A Bad Day

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You ever have one of those really bad days?
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The anger welled up inside me as the heels of my shoes clicked loudly against the pavement as I walked quickly from the bus stop. The cardboard box I carried was heavy, making my arms ache. I breathed deeply to hold back the tears hoping my composure would remain until I could close the door of my house behind me.

"Eight years of my life," I thought, "Shit down the drain because that asshole's girlfriend fucking hates me." That asshole, of course was Bob Hadley, who, until this afternoon had been my boss. Then without so much as a howdy do, canned my ass. Oh, he had the nicest things to say about what a good worker I was and promised to give me glowing references and so on. I kept asking, "Why?" But he never could really answer.

But it was clear to me what was really going on when I said to him, "Yeah, It's Cheryl, isn't it?"

He stared at me a moment then said, "Really, she has nothing to do with this, Jenn. This is a management decision." At that he turned away, but I could see the red grow on the back of his neck and knew the truth. I'd known the truth about their slimy little office affair for a long time. I even knew when it started. Cheryl had been a passing friend, but suddenly she became somehow better than me or any of the other girls in the office. "Her god damned little turned up fucking nose and big fucking fake tits and fat fucking ass. What a cunt," I raged.

"Well fuck him and fuck her too."

I packed my stuff in a cardboard box and with my back straight reaching my full 5-7 height, ample breasts held high, straightened black, immaculate, shoulder length hair combed and a smile on my face, I marched out of the office in front of everyone and caught the bus.

As I turned at the corner of 19th and moved away from the traffic on NE Alberta street my cell phone began beeping. I pulled it from my purse and said, "Yes."

It was Kathy from Accounting. "I just heard, Jenn. I'm so sorry,"

"Yeah well all I gotta say is fuck him and all of you." I broke the connection and stomped on towards the little house I rented near the west end of 19th Street.

That was when I heard a car slow in the street behind me. "Hey, Bitch. You looking for a date," I heard. As I turned, I would see a white boy hanging out the passenger side window of a newer Lexus. He looked to be maybe 20. Too young to be driving around in the ghetto and too damn stupid not to be.

"Hey, I'm talking to you, Bitch. Wanna Fuck?"

I stopped. This was nothing new. Little white, rich, asshole, boys come down from the west hills to pick up black chicks. Yeah, every one of us were just walking the fucking streets waiting for one of them to come by and show us what men they were with their little, tiny cocks and bad whiskey-breath. My eyes flared as I said, "Fuck off you god damn honky mutha fuckas."

"Oh, this one wants to play."

Another voice from the car said, "Oh yeah. She fucking wants it."

I turned back down 19th street and began to walk. That's when I heard the car door slam and feet running behind me. I started to turn, but hands were on me, holding my arms. I tried to scream but a hand clamped down over my mouth. I felt myself being dragged sideways. Then I was slammed against something hard and for a moment all I could see were stars dancing in front of my eyes.

Then I heard, "Hold her. Jake." Hands tore at the rayon fabric of my skirt, tearing it from the hem up to the belt at my waist. Then with a single motion it seemed as if the buttons on my blouse exploded, baring my bra. That was quickly ripped away and rough hands clawed eagerly at my brown nipples.

I wanted to plead, beg, anything to make them stop. But a hand slid under the waist band of my panties and ripped them away then roughly began digging between my legs. I wanted to scream but the hand covering my mouth just pressed harder.

Then his fingers penetrated my pussy. Hard fingers, rough. And a rough hand crushed my right breast, fingernails digging into my nipple as I squirmed to escape. I was afraid my nipple would bleed from the abuse.

"Oh God in Heaven," I prayed, "Please help me. Please make them stop."

"Hey, Jake. This fucking bitch is getting wet, man."

"Yeah, Jimbo. Didn't I tell ya. The cunt wants it. Didn't I tell ya."

And it was true. I could feel myself becoming wet. The hands restraining me relaxed a bit. My breathing deepened as the fingers probed my pussy. Jimbo held up his fingers examining my juices there. Then he began licking them dry before plunging them again into me.

Without knowing it, my ass began to move with Jimbo's fingers. A wave of horror and shame wracked me. Horror at the animal reactions of my body and same at being caught in this game that played out in the community nightly.

