Helen's Family Party

Things were a blur from the time the gang burst in. She'd been dragged from the room where she'd been sitting with her family – where they'd turned, startled, afraid, as the men piled in and set on them. She had been handcuffed – still was – and blindfolded – they'd just taken the blindfold off. She'd heard sounds of a struggle – David, her husband? Her dad? – and moans, perhaps her mom's or Sarah's. Then she'd been dragged out and dumped in a chair in the kitchen, and that was where they'd removed her blindfold and she'd faced her captors for the first time.

"Are you listening to me, you bitch?"

She nodded, almost dreamy in the shock of events. He was a huge man in his twenties or early thirties, tall and broad, his face cruel and arrogant, his body muscled like a fighter's.

"I want you to watch carefully, Helen," he said. He'd set up a portable computer on the kitchen table – the table where she'd eaten lunch only half an hour earlier. They'd sat her on one of the chairs and tied her to the back of it with thin strong cord: the strands of it held her above and below her breasts so that they jutted out rather ludicrously: she was very conscious of them as she sat there and tried to concentrate on what this intruder – this strong man who somehow knew her name and who looked at her with contempt and cruelty in his eyes – had to tell her.

"This is a little video of a family we visited before, Helen." The video was blurry, but she could make out a girl on the bed; her captor, naked, fucking her; other figures, bound; and other men, watching. "She made a mistake, Helen. She said No."

The killings were quick, brutal, bloody. Helen cried out in horror.

"It's what happens, Helen. It's what we do – if you resist, if you make the slightest objection, if you even look for one moment as though you're not enjoying everything we do, then we kill you all. Understand? Your family first, then you – bitch."

She stared at the frozen video on his computer, the last lingering shot of the bodies. She stared at him, at his cruel hard blue eyes. She knew the video could be faked; she knew this could be a trick. But she thought of the knife at her throat – of seeing her family dead, knowing it was her fault – and she nodded.

"I – I understand," she said.

"We'll take you upstairs in a minute, Helen. You won't be tied or anything. Your family will be there. They're going to see you fuck us, Helen – like a whore, like you're enjoying it, like you're really wanting it. And more. Doing anything we tell you to. Taking a lead, too. You'll be the perfect slut. If they get the slightest hint that you're not willing... well, that's the last thing they'll ever see. Understand?" He stared at her for a moment; she gazed back in horror. "Do you understand, you stupid bitch?"

The harshness of his words ran like a shock through her body. Helen was young –just 20 – and she had never been treated remotely like this in her life. Her father had spoiled her, her mother had indulged her. Friends had always admired her for being so pretty, so lively, so gentle and affectionate. She had married her childhood sweetheart, David, just a year ago and she knew he worshipped her still. No one had ever hurt her intentionally – no one had wantonly insulted her before – no one had ever turned a gaze so commanding and uncaring on her. Suddenly she was without defences, without the support of friends and family even though both were only a few feet away. She was on her own.

The man smiled then, and that to her was the worst thing of all: it was a smile of such simple, arrogant triumph, the smile of someone who knew that whatever happened he would win. She read it as clearly as though he had spoken: she would do what he demanded, and whether she succeeded or not he would get his pleasure – and whether she succeeded or not they might all die. But she had no choice but to do it. He nodded. She was ready.

The younger man of the three untied her and unlocked her handcuffs. All three carried knives and held them ready – there was really no escape. They let her lead the way upstairs, following close behind. At the top of the stairs, the two younger men walked straight into her parent's bedroom, leaving the door open. He – the one she thought of as their leader – turned to her, spoke loudly.

"They're tied up, Helen, waiting – just as you wanted them."

She flushed – the cruelty of what he was doing suddenly jolting through her body. She hesitated long enough that she saw a cruel warning in his eyes and his knife hand twitch. Then she said,

"Good!"

and entered the room, leading him by the hand.

They were seated on hard wooden chairs, in a row: her dad; her mum, crying; her best friend Sarah, bleeding slightly from a cut above her left eye; and her husband David, looking quietly furious. The two younger men stood behind them, one with his knife hand resting casually on Sarah's shoulder, the other with his hands on the back of Helen's mum's chair. All of them faced the big double bed in front of which stood Helen and her captor. All tied, all gagged: their eyes followed her as she came into the room. She read the shock, confusion, doubt in their eyes as they saw her, walking free, hand-in-hand with one of their captors

"Thank you darling," she said, and drew his body closer to her.

