Gender: Male Age: 55 Location: UK- SE corner!
|Introduction: Is rape always rape if the participant is willing but the perpetraitors don't know that? Is this a successful way to deal with loss and the pain of separation?|
For a few moments after she woke things were normal- then the pain flooded in on her. It had been months since he had left her and the initial sharp pain had dulled. It hung about her like a lead weight. It suffused her life and suffocated her soul. Nothing really mattered, he had gone and things were not like they once had been. She rose and washed, brushing her teeth mechanically, rinse spit, rinse spit. Get dressed, pants then tights, blouse then top, each thing in order, one thing at a time, one foot after the other, one step at a time. Breakfast was tasteless, but in between toast and coffee the idea came to her- a thought she had played with before- perhaps now becoming more than a thought? A brief flash of enthusiasm- -excitement stirring where none had stirred for such a long time- yes she knew what to do. She changed, selecting a short slightly shorter than her usual work choice, something that might pass for evening as well as day wear.
She set off for work, one city girl on the tube amongst the many, well dressed; well groomed they fluttered like birds along the city pavements. If anyone saw that she was different, they didn’t remark on it. Perhaps the dullness that lay inside of her was simply invisible? One thing she knew, she wouldn’t last much longer like this, she couldn’t - she wouldn’t go on like this.
Work was a distraction, interaction with others, speech, activity. Only in the quieter moments did her thoughts return to her loneliness and threaten to overwhelm her once more. Then she remembered her resolution over that morning’s cigarette, a brief flare, of excitement, a tingle in her loins, yes- yes she would!
The rest of the day passed by in minor occupation, all thoughts banished from her minds by routine. She glanced up, 5:25, 5:30! The passage of the minute hand sent tingles again though her sex, frissons of excitement. Could she? Would she?
She left work hurriedly, but instead of heading immediately for the tube like the other lemmings she lingered in a bar, her mind perhaps not yet fully made up. The suggestion was there, an idea, an imagined scenario- not yet solid enough to be a plan or an intention. Just an idea to play with, a thought to mull over in her head. One vodka and tomato juice, warm feeling in her gut. Another- then another. Inhibition was fading; possibility moving to certainty, doubt towards conviction and fear towards resolution.
It was later now, past 10:00. She got up from her stool and paid her bill. She moved to the door, surprised at just how unsteady she felt on her feet. The tingling between her legs was still there, if anything stronger. Steely determination resided in her breast. She grinned, to herself; a slight stagger should help her ends.
She made her way to the tube station and took a train to the fringes of Camden. The centre was a trendy part of town, but the bars and clubs sat cheek by jowl with depressing concrete-jungle housing estates. Run-down streets that formed the skeleton of the less affluent city in which drugs, prostitution and gangland interests ruled. Her fellow passengers looked different now. Gone were the bright city girls in their coordinated GAP outfits. These were duller people in disheveled cheaper clothing, a tapestry in greys and browns. They watched her with a vacancy in their eyes. If they wondered what she was doing in this part of town they didn’t show it. She was nervous but every time she thought of it, came that tingling sensation between her thighs. Stronger now, making her feel almost weak at the knees.
The train slowed for the station, crawling to the platform’s end before stopping with a jerk that shook her from her reverie; it was now or never. Feeling surprisingly scared and worried her legs wouldn’t support her, she stepped from the train. The platform was almost deserted, she made for the exit. Once at ground level she looked around, it was not a part of London she knew- they had been here only once before. To her left she could see the neon signs of restaurants and pubs, to her right the street ran more into darkness. Menace loomed large that way. The last time she had been here she had been with him, and they had walked to the left, she hanging on his arm and laughing. For just a moment she remembered, and the memory made her hesitate, but then she turned her back on the lights and started walking away from the people, away from the light and away from those bitter-sweet memories. The clip of her high heels made sharp stiletto taps on the pavement. As she moved away from the lights she began to pick out the details of the street. It was mean, run-down shops in dilapidated Victorian terraces. They were closed now, perhaps permanently. There were closed doorways and alleys running beside them, running away into the darkness. She hitched her skirt up around her waist, raising the hem to a tarty height and continued.
