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You Visit L.A.
You are unfamiliar with the L.A. streets, and somewhere
south and east of the airport, you find yourself lost in the dark
in a very questionable neighborhood, run down, full of signs in
languages you can't read. Suddenly, an old van with a big wooden
bumper rear-ends your rented Toyota, driving it up over a curb.
When you recover from the shock of the collision, you reach for
the door handle, to get out and look at the damage.
As soon as you get out, someone grabs you from behind. A
coarse sack, burlap or jute, is pulled down over your head, and
your arm is twisted behind you, by someone you can't see. "Don't
make a noise, Anglo bitch, or you are dead right now" says a
voice which sounds as if the teeth are clenched. In seconds, you
was dragged into the van and pushed to the floor. You can feel
it back up, stop with a lurch, and then move forward, making
several turns, probably turning at every intersection.
Strong hands roll you on your back. Counting hands, there
must be at least three men. You feel the hard steel floor of the
van against your back; it is a cargo van, no seats in back.
Probably no windows, either, you realize. Unless there were
witnesses to the ramming and abduction, no one could know where
you are.
You feel cold steel against your throat, under the bag which
covers your eyes. "Listen, Sweetie, you are going to do
everything you are told to do, and you are not going to scream or
struggle or talk back; otherwise, you die right now.
Understand?" The point of the knife presses painfully into your
skin.
"Yes," you croak, your throat dry with terror.
You feel them pulling your arms above your head, and apart.
Your wrists are tied to something, maybe the front seats of the
van. They are using wire; it bites into your skin. They take
your Reboks and tie your ankles, using wire again, pulling your
legs straight and apart. You are spread-eagled, entirely
helpless and vulnerable. Your breathing is rapid. You are
hyperventilating and might become light headed, blowing off too
much carbon-dioxide, except that the sack over your head
restricts the air flow, compensating for your panicky panting.
You are wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. The knife point
slides down your neck, until the blade encounters the first
button of your shirt. There is a little tug, and the button
flies off. You actually hear it strike the metal wall of the
van. Men laugh. You smell marijuana.
You can feel another tug at your shirt. The second button
is cut off. Then the third. And the fourth, and the fifth,
which is down by your navel. Someone pulls the tail of your
shirt out of your jeans and cuts the last buttons. They didn't
have to cut them off. You know you can never wear that shirt
again. Will you die naked? The flannel is pulled back, baring
the front of your body.
The sharp blade, double edged, slides along the midline of
your tummy. You wonder, is it drawing blood? How can you be so
detached, so clinical? Does it have something to do with being
blindfolded by the sack? You cannot see who is assaulting you,
so you must concentrate on what you feel. You feel the blade
pause, between your breasts, and lift, and suddenly your bra
springs away from your breasts, leaving them exposed. Almost
instantly, strong, masculine hands grasp your breasts. They are
big hands, able to engulf your B-cup breasts, and they are rough,
calloused hands. They squeeze and knead your breasts. These men
have no respect for your body.
They could unbutton your jeans, but they don't. The knife
slides along your hip and down the outside of your leg, slicing
the denim. When it has traveled down both sides, there is
nothing holding your jeans on but force of habit. Someone yanks
on the cloth, and you feel it sliding out from under you. In
seconds, there is nothing on the lower half of your body but your
cotton briefs. You can feel the cold steel floor through the
thin cotton. You feel tugs at the waist of the briefs, as the
knife does its work. Your last covering is snatched from you.
Now your bare buttocks are pressed against the cold steel floor,
and your genitals are fully exposed to the crazy men who have
kidnapped you.
You know you will be raped. You know it will be very
unpleasant. You can only hope you are not maimed or killed. You
remember that woman who was raped and had her arms cut off.
You
remember countless reports of nude bodies being found in the
hills around L.A. You don't want to end up on a slab in a
morgue.
The bag over your head is pulled partially off. You cannot
see, but you can breathe easier. Something warm is pressed
against your lips. "Suck it," you hear. You open your mouth to
receive the stiff cock, uncircumcized. It tastes strange, as if
it hadn't been washed for a long time. You are disgusted, but
fear for your life makes you suck it, just the same.
Meanwhile, whoever was squeezing your breasts is now
pinching the nipples, hard. You want to cry out, to complain,
but your mouth is full. The pain radiates through your body and,
by the time it finds its way between your legs, it is somehow
pleasurable. Another man begins grinding his fist into your
vulva, mashing your labia, pressing on your concealed clitoris.
"Hey, man, she likes it! Lookit her get wet."