"I know you want to show off what a perfect little whore you are," he said. His hand covered her left breast, kneaded it.

"Ooohhh yes baby," she said, "let's show them." She wriggled sensuously, forcing her body to respond although she rebelled against his touch.

"Undress yourself for them, honey," he said.

She turned to her audience – her own parents, her husband, her best friend, all staring at her – and behind them the menacing young men with their knives ready. She smiled brightly and started to do a strip routine, as lascivious as she could be. She undid her blouse slowly, slid it slowly open to reveal her pert breasts in the white lacy bra. She stroked her breasts, let the blouse drop to the floor. Then she opened the clasp of the bra and laughingly exposed her perfect breasts to her family – covered them – exposed them again – and then threw the bra down as though she really longed to show them her body. She was short, just 5 foot five tall; her body slim but curvy, her breasts on the large size for a girl of her height. She knew when she stood naked that she looked good – she'd often watched herself in the mirror, admired the firmness of her body, the clearness of her skin, the neat patch of short blonde hair at her pubic mound. She was sexy. She knew it.

Karl took hold of her from behind, pushing her gently forwards.

"Getting a good eyeful, old man?" he asked as he thrust her breasts towards her father's face. He pulled her father's gag off. "I bet he'd love to suck them, honey"

She laughed, a little hysterically.

"I bet he would," she said lightly. "Come on, Dad – give me a lick. Suck my titties, Daddy!" She leaned forward to touch her nipple against his closed lips. Her father stared up at her: disbelief and disgust showed in his eyes: and despair too. It tore at her.

Karl slapped the old man's face.

"Do it, "Dad"!" he commanded. "Do it or we'll top your slag of a wife in front of you!"

Helen giggled as her father opened his mouth, took her nipple between his lips. She held his head against her, forcing her tit further into his mouth.

"Mmmmm, that's it Dad, suck me properly honey," she said, and flushed as she felt her nipple hardening in his mouth – as though she was turned on by the humiliation they were forcing on her. She felt her mother's eyes – her husband's – her friend's – all watching her, all horrified and disgusted. You don't understand, she thought furiously: I'm protecting you, for god's sake! But she knew they only saw – they must only be allowed to see – a slut participating in torturing her loved ones.

Karl's hand slid down her body, his fingers slipping under her panties and over her lightly-furred mound. She ground her body against his touch, moaning lasciviously. He slid her panties down, and she stepped out of them as they settled round her ankles.

"Such a beautiful cunt," Karl said softly, stroking her: "such a beautiful pussy... it needs eating honey, which of them is going to eat it for you baby?"

She hesitated, scared by the question, by the need to answer. What did he want her to say? How could she answer – how could she choose? But hesitation could be fatal, and she had to reply.

"Sarah," she said. "Let's – uh – make Sarah eat me."

What had made her say that? She wasn't a lesbian! And she knew Sarah's feelings on the issue – she thought lesbians were wicked and perverted. Was it that she wanted to humiliate her own friend? No: she was trying to protect her friend, trying to give these men what they wanted to see. It was for Sarah's own good.

Two of the men lifted Sarah off her chair, spread her limbs on the bed, and tied her there. Helen watched her friend struggle and moan. The gag was taken from her mouth and she started to scream. Helen went over to the bed and slapped her friend's face. For her own good!

"Shut up, Sarah! Just keep still!" she shouted. Her friend looked up at her – and spat. Helen slapped her again, harder, suddenly overcome with anger. "Do that again and I'll kill you, you bitch!"

Sarah stopped struggling. The red mark on her face was livid as she stared at her friend in horror. Helen smiled grimly: this was what she had to do: she was keeping Sarah safe, even if her friend didn't know it. She climbed onto the bed, swung her leg over, and knelt over Sarah's face, looking down at her bound body.

Sarah was pretty – tall, thin, her chestnut hair thick, shiny, tumbling over her shoulders. But she dressed plainly, wore shapeless clothes, never made the best of herself. Helen had tried to persuade her friend over the years to believe in herself, to recognise and take pride in her attractiveness, but Sarah was either too shy or too prudish or both.

"Now, Sarah, if you suck me nicely these nasty men won't hurt you... Do you understand?"

