ like the sign says.”
I can’t possibly convey how much anguish those words caused me. Dread charged through my veins like a hoard of rampaging berserkers. I hoped and prayed I’d heard him wrong or misunderstood. I hadn’t. He shoved the head of his penis into my defenseless anus, and in spite of his threats, I let out a bloodcurdling scream. My mental torture had, in the blink of an eye, become physical torture. There was a buzzing in my ears and the light coming through my eyelids gradually darkened.
When I regained consciousness, I was still bent over in the open hatchback with my legs wide open. The man was gone, but the semen he had left behind was oozing out of me. A quickly as I could, I took the package I was still clutching and placed it beside the other one on the loading dock. Then, at breakneck speed I got into my car, closed and locked the door. Grabbing my purse, I took out my cellphone and dialed, 9-1…
My finger hovered over the number one on the keypad, for the longest time. I swallowed hard. What was the point in calling the police? I didn’t have any information that could help them catch the bastard who had raped me. I’d only be prolonging my ordeal and delaying recovery of my damaged soul. I cleared the number. Taking a deep breath and calming myself as much as I could under the circumstances, I called the mail house and told them a delivery had been made in the rear.
We had been like sisters. I had grown up next door to Yvette. We went to school together. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and what it meant.
“How can you do it?” I asked her.
She gave me a curious look. Her face was lovely and her thin painted lips smiled. The pretty face I had always known hadn’t changed, but the joyous light that had once filled her brown eyes was gone. Tossing her long black hair from her face, she asked, “How can I do what?”
“I know where you’re going, Yvette,” I told her. “I know how you get your fancy clothes. You’re fraternizing with the enemy. How can you? How can you let those filthy Nazi pigs touch you?”
The smile on her face faded and then half returned, as she ask, “Do you wish to survive the occupation?”
Before I could reply, she continued, raising her hand to shush me, and said, “Of course you do. We all want to survive. If you rule out killing yourself, then, every pretty girl our age in all of Paris has but two choices. Men all want the same thing from us; French or German, it makes no difference. In their eyes, a woman is tits and cunt and not much more.”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t true.”
Yvette grunted with disgust and started to walk away. Then stopping, she turned and looked at me like a grandparent looks at a little child, and asked, “Do you remember when we were young girls and first learned about sex, the night when we both said that we planned on saving ourselves until marriage?”
With her lip curling into a sneer, Yvette said, “That all ended for me six months before the war even started. Do you want to know how I lost my virginity? It was stolen by five boys, all of them French. Each of them fucked me while the others held me down. I was a virgin, and a little over an hour later I had been fucked thirteen times. Thirteen times my cunt was creamed, and every drop of it was French.”
Too shocked at first to speak, I hung my head, empathizing with the girl who had been my friend and who now seemed almost a stranger to me. We had grown apart, and now I had a sense of why.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Yvette shook her head and said, “No, it is I who am sorry for you. Colonel Schneiderman treats me well enough, but you…”
Her expression softened and she looked almost as if she were fighting off tears.
“What?” I asked, confused.
She sighed, and said slowly, “You only have two choices if you wish to survive. Neither of them will be to your liking. You can get into bed with some Nazi officer and spread your legs willingly, or have them forced apart in some dark and dirty place by a sergeant and his squad. Mark my words, mon ami, you will know how it feels to have a German cock creaming your cunt. It is just a matter of when and where.”
All I could do was to shake my head slowly. Yvette took me into her arms and held me tight. In my ear, I heard her whispering voice say, “I know, I know. That is why I am sorry. You are stubborn; you always have been. You won’t let me help you. You don’t believe me. You won’t believe me until it is too late. Maybe then you will let me help you. I only hope that the men who rape you do not hurt you too badly. If I am to help you, your pretty face is important. German officers are no different than other men; they prefer tits and cunt with a pretty face.”
I just kept shaking my head. Tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my cheeks. I held onto Yvette as tightly as I could and whispered back, “No, you don’t understand. I do believe you. I barely escaped a group of drunken soldiers last night. You are right; I am stubborn. I thought that if I could just avoid them and not be alone out at night that I’d be safe. Then, this morning when I awoke, I saw two of them out front in the street pointing at my bedroom window. I am sure they plan on raping me soon, whether I leave my room or not. What can I do? Please, you’ve got to help me.”
Yvette pushed me back to arm’s length and nodded. Then, taking me by the hand she lead me to a hotel down the street. Inside there was a group of Nazi soldiers dancing and drinking with several local girls, some of them much younger than myself. They all had forced smiles on their faces and emptiness in their eyes.
Following my gaze, Yvette said, “If you are thinking you will be wined, dined and seduced, you are wrong. Not long ago each and every one of those girls was either flat on her back, or down on her knees. The men they are with are resting up. It’s only a matter of time and the girls will be taken back upstairs for another session of pleasuring their man, or another if they are traded. It’s the lot of every woman in this room, including you and me. If you are thinking of changing your mind and leaving, you are wrong about that too. It’s too late. We are only allowed to leave in order to feed ourselves and bathe after two or more trips upstairs. And we must come back, or else.”