A low rasping began in my throat as my breathing became deeper and faster. Now Jimbo had his cock out, his pants halfway to his knees. He pressed his still half soft cock against my wetness and began rubbing it up and do against my clit.

"Oh God, Save Me," I cried to the Lord, but I knew now that was a lie. Jake was right. Not when he said it but now. I wanted it, needed it.

The Jimbo's cock slide inside, just a little. Then with one thrust, ball deep inside my hot pussy. I screamed, not in pain, not out of fear, but joy. The joy that comes only when a woman is mastered by a powerful shaft that drives deeper than her pussy. It drives deep right to the very center of her soul.

Jimbo, bucked and swore. The words or how long I don't remember. All I could think of was flying to that place far away where my whole body would explode again and again as the demon thrust its sword deep into me. Then I felt his fiery gush of cum pulsing from his cock inside me.

I lay there panting, exhausted, as Jake took his place between my legs. It all started again. My entire being concentrated on the cock stroking the inside of me. I screamed as I flew again to that other place and exploded over and over. Then, finally there was only blackness.

It seemed like I laid there alone for hours when I was finally able to stand. The gray line in the sky over the west hills told me it was near morning. I walked back to the street and bent to pick up my cardboard box. I felt a horrible pain. I felt the inside of my legs. My fingers came away stained with blood. Oh, God.

I found my purse laying at the curb and began digging for my cell phone. It was gone. Fuckers!! I searched farther.

I straightened up and began walking down 19th street towards the little house I rented there. My clothes were torn and not even coming close to covering my nakedness. But all I could think was, "They even stole my severance pay. Those Fucker. Great end to the really fucking bad day."

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AnonymousAnonymousalmost 2 years ago

what a stupid story

AnonymousAnonymousover 11 years ago
Great read!

I like your writing style this story is perfectly paced and I simply loved the ending!

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 12 years ago
Powerful stuff

Not one for rape stores this was something else ... one of those times u wish Superman was real as he caught their cocks in a fly past ... and didn't let go till he was mid pacific!!!

The conflict to act.. report or not.. is the only missing link. But then it would be somebody else's story. uk male

tazz317tazz317over 12 years ago
THIS STORY WAS NOT ABOUT A DAY

it was about personal tragedy and the faux economy. TK U MLJ LV NV

AnonymousAnonymousover 12 years ago
Why have you disabled public comments on your other story?

The one about Belfast? It is so poignant and true. I mean, they never reported all those hangings in Long Kesh, (they even say there weren't any and the death penalty was removed in the UK years before the troubles - but if you say it is a true story then it must be!). Just how many did the Brits hang? And hie did Gerry Adams and Martin Migunnus, convicted IRA men who did time in The Maze (and the Crumlin road and the Magabbery and the jail up in Derry) survive to go on to careers in politics, rejecting their firmer support for bombing and shooting innocent members of the public.?

And all those other death that were covered up because no couple were reported killed in a car bomb in 1979 (who planted the bomb by the way - car bombs sound like terrorist weapons, but you clearly don't think the IRA were terrorists even if they did kill all those people in the Abercorn pub in 1972.)

Oh yes, and who are "the Ulsters" that Sean us a member of, and who would hang him? I don't remember hearing of any organisation referred to by that title?

And all those terrorists buried in the hills to the east of Belfast - have you any names of the victims? Numbers? Are we talking tens or hundreds or thousands? Any idea who buried them there? Because there are no reports if any if that. (although the IRA did kidnap and torture and kill and secretly bury people, but not in North down, east of Belfast, a Protestant heartland)

And the girl shot in the bar - how did that happen? Why wasn't that in the news? Why was a soldier shooting innocent civilians in a pub? What happened at the public enquiry?

Oh and the church with the thirteen steps - what street is it in?

And all those bombed out pubs - who bombed them? And why weren't they rebuilt with the money given in compensation for terrorist acts by the (british) government?

And what was the name of the orphanage?

Sorry to ask all these questions. But I would really like to learn the true history of the troubles, since you so obviously know it so well (although the fact that the castle bar is in ballycastle suggests your memory may be faulty.)

Or is the truth that this story is just hopelessly poorly researched and full if falsehoods that insult the people of Ireland by trivialising the dreadful truth of recent history.

Shame on you. Pull the story off this site.

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