This is a true story as related to me by a now wiser and possibly less confident young woman; itâ€™s a condemnation of the male sex. This is a story of brutal rape and humiliation.
"ARE YOU FRIGGINâ€™ READY YET?" My live in boyfriendâ€™s voice came booming up the stairs.
"Wonâ€™t be long hon. Just got to find my shoes and Iâ€™ll be there.", I yelled back. Thinking to myself, "If I hadnâ€™t had to waste time finding your goddamned shirt, and those goofball socks that you insist on wearing, Iâ€™d have been ready ages before you." As I walked down the stairs, he was standing at the bottom looking up towards me.
"What in the hell do yuh think ya look like? You're dressed like a 2 dollar ho."
Now I know I wasnâ€™t dressed like a nun, but no way was I dressed like a whore. Jesus H. Christ going to hell in a hand basket! Only six months ago, when weâ€™d first started going out; this was how dumbass used to like me to look. So what was his current malfunction anyway?
I had on a dress made of thin cotton, cut low on the bosom, with the hemline about six inches above the knee. After all, it was summer and the temperature was sky high, so I didnâ€™t want to wear panty-hose or stockings. Besides, my legs had a nice tan and the hem wasn't so short that my thong underwear would show. So, I was dressed a happy medium, pleased that I was going to attract attention, but without seeming too slutty. Or, so I had thought.
On the way from our place to the roadhouse the fight that began on the stairs only got worse, and we were both really going at each other. To tell the truth this was not unusual lately, we had gotten to a stage in our relationship where bickering had become the normal start to an evening. But weâ€™d usually end those same nights fucking, and swearing our undying love for each other. Better that than a 2 minute quickie, followed by a peck on the lips, and 5 hours of loud snores.
As we walked into the honkytonk his parting comment was, "If youâ€™re going to listen to that shit eating band thatâ€™s up to you, Iâ€™m gonna be playing pool with the guys." We were regulars at this roadhouse; and this going our own ways had become our usual routine. He joined his pals at the pool tables, and I sat ignored at the bar watching the band. Or, so it seemed.
As you walked into this place, to the left was a stage for the bands, with a small area kept clear for dancing. To the right was an area where all the pool tables were, and in the middle people sat drinking at the bar. I made my way around to the side where the band was already playing on stage. I hauled my sweet cheeks up on a tall bar stool and ordered a drink. And for the next half hour thatâ€™s where I sat, oblivious to anything except the band. A couple of guys wanted to dance, but I wasnâ€™t in the mood after the fight with my boyfriend, so I just said, "no thanks."
The band finished playing and went off for their break, and some generic recorded music took their place. Using this slack time, I slid down from the stool and walked around to the pool table area of the roadhouse. Most of the stools lining the bar on that side were taken, but there was still one available, so I settled in and ordered another drink.
Now, thereâ€™s one other thing to know about this bar, it is a haunt of two separate crowds of regulars that donâ€™t get along well. One groupâ€™s from a town about 10 miles north. Itâ€™s an old, mostly played out mining town surrounded by hilly land now taken over by ranchers. The other group is mainly made up of people from a small farming town to the south; this is the bunch my boyfriend and I belong to.
It is not unusual to have a fight break out at sometime during the night, and when this does happen the entire establishment divides into two brawling gangs, all fighting for the sake of fighting, if you ask me.
So, I would normally have found a stool near the pool tables usually occupied by my boyfriendâ€™s crew, and if there werenâ€™t a stool open, Iâ€™d have gone and hung by where he was playing. But tonight, still being a little pissed at him, and there being no open stool near their tables, I sat at the bar alongside the tables of the opposing crowd.
This didnâ€™t present any problem at first, and as I nursed my drink I noticed the buckle on this one guyâ€™s belt. It was really bitchinâ€™, a big sculptured buckle. It had a naked girl lying on her back on top of a Harley, legs up in the air, and a naked guy fucking her. Without realizing it, every time this guy turned around, I was looking to see just how detailed this buckle was.
Then I decided I needed to pee, so I asked the bartender to hold my seat, and I went to the can. As I was walking back, I'd just reached my stool, when this belt buckle guy smashed the cue ball into the pack on a break. As the ball broke the pack it ricocheted off the table and landed on the floor at my feet. By reflex I stooped down to pick it up, and in stooping my knees parted some, not that anyone could see anything, unless they were at floor level.
As I was about to pick up the ball, a large hand wrapped itself around mine holding me still for a second. This guy with the buckle had dived onto the floor to retrieve his ball and was on his knees in between my legs.