The cock in your mouth is now fucking your thorat. You want
to gag. You can only breathe in gasps. You are no longer
sucking, just enduring. Sweet/salty semen makes you gag, and you
have to swallow it, or you will suffocate. Several men laugh, as
you swallow hard and try to breathe. The now soft penis pulls
out of your mouth, dribbling sticky fluid over your chin.
Now rough hands are probing your crotch, pulling the labia
apart. You hate that. You feel hot breath between your legs,
and then a tongue touches your clitoris and begins to lick it,
pressing hard. "OH, God, NO!" you cry, as the tongue rapes you.
Even as you loathe the violation of your most private parts, you
feel the electric tingles from your clit, and you involuntarily
begin to buck your hips. Tingles, twinges, waves of muscular
activity, radiate from your cunt, as, simultaneously, waves of
stimulation from your tortured nipples radiate downward. The
nervous energy meets in your belly, causing pandemonium, as if
your internal organs were playing musical chairs in your pelvis.
You are tossing you bagged head, moaning, straining at the
wires which bind you, sweating, on the edge of an orgasm, when
the tongue stops, leaving you frustrated and angry. How dare
they! The nipple pinching stops, and you feel a warm hard body
climbing onto you.
"No, Angelo. You got AIDS. You go last."
A shiver of horror erases the lust you felt seconds earlier.
AIDS! Someone else lies on you, the buttons of his shirt pockets
digging into your mashed breasts, his massive belt buckle
scraping your navel. His fat dick finds your cunt. With a
grunt, he forces into you. Seconds earlier, you wanted a cock in
you. Now, you don't.
Push, push, push, the penis invades your vagina. You are
wet and slippery. You were on the edge of an orgasm. Now, you
grit your teeth and bear it. Strangely, however, in spite of
yourself, you feel delicious tingles, in time with your rapists
push-ups over your helpless body. Again, you are gasping,
feeling waves of excitement racing through your body. "Uh, uh,
uh," you cry, waiting for the climax you know can only be seconds
away. Even now, your cunt is twitching.
"UUUHHH!" the rapist groans, and his spunk floods your cunt.
In seconds, his prick is gone. Your cunt quivers, with nothing
to hold on to. The promised orgasm evaporates, leaving your
feeling congested and frustrated.
"Was she tight?"
"So, so."
"This will help." You feel something being inserted in your
anus. There is no lubricant; it hurts. It's a hose, or
something like that. You hear a swish-swish sound, and
something, a balloon or bag of some kind inflates in your rectum.
"Ah, you'll kill me," you cry, as your stretched bowels send
distress signals of intense pain to your brain. You feel your
anal sphincters, and your anus itself, being stretched, dilated,
by the growing thing inside you. Your swollen intestine presses
your vagina. Your bladder is pressed, and you can't help passing
urine. The men laugh.
The next rapist is quick and rough. His swollen cock forces
into your vagina, sending waves of increased pressure through you
painfully full rectum. With the air pressure squeezing your cunt
against his tool, the friction is intense, and before you can get
over the shock and decide whether he gives you pleasure or pain,
he has ejaculated into you and withdrawn. You feel cheated. You
got fucked and couldn't even enjoy it.
You realize the van is no longer moving. You wonder where
you can be. "OK, Angelo, your turn." The one with AIDS! Your
blood runs cold. The hose in your anus is pulled. Almost
painfully, the bag within you bears against your anal sphincter
muscles, stretching, stretching. You think giving birth to a
baby must be like this.
"EERRRGH!" you cry, and suddenly your rectum is empty, your
burning anus no longer stretched.
"Shit, man, I don't want her tight. I want to enjoy this."
Angelo lowers himself onto you, pressing you against the hard
steel floor. His hard penis pokes at your cunt, trying to find
the hole. At one point, it bumps your clit, and your whole body
shudders. Now he finds his goal, and you feel your ring of cunt
muscles distended as he thrusts deep into you. He pushes hard.
His pubic hair tangles with yours. You feel your womb displaced,
as his prod reaches the very depths of your treasure tunnel.
Slowly, he strokes in and out, sliding on the semen of his
predecessors. You dread the moment when he ejaculates. Will he
give you AIDS? For that matter, will you get pregnant; it's your
fertile time. But such questions are meaningless, if they are
going to kill you, anyway.
Angelo strokes in and out. He even hums to himself, in no
hurry. One of the men says, "Hey, Angelo, enjoy it while you
can." Angelo tries to prolong the pleasure, changing position
slightly, making his prod rub higher up in your vulva and lower
down in your cunt. You begin to feel those pleasant tingles and
twinges.