She was well into unfamiliar territory now. A flare of light and movement caught her eye. Over to her right-on the far side of the street a group of youths was gathered in shop doorway, their conversation low and indistinct. One had lit a smoke. Now or never. She stopped suddenly, stamping her foot as if recovering from a stumble, sending a sharp scraping tap from her heel into the night air. She stopped for a moment, twisting her hip upwards to raise her hem, pretending to check for a ladder in the thigh of the tights she wasn’t wearing. Then she moved off once more, just a little unsteadily on her feet.
The mumbled conversation across the road had stopped, she had been noticed. She walked on, the tingle starting again and reaching almost uncontrollable levels. Were her knees actually shaking? –No that must be imagination. Behind her she heard footsteps crossing the road, she checked ahead, no one around. The danger of her situation suddenly became clear to her and for a moment she fought against panic. Then the vodka-fuelled resolve re-established itself. Walking on more steadily she was aware that the footsteps behind were keeping pace with her. She had provided them a target, they had taken the bait and the motive she knew they would supply themselves; all she needed now was to give them opportunity. Just ahead she saw what she needed, an alley that turned off the street and ran alongside a disused warehouse or factory. She turned left and started up the passage. Walls closed in around her. The footsteps behind seemed closer now, quickening their pace, closing the distance. Her emotions became confused, fear rose to the back of her throat, and almost made her run, but it was mingled with a deep thrilling excitement only partly sexual in nature, and that tingling in her loins was stronger, almost overwhelming.
Then they were upon her, she had hardly noticed their final approach. Strong arms grasped her and wrestled her to the ground, a hand clamped around her mouth to stifle a scream she was not about to utter. An explosion of adrenalin suffused her body, she couldn’t stop herself from an automatic struggle, but arms restrained her, overpowering her own muscles, stilling her body and preventing the flight she was not attempting to make. She was held tightly, immobile; but electricity was crackling through her body and strangely she felt free; for the first time in months she felt alive. She struggled a little, simply to feel the grip on her tighten and to test their resolve. They held her steady, their muscles easily overcoming hers; she was trapped, held fast.
Mumbled conversation amongst her captors, she couldn’t understand it their accents were too thick but she could tell the excitement in their voices. A moment’s delay and then they seemed to have a plan and she was lifted bodily from the ground and half carried, half dragged along the alley. A few turns to the left, to the right then left again. Once her hip was jammed into a wall and the pain seared through her. Doubts rose again on the wings of the pain and she struggled some more- only to be restrained once again. It was too late for second thoughts now. Then she was lifted bodily from the ground and carried up some steps, two, no three flights and they emerged onto the roof of the abandoned factory. It was black, black shapes loomed out of the gloom at her, ventilation ducts, fan housings and fume pipes. It was quiet up there, deserted. The youths bundled her over to one of the fan housings and thrust her onto the felted roof beside it. The roof was rough, covered in chippings that scratched her back and smelled of bitumen.
She felt the hand over her mouth move only to be replaced by another and then hands started to explore her body. She felt hands grasp her breasts through her top whilst others pulled her blouse from her waistband and ran over the smoothness of the skin. She felt her legs being separated as her ankles were dragged apart- panic again, a moment’s terror. She fought it down. More hands up, under her skirt, following the smooth contours of her legs. The swelling of her thigh was groped pulled and pinched making her buck and flinch.
“Hold her” barked a voice, mistaking her convulsion for struggle.
Her skirt was pulled roughly above her waist, the blouse ripped off exposing her bra-clad torso to the night air. She gasped with the cold. For a moment the hands seemed content to feel her breasts, mauling them though the cups of her bra, but then the garment was pulled up, freeing her breasts which flopped out into the night air. For just a moment there was a pause, a sharp intake of breath as the nipple crowned mounds were shaken free of their lacey casings. Perhaps a moment’s awe and admiration before her naked breasts were gripped, mauled and twisted. Sharp pains shot through her body, and then a mouth found her left breast and clamped down on the nipple. It sucked greedily at the yielding mound, sucking slurping feeding, biting the softness, demanding flavour from her. The nipple had hardened, she felt the breast begin to give and whatever meager secretion she had to offer she surrendered. The mouth sucked harder, a groan of appreciation for her offering. Another mouth clamped on her right breast, this one was more urgent; she winced as the nipple was bitten and chewed.