She settled her pussy down onto her friend's face. She knew as she did it that her pussy was wet – Sarah would understand that it was just a reaction – or maybe she wouldn't, maybe she'd think her friend got off on this. Well, let her. Helen ground her pussy down on Sarah's face.

"I said suck me, you bitch!"

She ran her hands over Sarah's body, stroking her tits through her thin blouse. She felt Sarah sob and then, tentatively, start to lick the pussy exposed above her – her tongue tracing the edge of Helen's cunt lips.

A shiver ran through Helen's body – she was shocked by the depth of feeling as she felt her friend's reluctant tongue exploring her. She kneaded her friend's breasts, twisting the hard little nipples she felt through the cloth. Then Karl took hold of one of her hands, placed a pair of scissors in it. She stared in panic at the bright steel. What was she meant to do with those? Hurt Sarah? Stab her? But then her lust took charge and she started snipping away the fabric that clothed her friend – the dull beige blouse that hid Sarah's slim, firm body... and then the plain greyish bra. She uncovered her friend's breasts, her breathing shallow as she looked down on those shapely, sexy mounds. Her hands grabbed and stroked the soft flesh, the firmness, the hard nipples. She ground her hips into her friend's face.

"Tongue, bitch! You bitch! Get your tongue in me!" she screamed at the girl whose body, suddenly, she wanted to use, to fuck, to be fucked by more than she'd ever wanted anyone. She knew what she was doing to her prudish friend, she felt the fear, the shame, the humiliation wrack Sarah as she tried to overcome her revulsion and suck Helen's sopping pussy and drink the juices that flowed over her face, mixing with her tears. Sarah felt the scissors slice again, and her skirt, her panties, fell away, and Helen's fingers were reaching into her pussy as though they owned her, as though she could do whatever she wanted, and Sarah cried out as for the first time she felt a woman touch her there, felt her pretty friend's fingers raping her, thrusting cruelly into her, and then Helen was cumming and her body arched as her juices gushed faster over Sarah's face and her fingers scrabbled furiously into Sarah's sex and Sarah cried out again as a sudden, unwelcome orgasm shook her own tortured body.

Helen climbed off her friend, looked down at the body she had used, at the face twisted in shame and hatred and glistening with cunt juices.

"Well, well," she said, "what a little slut you are, Sarah!"

"Should the boys take her now?" Karl asked.

Sarah looked at her in alarm, crying out in fear. Even now her eyes were trying to plead with her friend: oh Helen, please don't let them do it! But Helen knew what was best. She knew her friend had got off on that rape. All that stuff about hating lesbians, and she had been turned on...

"Yes: fuck her, boys," Helen said, and watched cool-eyed as the first boy climbed onto the bed, his cock already hard after watching the show they'd just seen. He plunged into her in one quick violent thrust – Sarah's body bounced on the bed under him like a puppet's. Helen turned away casually.

"I hope you're enjoying this, dear," she said to David, and leaned forward to stroke his cheek. Her husband flinched under her touch as though it was something dirty, and she slid her hand down his body and cruelly grabbed at the bulge in his trousers. "You are, my dear – you love it, don't you?" She felt his hard-on with a shock, realising that he had been turned on in spite of everything by her show with Sarah. He liked it, he was turned on seeing his wife made to whore herself! She twisted his cock painfully, making him suffer for the excitement he had tried so hard to resist.

"He needs a pussy on that cock," Karl said. She grinned at him, but he shook his head. "Not yours, baby..."

She gaped at him for a moment, knowing at once what he meant. Don't hesitate, don't show reluctance! She went over at once to where her mother sat, bound and gagged, eyes wide with shock, tears rolling down her smooth elegant cheeks.

"You'll do, Mum," she said, and she reached down to rip open the buttons on her mother's neat, elegant blouse. "David needs a pussy, Mum... we'll make him fuck you, Mum. I bet you've always wanted him anyway."

She knelt down in front of her mother's chair. She forced her hand between her legs, sliding her fingers up the sheer fabric of the hosiery on her mother's thighs.

"Come on, Mum... let's see how ready you are for him. Open your legs, Mum."

Her mother pressed her legs tighter together. Helen looked up at the older woman's eyes. Her mother was scared – scared of her own daughter. The realisation was like a revelation, a sudden vision of the power she held in her hand. It was intoxicating – to have power over those she'd always thought of as more grown-up, more serious than herself.