"Thutâ€™s a niiiiice liâ€™l puss ya got there, kin ah pet it?" He said with a wicked grin on his face. "No you canâ€™t, you disgusting perv. And let go of my hand.", I snapped.
He kept a tight hold of my hand, preventing me from standing up.
"Ya know yuh want me. Ya been givinâ€™ me thuh cum nâ€™ git it look all night long, staring at my dick."
"Let me go. I wouldnâ€™t fuck you, if you were the last guy alive; I was only looking at your buckle."
"Yeh! Ah bet. Thutâ€™s like me sayinâ€™ ah'm lookinâ€™ at yer thong. But we both know damn well ah'm lookinâ€™ to see how much coochie yer showinâ€™. Yew might have bin lookinâ€™ at muh buckle, but yew were shure as hell thinkinâ€™ â€˜bout mah dick."
"Donâ€™t flatter yourself, if you use your dick as well as you use the pool cue, you wouldnâ€™t be worth fucking."
"Yew fucking be-atch. Air yew sayinâ€™ I cain't shoot pool?"
"You canâ€™t play for shit; my bitch hound plays better pool than you. I could kick your ass six ways from Sunday without even trying."
"Yew cock teasers er all thuh same; yer flashinâ€™ yer beaver and shootinâ€™ off yer big mouth. But air ya gonna back it up with a bet?"
"Muh belt â€˜gainst yer cunt."
"What are you offering?"
"Ah win and yew cum out to muh truck. Then ahâ€™ll fuck thet lâ€™il twat a yorn."
"And if I win?"
"Donâ€™ wurry none â€˜bout thet, thut wonâ€™ happen."
"But if I win, I get your belt?"
"Nooo weey Ho-say lady. Thut therâ€™ belt cost me sum big bucks."
"So whatâ€™s a matter big bad chicken shit, youâ€™re scared youâ€™ll lose it to a woman?"
"Ok lady yer own. But yer gonna git thuh fuckinâ€™ of yer life wunce this here game is over."
"Donâ€™t be too sure; if I was you Iâ€™d start asking around to see if anyoneâ€™s got any twine. â€˜Cause youâ€™ll need something to hold your pants up with sooner nâ€™ you think."
With that a new table was racked up, the previous game heâ€™d just started was left to one side. All the guys around were from his crew, and they all cottoned on to what had been taking place between us. By this time there was quite a crowd hanging at the table, and the shit was flying fast and furious in my direction.
They were all being crude, mostly yacking monotonously that they thought Iâ€™d get smoked, then fucked. I had only taken on this poser galoot because I knew I could beat him, and anyway, heâ€™d really pissed me off, so I wanted to take him down a notch or two. Besides, he wore fake alligator cowboy bootsâ€”donâ€™t you just hate that?
The game would have been easy, too, except for his stooges all around the table. Since they had the back area surrounded, nobody from outside this group could see anything they were up to. Every time I bent forward Iâ€™d get some jerk running his hand up the inside of my leg, this made me miss a few easy shots. As a result in no time this lame ass had taken the lead, with five balls sunk to my one.
I knew if I lost that there was no way Iâ€™d get out of there without this neanderthal porking my snatch. I was also pretty sure his bottom feeder homies would come along to check it out, so things were getting kinda desperate. I was about to make a shot and as I leaned forward, I felt a hand on the inside of my knee, and it was sliding up my inner thigh.
Without batting an eyelash, I swung around suddenly, turning the stick around in my hands like some kendo master and whacking the guy who was feeling me. I landed a very hard shot to his upper arm, knocking him sideways. Then, I stood there with my back against the table holding the stick reversed like a club in a threatening manner.
They all started ragging on me with shit like: "Go ahead lâ€™il gal give us yer best shot, â€˜cause yewâ€™ll only get wun." I knew I couldnâ€™t win this kind of fight.
So I said, "Now look here you motha fuckahs, Iâ€™ll make yâ€™all a deal. You leave me alone to play this game fair and square, and if I lose, you can all have a piece of the action. But if any one of you so much as breathes on me before this gameâ€™s over, then all bets are off and Iâ€™m gonna scream rape at the top of my lungs."
Surprisingly one big wrangler said, "Ok fellas give thuh lâ€™il lady sum space; sheâ€™s earned thuh right to prove herseff. Enyway, Burt will soon have this here game in the bag, so whut's ar rush?"
With that the game continued. From all the comments that were whizzinâ€™ by me, I was having trouble keeping my mind on the game. It got to red line pitch when mr. macho got a run of luck and sunk all his solid colors, leaving him only the 8 ball for the game. On my side, I still had six stripes plus the 8 ball if I wanted to leave without a bigtime fucking from a scuzball and likely worse.