Between her legs hands had reached her thighs, those sucking her breasts must have been in the way because the hands on her thighs left her to shift the weight of the immobile bodies upon her. A few muttered complaints but they moved to her sides and continued to maul and suck her from there. The hands returned to her thighs forcing them further apart. A nail scratched her skin which jumped and twitched under the pain. Fingers were running up the smooth curve of her inner thigh. They reached her cleft and burrowed under the gusset of her panties. They pulled down; some of her hairs were trapped between the fingers and the fabric of her panties. They tore out as the hand pulled down on her gusset, ripping the delicate fabric and exposing her cunt. She shook with the shock. The excitement was intense, she was sure she must be wet, but her attackers didn’t notice, they never suspected her complicity and drove their fingers into her furrow, oblivious to the fluids she had produced to aid them in her penetration. She wasn’t sure how many at of them there actually were, certainly someone held her mouth- he was getting impatient, twitchy, more and more frustrated at his role which kept him at a distance from her femininity. There was one attacker fastened onto each breast and at least two hands were burrowing into her moistened depths, stretching her further than she had been stretched before. The guy at her head finally grew tired of his role; she was moved suddenly, violently. She felt an explosion of pain in her head, stars flared and died before her eyes. Once more and then a third time he banged her head on the roof, quieting a victim that had no intention of screaming. At the third blow she lost consciousness.
She was not out for long, and then she started to struggle back to reality, swimming back up to the world like a diver striking out for the water’s surface after her dive. She broke through into the coldness of the night. Pain, pain in her head, but something else too. She became aware of weight on top of her, of rhythmic compressions that crushed her and ground her back into the chipping covered roof, and finally at last, of the delicious thrusting of the penis inside her. She almost wept with gratitude, her cunt opened before the thrusting organ, moisture poured from her and unbidden, her vagina grasped the intruder of its own accord. If her rapist noticed he didn’t show it. He continued bucking into her, scraping her body over the gravelly bitumen roof with each thrust. This was not how it had been before, she was disappointed. There was no tenderness here, no consideration, simply an animal quest to for satisfaction at her expense. She thought she had made a terrible mistake, tears rose to her eyes. But then, at last, her rapist tensed, his body became rigid on top of her just as his had done. The penis inside her jumped, twitched and pulsed, just as his had done. She felt it delivering its load of semen deep into her and she welcomed it as she had welcomed his. This is what she had sought, the tenseness of the body on top of her, the guttural moans of satisfaction and the fluttering of his sperm’s release into her body. She was surprised and delighted that her body could still provide such pleasure.
The rapist rolled off her without a word. Instantly he was replaced, the new occupant smelled more of sweat and bad breath. The stink revolted her. The pleasure that the last rapist had taken in her had restored some of her confidence. Perhaps that was enough? She didn’t want this filthy bastard in her. She panicked as she realized she had no choice, even had she wanted to refuse struggling was useless. She grimaced in distaste at her rapist but his prick found its way into her without difficulty. The combination of moistures eased its passage through her lips and into her body. The sensation of her penetration seemed to overwhelm her disgust at the man taking her and to her surprise her vagina grasped him in welcome once more. She relaxed a little and pretended to be unconscious whilst this new prick, larger and firmer than the last, eased itself into position and then pummeled the inside of her pussy in its own search for release. Each stroke rubbed the helmet the full length of her tube, from cervix to labia whilst its girth stretched the tube of her cunt tightly around the shaft. The grip was so tight that it seemed as if he would drag her insides out of her each time he withdrew, only to force them back into place with each inward stroke. The pressure was intense for her and she was sure she must be providing her violator with an intensity of sensation that could not fail to bring him to climax soon. She wasn’t wrong, all too soon the body on to of her also tensed, groaned and then trembled. Despite her distaste for the individual abusing her, his climax too- the tensing, the trembling and groaning was like it had been before, like it had been with him and she was grateful for his discharge into her body, her cunt accepting each gushing spurt of the emission.