Angelo keeps up the rhythmic stroke, filling your cunt with
his tool, then pulling out, almost all the way, so that when he
thrusts again, you feel yourself stretched open anew, feel
delicious friction in your vulva. The sensations become
stronger, more insistent. Little shuddering twinges begin to
ripple through your belly. They get stronger, so that your whole
body responds. As he pushes down, driving his meat deep into
you, your legs stiffen, your tummy twitches, your breasts feel
electric, and your toes curl. Before you know it, things are out
of control. You are so sensitive. You feel everything, and
every touch sends electricity through your belly. Your organs
spasm. You buck your hips. You groan, and thrash and writhe and
go crazy, as Angelo keeps thrusting into you, giving you no
relief.
There is laughter. "She likes it, Angelo." Your nipples
are hard, your chest sweaty. You feel hot, flushed, and you are
breathing hard, as another wave of contractions washes through
you, like shock waves from an explosion, like an earthquake in
your body. And then it is over. Angelo has come inside you and
withdrawn his prick. You feel slightly sore, but relieved and
relaxed. It was a whopper of an orgasm.
"What do we do now, cut her nipples off?" says a voice. You
shudder with dread.
"Too messy. Kill her."
"No, don't kill me. I can still show you a good time," you
hear yourself saying, without even thinking about it first. You
will do anything to stay alive.
You hear a wicked little laugh. "Remember what we did to
that chick we picked up on La Cienega? The one that was only
thirteen?"
"Yeh, man, let's do that."
You quake with fear, fear of the unknown. Someone turns off
the engine, gets out of the van. You hear the hood raise.
Moments later, they start the engine again.
"Hey, you red haired Anglo sweetie. Do you know what
happens next?"
"No," you say. You still can't see anything.
"Here is a wire from a spark plug. A hundred thousand
volts. Enjoy." You feel a sharp burn on your belly, and the
electricity spreads through your abdominal muscles and through
your buttocks and into the steel floor of the van. Your body
convulses, flopping as far as the taut wires to your limbs will
allow. You have a few seconds to catch your breath, and then the
wire is run down the centerline of your body: breastbone, navel,
vulva. The engine is idling, so the sparks are leaping to your
body perhaps twice a second. The burning pain where the spark
enters the skin is bad enough, like a red hot iron, but the
ripply spasms of your muscles, unable to relax, are even more
worrysome.
"Man, lookit her twitch!" says a laughing man, as you scream
in pain and frustration. Someone pushes the end of the wire into
your vagina. You do not feel the burn, but the muscle spasms are
unbearable.
Some one gooses the engine, so the sparks are almost
continuous. "UNNNGH!" you groan, through clenched teeth, as
your back arches and your womb leaps in your belly, and you climax
like the 1812 Overture, with cannons in your cunt. They pull out
the wire. You lie there, gasping.
"Any bets how long she'll last?"
"Not long. Do it again."
The wire strokes along your wet labia. Your body writhes
and bounces on the steel floor, as every muscle from your
shoulders to your heels convulses. You can't breathe! And your
cunt is doing things that drive you crazy. Through the pain,
your brain lights up with ecstatic orgasms, a paradox of
pleasurable pain. Again, they give you time to catch your
breath, to recover.
"Anyone want to fuck her again?"
"Shit, man, her cunt is ruined. Be like fucking a bag of
Jello."
"Well, give her some more."
This time, they shove the wire against your anus. There is
no orgasm, just pain so intense that you faint for a moment.
When you come to, you hear, "She's not dead yet. Here, put this
in her." You feel something cold inserted into your vagina,
something like a wrench handle. "Now, just touch the wire to
that."
"UUNNGH!" You make horrible noises, as your vagina receives
the electricity, and your contracted buttocks connect with the
cold steel floor. You reach a climax in seconds, and then
another and another. You can't breathe. You can't control
anything about your body. The electricity jerks you like a
marionette. Climax. Pain. Climax. Pain. You see stars, hear
roaring in your ears, and then nothing.
You realize that your are regaining your senses, but you try
to remain limp and not let on. You are being carried, hanging by
your hands and feet. The bag is still over your head; you can
see nothing. The remains of your shirt and bra are gone; you
haven't a stitch on. You can still feel the wires, wrapped
around your wrists and ankles. They must have simply cut you
loose, not bothered to remove them. You continue to play dead.
You feel yourself being lifted. Your ass bumps on a round
railing. Suddenly you are falling! One second, two, three! You
wait for death.
There is a jarring, stinging, smack against your body. You
are under water, salt water. You slam against a gravelly bottom.
You scrunch into a ball, holding your breath, and push off toward
the surface.
You tear the sodden bag from your head, gasping to breathe.
You can tread water. You are alive and able to breathe. You
wait, looking up at the bridge above you, blacker than the night.
You wait, until the men will be far away. Then you swim toward
the beach.
[end]
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