The Debt Collector Ch. 02

She saw him nod to the men who held her down and they shifted her up onto her knees. Doggie style? She knew this would hurt, cos it was the position that let a man get deepest inside you. At the same time, she also knew that it would make her cum like a demoness as he his her g-spot with every stroke.

But no! She was pushed forward so that she sprawled on her stomach, tits pressed against the hard fabric, arms and legs spread again. A coat was pushed under her hips, then another, raising them high above her back. She heard a man behind her and looked over her shoulder to see her last assailant holding his cock close to her. He rubbed her slit with it, wetting it slightly. Then she heard him spit and she wondered why he would be trying to make it wetter. Too late, she realised. She felt hands pressing her buttocks apart and something hard pressing against her. He was going to fuck her ass! Her mouth was uncovered now - she was too tired to scream - and she began to beg with him. “Please sir, please not that. I’ve never done that before, I can’t take it. You’re too big. Please, take my pussy. It’s nice and wet. Or my mouth. I could suck you good. Just don’t do that to me, please.” It was no use, though. She felt an intense pain as he pushed into her; she thought she would pass out. Nothing had ever felt so uncomfortable, so tight before. She just wanted him out.

This man came from Karl’s school of fucking though. He knew how to not just physically abuse her, but mentally torture her too. As he moved back and forth inside her tight, virginal ass, he reached his hand around and rubbed her clit. She didn’t want to cum like this, not being raped in this way, but she couldn’t help herself. The pressure on the walls of her cunt as he fucked her coupled with the feeling of her clit getting circled was just too much. As she felt his cock spasm and her ass fill with hot fluid, she climaxed too, moaning with pleasure and pain.

He pulled out of her and grabbed her by the hair, turning her face around to meet his groin and shoving his dick between her lips. She was repulsed, licking him clean like this, and yet she was still shuddering from her orgasm at the same time. Her mind was in turmoil, her body her enemy. She licked and sucked, his cock growing again and pushing deep into her throat, until he came once more and she swallowed his salty fluid. He withdrew, grabbed her jaw and looked her in the eye: “Look at my face. Don’t ever forget me. I’m the man who took your virgin ass and stretched it out, and I made you cum while I did it. I knew you were a dirty whore when you walked in here. I knew you’d enjoy a good ass-fucking. Next time you want a nice creamie ass-pie, you know where to come slut.”

He dropped her back onto her stomach and gave her ass a resounding slap. She heard movements around her and, by the time she looked up again, the room was empty. Even Scott and the Italian had gone. She crawled to the edge of the pool table and lowered herself to the floor. Her pussy was still tingling, but her body felt battered and abused. Tears of ecstasy mingled with tears of shame as she struggled to stand, her legs weak, her ankles in pain.

She had nothing to wear but her stockings and shoes. Looking around, she spotted one of the coats that had raised her hips had been left behind. She pulled it on and peeked out of the door into the bar: it was also deserted. She figured that the door would be locked; turning, she saw a fire escape door and stumbled towards it. Pushing at the bar with all her remaining strength, she fell as it swung open and landed in the wet alley. She half-expected to see Karl waiting there for her, but it was empty. Crying, shaking, she staggered down the lane, using the walls for support. When she reached the street, she flagged down a taxi. The driver didn’t ask about her appearance: he was used to seeing all sorts in this part of town and knew better than to ask questions. He drove her back to her home in silence and waited while she went indoors to get some money. Her house was empty: no sign of Tony or of Karl’s henchmen. She paid the driver and he left her alone in the house where this whole thing had started.

Natasha ran a bath and washed her abused body; she cleaned her teeth again and again until she could no longer taste the salty fluid that had filled her mouth. She got out, wrapped herself in a towel, dried her hair and sat down on the couch. The whisky bottle was still there and she finished it off. She didn’t call the police. She felt that it was all her fault: she had wanted Karl to fuck her again and so agreed to go with him, not knowing what he had in store for her.

She didn’t sleep that night, or the next night, or the night after that. Tony never re-appeared. She checked with the local hospital and found out that he had been there, getting treatment for a ‘minor wound’. She didn’t know if he’d been killed when he left or if he just couldn’t face coming home. She didn’t care either way.

Karl and his goons never showed their faces again either. Somehow, Natasha managed to pay off her debts: she gladly sold the house and moved to a little flat, and pretty soon she was back on her feet again.

Nine months later, she gave birth to a baby girl, Tina. The birth certificate stated “Father: Unknown”. It was the truth. It could have been one of eight men, anyone except Tony in fact. She loved her daughter though, and tried to put the memory of her conception behind her.

And she almost did. Tina was a beautiful baby who grew into a gorgeous little girl. She worked hard at school and her mother was intensely proud of her. They almost had a happy ending. But then came the day, when Tina was eight, that Natasha bought a computer. She was making enough money now to splash out on some little luxuries and, besides, it would help Tina with her school work. They had great fun learning how to use the machine, and Natasha set up e-mail accounts for them both.

As she experimented with surfing the Net, she decided to type her own name in, just for fun. She was surprised to see that it produced an enormous number of hits: Natasha Peters must be a popular name! Her surprise turned to terror as she looked down the list of matches and found that they were all un-addressed porn sites. With a sinking feeling, she clicked on the first link: it was a pay-per-entry site. So was the next, and the next. She got her credit card and entered her details: a menu came up on the screen. There was her name: “Natasha Peters Gets Taught a Lesson”.

She didn’t want to look. With trepidation, she clicked the ‘play’ button. Her face appeared on the screen. She was sitting in that bar, the bar from all those years ago, wearing the chiffon top. Transfixed with horror she saw the events of that night replayed before her, from the first approaches by the men as she had a drink to the final scene of her head flung back in pleasure, coming as her ass was fucked.

Tears poured down her face. Scott had filmed it all! Everything fell into place. The Italian must have been Karl and Scott’s boss; he must have arranged for everything to be filmed so that he could make back his money from her. Feeling sick, she realised that she had probably just added to his coffers by paying to enter this site. She ran into the bathroom and was violently sick. Men all over the word were getting their rocks off watching her being raped! She sank to the floor, laughing with bitter irony. Her debt had been well and truly collected.