Once again there was no pause, a new prick took the place of the last even before she had gotten used to being empty again. This one was slender and long, she was, she knew, usually a tight fit but this one penetrated easily and even allowed some room for sperm to pass. She became aware that his repeated thrusts were pumping the earlier deposits out of her and she felt the gooey fluid seeping stickily into the crack between her bum cheeks. The rapist inside her was inexperienced, he was bucking crazily on top of her, thrusting in and out of her like there was no tomorrow- And then, suddenly he too was done, he gasped and then lay still on top of her, tense but trembling. The length of his prick allowed her to feel the jumping of his cock head quite distinctly as his seed was disgorged into her waiting body. He pulled out of her giggling; releasing a rivulet of semen once she was uncorked.
The fourth seemed to have different ideas. She felt her legs lifted again and folded over her chest, raising her bottom from the roofing felt and forcing the air out of her lungs. She had never been taken in the arse before, the idea both thrilled and revolted her at the same time. She struggled involuntarily but there was nothing she could do to influence the situation now. She was entirely in their power. She felt the prickhead present itself at her puckered entrance and then press on. She tried to relax, after all her sphincter must open to a very similar size at least once a day; she must be able to take it?
Fortunately the dribbled fluid had already seeped that way and helped ease his passage into her virgin bum. She felt the sphincter give and tried hard to open but the pain was still intense. She realized that even when open all her muscles are trained to work together in expulsion, not to admit intrusion. It hurt; she took a sharp intake of breath- [prepared perhaps to scream but then whack! Her head was knocked on the roof again. This time she did not pass out, but the scream was stillborn. Emerging only as a quiet whimper. Her rapist buggered her unsympathetically; he neither knew nor cared for her pain. He relished her warm, moist tightness, seeking only his own pleasure within her most secret depths. Another thrust and he was embedded deep inside her rectum. The shaft in her guts eased in and out, in and out. Each time sending a searing pain through her body. She struggled but was held fast, she screamed but it was quelled in her throat. She was held fast and simply had to receive the invasion. Her face was contorted, her forehead sweating profusely. Please let this be over soon- please she prayed silently to herself. Then to her amazement the pain began to lessen, a dull numbness spread across her anus and from that slowly grew an intensity of sensation she had never know before. She could feel every inch of the prick within her bum, a clarity that she had never experienced in vaginal penetration. His shaft was thankfully on the small side but to her, feeling him tightly within her guts it seemed enormous. She could feel each ripple on its firm surface; she could tell that its tip was swelling as he approached his climax. She heard him groan with the approach of orgasm and she took pride in knowing that her arse had provided such satisfaction. Then he seemed to explode within her and she felt each quivering jump of his penis inside her and each of the five blurts of semen that he sent to bathe her intestines that he spurted into her with an intensity she had not thought possible. He subsided onto her body and withdrew. To her surprise she felt strangely empty. Her arsehole was torn and sore, although the warm gush of semen that flowed from her was soothing and comforting.
She was almost delirious as the last of them took her. He plunged again into her vagina, and made rapid superficial thrusts hardly penetrating past the helmet of his prick. The sensation was distinctly disappointing after her last experience but at least it didn’t last long. The guy groaned and shot into her after a surprisingly short time, his semen entering her only to a shallow depth.
She felt all the guys release her and get to their feet. There was the sound of clothing being adjusted, zippers and belts fastened. She feigned unconsciousness again and hoped they would leave her. There was some mumbled conversation and then all five took off leaving her alone on the roof.
She waited until all sounds had gone, then she waited some more. Finally she opened her eyes and sat up. Their combined milt had pooled between her thighs where it had seeped from her, and as she sat up more poured gloopily from her cunt. She felt the need to push with her bowels and as she did so few drops of brown-stained sperm farted from inside her. She took a deep breath, that had been intense, a feeling she hadn’t felt since he had left. Sitting alone, on a rooftop, half naked and covered in sperm in a strange part of London her vulnerability suddenly came back to her and a wave of fear swept over her. . Her clothes were not so much ripped as scattered and so she started hastily gathering them together. She put on what was still wearable and struggled to her feet. Standing was painful, walking even more so. Her head hurt and she put a hand to the back of her head. Dried blood had matted her hair but it was no longer sticky and she hoped she didn’t look too bad. She didn’t want a fuss now.
She walked to the side of the roof and looked over. In the distance the lights of Crystal Palace transmitter winked back at her. In the shadow of that mast she knew was the churchyard where he had left her, where he still lay. She choked back the tears, he had gone, but at least, as she now knew, she was alive.
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