I gotta tell youâ€¦by this point I was beginning to thoroughly regret shooting off my big mouth. So I took a deep breath to calm myself and thought carefully. For sure, my boyfriend would be wondering where I was by now. But then, the more I thought about it, the more I knew he wouldn't come looking for me tonight. It would be more than his pride could stand. Heâ€™d sooner hire a hooker for the night before heâ€™d lower himself to come find me to say he was sorry. No, if I was going to get out of this mess, I was going to have to do it all by myself.
With that thought, I told myself to block out all my stupid thoughts, and remember how my olâ€™ daddy had taught me to play pool. I gathered up all my concentration, and it worked. Next shot, the ball went in. It hadn't been a hard shot, but it was exactly what I needed for shape to set me up. The next shot was a simple bump and stop with no english, and that one went in, too. Next came a shot that many would find tough. As I lined it up and took aim, it was as if the assholes around me had all got lockjaw. It was quiet as a church on offering pledge Sunday.
I slid the stick over the bridge Iâ€™d made with my left hand. Zap, the cue ball just missed the intervening ball with the help of some well-delivered left back spin. The cue ball curved around the table clipping the fourteen ball and it spiraled gently into the pocket. I was definitely on a roll, the next two shots were no problem. Now one more ball and I would be even up with the shitkicker cowpoke.
Ouch! On second look, this was another awkward shot coming up, but I knew I could make it. I had to. Again, I shut off the outside world from my mind, and I could feel my daddyâ€™s hand on mine guiding the direction of my stick. In my head I could hear him whispering in my ear as he pressed close up behind me, and I could almost feel his hard prick that he would always push against my ass.
You see, my olâ€™ daddy had inadvertently prepared me for this kind of situation beginning when I was knee high to a grasshopper. He used to stand behind me, at first with me standing on an orange crate, with his long arms wrapped around me. His hands would be guiding mine on the stick. He'd be explaining the technical details about how to make a shot, while at the same time sliding his fat prick up and down my butt crack on the outside of my skirt. After many years of this, I'd learned how to block out this kind of distraction, and concentrate on the game. With a tiny click as the balls made contact, the last of my striped balls went in. Whooooh!
Now with only the 8 ball to go, I could hear the shit storm start up again. But now the shoe was on the other foot, they were zinging this guy Burt. Everyone was saying things like: "If this one falls, the next thing to fall will be your pants." And there was quite a bit of horseplay and acting out, but it was Burt not me getting the brunt of it.
I called the far side pocket and got up to the edge of the table and leaned as far forward as I could possibly reach. To get the control I needed with the dead on angle into the side pocket and not leave my ass waving in the breeze I had to lift one leg up onto the edge of the table. I leaned forward again, and a hand took hold of my crotch. I tried to react by bouncing back upright, but his other hand pressed firmly down in the middle of my back. I tried stabbing backwards with the butt of my stick, but he had stood to my left side and I was powerless to do anything.
He leaned over and whispered in my ear. I recognized the voice of the big man whoâ€™d stepped in and calmed the situation down earlier; I figured him to be the ramrod of this crew. He was gently squeezing my twat, his fingertips sliding into my crotch, rubbing my cunt crack.
"Go ahead bitch sink this wun anâ€™ yew cain have his belt. Iâ€™m jest gettinâ€™ a quick feel, cuz it looks like yer gonna whup â€˜im." I couldnâ€™t stop this dude, and he was working my clit with an expert action, so I knew Iâ€™d soon lose all concentration.
What could I do? Against all odds I made one last determined effort to block out what he was doing while I still could, letting him have unrestricted access, and not wasting time fighting him off. I lined up my cue and smacked that cue ballâ€¦higher and much harder than Iâ€™d intended. As soon as I made contact with the ball, I knew I was gonna blow that shot. The cue ball cracked against the 8 way too hard and sent it zinging at the pocket, where it crashed against the back of the pocket and bounced back out over the cup lip and back across the table. My heart sank. Oh shit!
My thoughts now were where will it stop? Will I have left an easy shot for Burt? The very next instant my cue ball, which on impact had gone lickity-split in the opposite direction to the 8 no doubt to scratch, had instead also rebounded hard off the back of the pocket underneath me, and gone back to collide with the 8 once again.
And now, recoiling from a second impact with the cue ball the 8 ball rolled slowly back towards the pocket that Iâ€™d originally aimed for. Only, it got slower and agonizingly slower and as it got to the lip of the pocket it appeared to stop, then abruptly dropped in and disappeared. Ooh Lordy! What were the odds against that? Better lucky than good, my olâ€™ daddy always said. The gasp of disbelief from the gang gathered around filled the air.