A man man across the room motioned for Yvette to join him. She faked a smile and nodded. Then hurriedly, she motioned for a different man to come over to where she and I were standing.
“This is Colonel Hauptmann. Go with him,” she told me.
He looked at me like a wolf might look at a hare as I asked Yvette, “Go with him? Go where?”
“Where do you think?” she asked. “Go upstairs with him, to his room. From then on, he will tell you what to do, and you must do it, without resistance or complaint. Try your very best to please him. It is better to be one man’s mistress than to be a party girl, passed around like a common whore. When we next see each other, you will have Colonel Hauptmann’s cream either in your belly, in your cunt, or both, and I will have a fresh batch of Colonel Schneiderman’s in me, most likely up my bottom, him seeing it as not cheating on his wife. I must go now, and so must you.”
Petra didn’t understand a lot of what was going on around her. She was in a strange country. She didn’t speak the language. Her fiance Serge had driven her there. She was to stay with his uncle, Alin, for a few days while Serge made other arrangements.
The next morning, Alin took her to an old hotel in the more rundown part of town. He took her to a room which had a bed, and nothing more. Before she realized what was happening, her wrists were handcuffed together. Alin forced her onto the bed and attached the cuffs to the headboard with a large padlock. Standing back up, he yanked her slacks and panties down to her knees, exposing her milky white thighs and what was between them.
In a flash, Petra knew seven things:
- 1. Serge wasn’t going to marry her.
- 2. Alin wasn’t his uncle.
- 3. Serge had trafficked her.
- 4. Alin was her pimp.
- 5. The man who had followed them into the room was going to rape her. He would be her first paying customer, and only the second man to ever have sex with her; Serge having sweet talked her out of her virginity the night before.
- 6. There was nothing she could do to stop the man getting on top of her from doing what he was going to do. With her hands cuffed and her legs restrained by her own clothing, struggling would at most postpone the inevitable a very, short time.
- 7. The several men in the hotel lobby who had smiled at her earlier, had already known all the above because they were waiting for their turn to pay for the use of her body.
Robin saw the intense look in the steely gray eyes of the rugged man holding her captive. She shuddered, knowing exactly what it meant. As she backed away into the corner of the tiny shack, she heard her thoughts become his words as she was gruffly told, “On the bed, and spread.”
Shrinking back even more, Robin shook her head.
As he leaned back in a dilapidated, over-stuffed chair, the man laughed softly.
“You want beat down again? I’m happy to oblige. Every time I’m ready to put my prick in one of your holes, I’ll work you over real good first, if that’s what you want. It’ll be our own special kind of foreplay. But we both know I’m getting between your legs again, even if they’re broken.”
Cringing with self-loathing, she held herself tight and took a half step toward him. He didn’t make idle threats. He’d beaten her lesbian lover with a baseball bat so badly, she might not even be alive anymore, simply because he deemed her too-fat-to-fuck. Robin still ached from being hitten in the gut with the same bat. Her swollen lower lip reminded her of the punch that had taken her from stooped over in pain to lying on her back. He raped her, tied her wrists behind her back, blindfolded her, turned her over and raped her again — anally.
After and hour of being carried, slung over his shoulder, she found herself where she was now. The shack had no windows. She had no idea how far from civilization she was, or which direction to run if she miraculously got a chance. She was only certain of what he had told her. The only way to avoid serious bodily harm, was to accept her role as three, soft, tight holes for him to stick his prick in, because although he hadn’t yet used her mouth, she was sure that would change, perhaps even within the next few minutes.
Licking her lips, as if kissing their purity good-bye, and hanging her head in shameful resignation, Robin lifted her skirt, showing him what she knew he wanted to see, her naked vulva with its sparse patch of ginger hair. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, but she knew that it would clearly signal her acceptance of his terms, such as they were.
Not reacting at all, the man gestured with his head toward the doorway into the only other room, repeating, “On the bed, and spread.”
Without lowering her skirt, Robin haltingly took the three or four steps necessary. Then, letting her will to live subjugate her self-esteem, her pride, her instinctive urge to resist, and all the other things she now saw as being dangerous, she laid down, closed her eyes, and opened her legs. It wouldn’t be the last time, she told herself in an attempt to accept things as they were and would be, probably not even the last time that day. She was his soft, tight holes, to be used however and whenever he pleased. The only ray of hope she saw was that he was much older than her.
As his rock hard, massive penis began entering her vagina, causing it to dilate in order to accept his girth, she admitted to herself that even though he was older, he was virile, and she’d have to serve at least 10 if not 20 years in Hell.
“After I shoot some in you, I’m going to pull out,” she was told. “You turn over, put your legs together and pull the cheeks of your butt apart.”
Fighting back years, Robin nodded, whispering, “Yes, sir. Whatever you want, sir.”
Due to my family name, it was almost assured that I would some day be a woman of wealth and privilege. I say almost assured, because circumstances change, and they did. I was now on the run with a small group of men, playing cat and mouse with soldiers in a war of attrition, soldiers who were determined to hunt us down and kill us.