"I warn you, Mum, this could hurt an awful lot if you try to stop me," she said. She removed her hand from between her mother's legs, balled her fist, and drove it hard into her mother's stomach. The older woman bounced in her seat, straining against her bonds as she fought for breath. Helen pushed the woman's knees apart, and this time there was no resistance. She pushed her fingers up to her mother's pussy, tugging the flimsy underwear out of the way. The slit her fingers forced their way into was dry. It infuriated her as she felt her mother's tough resistance to the debauchery her daughter was – however unwillingly – now immersed in. "You dry old bitch," she said. "You frigid cow."

She tugged her mother forward in her chair by her ankles, so that her ass was almost at the front of the seat. The scissors were still in her hand – or had Karl passed them to her again? – and it was only a few seconds' work to snip away her mother's neat elegant skirt. The black tights she half-cut and half-ripped, and then her mother's panties were sliced away and she was looking at the thick black hair of her own mother's pussy mound. Her mother was writhing in her bonds, moaning helplessly into her gag, as her daughter dipped her head and licked at that pussy, sliding her tongue into her mother's slit. Her body tensed in disgust as her daughter's tongue traced the bulge of her clit. She groaned in horror as Helen laughed at her reaction and pushed her tongue harder against her mother's hidden bud.

On the bed in front of her, Karl was now preparing to fuck Sarah. The two younger men had fucked her now, ramming themselves hard into her pussy. One had laughed and the other had swore as she pleaded with them not to cum in her: they had both pumped what seemed like gallons of cum into her and now it dribbled out of her pussy and between her legs. Karl knelt on the bed between her legs, looking down on her. Then he grabbed her ankles and pulled them high up above his head, so that her body was half-lifted off the bed. His hard cock bobbed as he manoeuvred himself into position. She stared in horror at the size of that cock, dreading how it would force its way into her – although at least she was wet now, lubricated by her own juices and their cum...

Then she started to scream as he folded her legs down on either side of her head and placed the tip of his cock at the entry to her ass he had thus left cruelly exposed. Her head thrashed in panic on the pillow – her arms tugged uselessly at the rope that held them – and she felt her body being split open, her ass torn apart, as he started to ease himself into her.

"Never been fucked like this before, have you?" he said, grinning, as he pushed his way in, forcing her sphincter open, his entry lubricated only by the spilt cum and, now, her blood.

Helen's mother stared at the violation taking place on the bed. She had always loved Sarah since her daughter had first brought her home – loved her as a daughter, maybe sometimes even in another way. And now the kind, gentle, pretty girl was suffering in front of her eyes... and her own daughter, responsible for her own friend's rape, was licking and sucking her, her own mother... it was too horrible, and suddenly Helen's mother felt herself fall almost physically into the horror of it. She felt her nipples harden, her pussy juices flow around her daughter's tongue. She whimpered through her gag, helpless in the grip of her own rape. This was impossible: she stared at the poor girl on the bed, trying to shock herself by the sight of that pain and humiliation: but it only made her body tense tighter, the orgasm in her build quicker, more forcefully, and then she was cumming at her daughter's harsh insistence, her body wracked with an orgasm of complete submission, the thought echoing in her mind Now they'll make me fuck David!

Helen felt her mother cumming and shuddered with disgust herself. Her own mother – wanton, helpless, turned on by her own daughter sucking her cunt! Well, she'd teach the old slag a lesson! She slid her hands under her mother's body, stroking the hard little clit soaked in cum juices. Her mother's body jerked again as the touch awakened her again... and again and again as her daughter's fingers fucked her. Then she felt herself lifted, her arms suddenly free of their bonds, her gag removed. She was carried by the young men and placed almost gently so that she was sitting on David's lap, their faces almost touching, her body resting against his.

"Now Mum, take him... fuck David, Mum."

She heard her daughter's voice, soft and yet commanding in her ear. Her body ached with the suddenness of desire that had been aroused in her. She looked into her son-in-law's eyes... saw him shake his head. But she could no longer say no – like her slut of a daughter she'd gone too far now. She raised herself, took his hard cock between her fingers, and lowered herself onto it. She gasped in surprise as she felt him fill her, as her body sparked with pleasure at the forbidden liaison. He shook his head violently, moaning as he tried helplessly to resist her fucking.