Chapter 5
The Rape
The palms of her hands were flat against his fat, hairy belly. His cock
was huge and tasted of spoiled tuna fish. Blood and spittle dribbled from the
corners of her mouth and dripped from her chin to her breasts.
He held the knife to her throat, which was dotted with tiny pricks the
sharp point had made. The air was filled with her moist, slurping sounds. He
gazed over her shoulders and down her arched back to where her rounded buttocks
curved out resting on the heels of her feet. The sight made his cock stiffen
even more.
He'd made her drink heavily from the bottle of whiskey he'd carried in his
hip pocket. Later, he had made her gulp down more. He had gotten her drunk,
she knew, so she couldn't run away. But at least the alcohol had softened the
horror of what was happening to her. Some at least.
"OK, that's enough," he said. "Get on your back."
"Please--"
A hand shot out, gripping her slender neck in a vice-like grip, squeezing
her airway shut. He held the point of the knife blade a fraction of an inch
from her eye. If she moved her head even slightly, he would blind her in that
eye. It was paradoxical. He was hurting her so she would want to struggle, to
resist. Yet, with the knife, preventing her from doing so.
He released his grip slightly.
"Please, I'll be good," she gasped quickly, before he could tighten his
grip again. "I'll do whatever you want. Please don't hurt me."
"Well, that's a little better now." He watched her lie down on her back in
the mud. Beads of rain glistened on her shapely body and slid from her jiggling
breasts.
He got on his knees between her legs, as she moved them apart. He stared
fascinatedly at the clean slit of her pussy. The lips were tight and smooth.
She was staring at his cock.
"Nice isn't it?" He stroked it back and forth peeling the foreskin back
over the swollen purple head. "I once killed a woman with it," he said
laughing. Course she was awfully small. You should have heard her scream. Now
that I think about it, she might not have been a woman after all."
Marie felt bile rise in her throat. Only her terror kept her from expressing
the full disgust she felt for him.
"Twelve inches, sometimes thirteen when I'm really cooking, like right now.
"Put your hand around it," he said.
She did as he ordered. It was so thick that there was easily one and a
half inches separating the tips of her fingers.
"Course no man's dick can compete with the fucking babies you worthless
cunts spew out. But I guarantee when I put it in you, it's gonna hurt, bitch.
I could've been a real porn star if I'd wanted. Donkey Logan, har, har." He
spit out his wad of chewing tobacco on her belly. Then picked up the whiskey
bottle out of the mud and made her drink some more, taking several heavy hits
himself.
"Some women say I get mean when I'm drunk. But you don't think I'm mean,
do you?"
Marie shook her head.
"That's good cause I can tell you're a woman who likes to fuck."
Marie nodded obediently.
That's good cause I want us to get along real good." He moved the tips of
his fingers slowly up and down the lips of her cunt, stopping to roll her clit
between his thumb and forefinger.
"I'll bet that feels good doesn't it?"
In fact it did feel good, despite her revulsion. She remembered something
else Carrie had told her: it's impossible to rape a woman, because her body
will always betray her and become aroused even against her will, and despite how
much revulsion she might feel, her body will force her to cum--and not just
once.
Marie couldn't accept this, wouldn't accept this. She fought against the
pleasurable sensations building in her. She would not cum! She would not give
this hairy, smirking, male ape the satisfaction of seeing her cum!
She unsquinted her eyes suddenly. He had positioned himself above her.
The head of his cock was pressing into the entrance of her cunt. Drops of water
dripped from his hair onto her face.
It did hurt! She screamed. Her howls were lost in the mist. The slap of
his hand against her soft, firm flesh resounded like pistol cracks in the quiet
afternoon.
She grabbed handfuls of mud and squeezed. Mud oozed into the crack of her
ass. Her hair became matted with a chocolate paste.
His mouth closed down upon hers. His tongue forced its way between her
teeth and filled her. She gagged on the taste of chewing tobacco. She could
feel the thick length of his cock entering her. Slowly.
He grunted, snorting through his nostrils, thrusting his hips forward.
Jerking, twisting, probing deeper and deeper into her wet, warm tightness.
"Oh, that's good," he sighed. "That's really tight."
Then he whispered something in her ear which sent chills through her. "If
you don't cum, I'll kill you!"
He had outsmarted her. He had defeated her. Resistance would do no good.
She sighed, giving up to the will of her body. She was lost.
His cock filled her, impaling her with its turgid thickness.
She began moving her hips in an upward, rotating motion. She heard him
gasp. Soon he was pounding into her, humping furiously. His fists clenched in
her hair, pulling and yanking. She ignored the pain. If she was going to live,
she had to cum. Nothing else mattered.
She closed her mind to every distraction, focusing on that one goal: to
cum and live! to cum and live! to cum and --
Then she was cuming, harder than she had ever cumed with Brad. Harder than
she had ever cumed in her whole life. She felt Logan's cock swell and jerk
spasmodically, swelling in her belly. Hot gushes of cum spurted into her,
filling her. Cum oozed out of her cunt and trickled down to her asshole, hot
and sticky. He kept filling her, groaning loudly, thrusting into her like a
bull for several short burst, then suddenly collapsed on top of her. His hands
loosened her hair. His body became lax.
His dead weight crushed her, but she dared not move, for if she did, she
knew she would cum again.