Jon, the man who had helped me flee my home and join up with his men, had become very special to me, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t just out of gratitude, either. I found the fact that he had risked his life more than once to save mine very attractive, even if he wasn’t.
However, circumstances change. During our last confrontation with the soldiers, Jon had been wounded severely, perhaps mortally. As I attempted to nurse him back to health, one of the others, a weasel of a man who had been Jon’s second in command and now seemed to be taking charge, asked me, “You do know he’s going to die, don’t you?”
“You don’t know that.” I said, attempting to be hopeful.
Grinning the man told me with confidence, “Yes I do. Even if he survives the night, which is doubtful, in the morning we will be forced to leave him behind. And because of that, girl, you are no longer his private whore. You belong to all of us.”
“I am not his or anyone else’s whore.” I said, outraged at the very idea.
It was something I had been forced to tell myself more than once in recent days. I had noticed a pattern. Whenever I had not been-in-the-mood, I had been given less to eat and had to sleep alone shivering under only one blanket. Consequently, I had reluctantly chose to be be-in-the-mood more often than I would have otherwise. I had gotten into the habit of exchanging favors nightly, sometimes in the afternoon as well. It hadn’t been consciously at first, but the last week as Jon became less affectionate and began treating me more like the spoils of war I’d be if the soldiers caught us, I began to see things differently.
Chuckling, and looking to the others for confirmation, the new leader of the little band asked, “Why do you think he drags you along, you being the burden you are? Do you really think it is the goodness of his heart, or do you know the truth, that it is the goodness of your cunt?”
I remained silent. The eyes of each and every one of my traveling companions were looking in my direction. They weren’t looking at me, they were looking at my body, imagining themselves taking pleasure in its use. To my horror, I felt myself growing wet. My body, betraying me, was accepting fate more readily than I was. I loathed these men. There would be no illusion of being in-the-mood, no self-deception to protect my honor and self-esteem. My body would be used, fed only if I was not too much trouble, and allowed myself to used again, and again. My vagina was acting ahead of these thoughts, already preparing itself.
“Do not rip her clothing, she will need it to stay warm as we move further north,” they were told.
Then, moving as one, they came at me. They pinned me down, opening the top half of the male clothing I was wearing and removing the bottom half. I struggled, not nearly as hard as I could have, knowing it was futile, fighting only so that I could tell myself that it was being raped, not simply agreeing to their demands.
However, by the time the third man took the place of the second, I once again accepted that circumstances change. I was truly their whore, exchanging sex for food and protection. From that moment onward, I reluctantly yet readily serviced them all whenever they wished, letting them pleasure themselves as they saw fit, whether it be in my mouth or in my vagina, or on more than a few occasions, up my bottom. It has been months. There seems no end in sight. Yet every night, I pray that circumstances change.
One Button at a Time
I simply love pulling off a home invasion on a white collar cocaine dealer. Guys who sell to their golf buddies and country club types are never involved with gangs. They don’t make a fuss, generally, either. As far as I know, not one has ever called the cops, being as afraid of them as I am. Also, there is quite often something a little extra in it for me that they are none too happy about, but also stay quiet about.
The last time wasn’t much different than the time before. Just like I’ve always done, I knocked on the front door in the early evening, forced my way inside, and rounded up the family. After a few veiled threats, the guy told me where the drugs and cash were stashed. It was a pretty good take. Then, once he and the kids were tied up on the sofa, I took the guy’s darling wife into the master bedroom with the standard story of wanting to steal her jewelry.
Trying not to notice me checking out how her sweet little butt looked in her skintight jeans, the wife went straight to a brass box on the dresser and gave me a pair of diamond earrings. Once they were in my pocket, she told me there wasn’t anything else worth taking.
“You can play dumb if you want,” I told her, “but I know you’re smart enough to know the score. There’s something else definitely worth taking. When I first forced my way into your happy home, all the adults in the room knew there were only two chances that what’s about to happen wouldn’t happen, and those two chances were slim and none. Slim just rode off into the sunset.”
She started shaking a little and gave me a look that told me I was right. For the past fifteen minutes or so, she had been trying her best to accept the situation for being what it was, dealing with what she’d have to do to protect her family.
“Even though your husband knows, your kids probably don’t have a clue, and I think you want it to stay that way,” I said, giving one of her smallish tits a squeeze and sliding the barrel of my gun back and forth in her crotch.
She was on the verge of tears, but she stood perfectly still, not agreeing or disagreeing with me.
Giving her a little kiss on the cheek, I moved my lips close to her ear and whispered, “That’s why I brought you in here. To give you a choice. I can take you back into the living room and give your kids some live-action sex education starring their mother on the coffee table in front of them, or you can take off your pants, lie down and give me some pink right here, right now, without them being any the wiser.”
I’ve always had this thing for the sound of a woman’s zipper going down. Now, though, I developed an appreciation for the soundless, slow reveal of the fly on a woman’s pair of Levi’s opening one button at a time.
Want more? Let me know. Jefferson@JeffersonJames.com