But although Iâ€™d won the game, I was still being held over the table, and this guy was working my clit something fierce. Now as I said, they had the area well screened off with their bodies, so only they could see my predicament. And now Iâ€™d made my shot, so I could no longer block out the signals that were coming from my clit. This guy rolled me over on my back and slid me along the table; I can remember someone taking the stick from my hand. I can also remember saying.
"Please no. Donâ€™t do this. Youâ€™re not being fair. I won." But my pleas fell on deaf ears, and I was too far gone to struggle or protest. My legs were wide open, and I knew I was pushing down on the table with my feet, lifting my crotch up and down as he pushed his fingers deep up my pussy.
When he rammed his fingers into me, I lifted pushing my hungry cunt hard against him. The rest of the guys all stood around watching. Soon, I was flopping up and down and cumming. His mouth clamped itself onto my pussy and he started drinking my cum as he supported my hips with his hands.
While I laid there still semi-conscious, other hands were all rubbing and feeling around my crotch. As I came back to earth I tried to sit up, but was pushed back down by Burtâ€™s hand on my chest.
"Not sew fast liâ€™l ladee ah want mah turn," he said. I was once again surprised by the big guy, grabbing Burt's hand and pulling him off me.
"What dew yew think yer dewing? She whupped yew fair and squarâ€™," and with that he pulled Burt out of the way. He gave me his hand, and said, "Doan jest lay thur gal, git up own yer feet anâ€™ collect yer winninâ€™s, yew certainly deeserve tuh." Getting helped up, I walked wobbily across to where Burt was standing.
The big guy was glaring at Burt, which Iâ€™m sure was the only reason he stood still. I undid his sexy buckle and slid the belt out of the loops on his jeans. I wrapped it around the outside of my dress, buckled it up and let it slip down onto my hips. Finally, I couldnâ€™t resist one last dig. "Thanks for the game cowpuncher, but if I were you, next time Iâ€™d pick on a girl from grade school." With that, I pushed my way through the circle of men, and re-took my seat at the bar.
I'd just had my twat fingered and my carpet munched, so I hadnâ€™t got away with it scot-free. But that didn't stop me from sitting there like the cat that had just swallowed the canary. I had a big smug-assed grin on my face, and I was already thinking how Iâ€™d taught that poser a lessonâ€¦never to underestimate women.
The guys had mostly got back to their games on different tables, but Burt was with three or four guys all huddled together. I thought maybe he was licking his wounds from the humiliation Iâ€™d just given him. So, I turned back towards the bar and continued drinking, and humming away to the music as the band had begun again. I was just musing to myself whether to move to the other side of the bar to watch the band better.
Suddenly, the music stopped and the lights went out, the whole place was plunged into pitch black darkness. All hell broke loose among the panicked bar patrons. At that very instant, I was grabbed with two arms tight around my body hauling me from the stool, and a hand being clamped around my mouth. I fought them and struggled for all I was worth, but it was no good.
Soon we were outside, and I was hustled across the parking lot to a large van.
There was a guy running ahead of us, and he had opened the big sliding side door. I was thrown inside, landing hard on the floor. At least ten men crowded their way in, and the door was slammed shut. Immediately, the sound system fired up and the music blasted out loud enough to make anyone deaf. Even if Iâ€™d screamed my lungs out, I couldnâ€™t have been heard over the music. The van started moving and we were all soon accelerating like a bat out oâ€™ hell down the road.
Within minutes we had stopped, and so did the music. Burt walked up to me and he was the first to speak.
"Ok ladee weâ€™re far away frum whair enywun kin hear yew now, so ef yew want to scream yew'd best git it over with. Cuz it ainâ€™t gonna help yew eny...OK. Yew know who's giving thuh orders now. Ah want yew tuh stanâ€™ up."
I did as he asked, there was no point in being awkward. I stood there in front of him. "Reckon ahâ€™ll have muh belt back now." Once again although Iâ€™d won the belt fair and square, it was pointless resisting. So without a word of protest, I undid the belt. I reached out my hand to give it back to him.
"Yew took it off. Yew cain put it back own." Meekly I went across and threaded it through the loops around the top of his jeans, and started to fasten the buckle.
"Doan bother dewing thet up darlinâ€™; yew cain start unfasteninâ€™ muh fly. Yew said ma pants would cum down, anâ€™ now yewâ€™re goinâ€™ to be proved right."
One thing I havenâ€™t mentioned yet was that from the time I stood up in the van there was one guy flashing away with a camera, every time I moved he took a picture of me. Now, I was really in a fix, and a fucking was almost a done deal.