Her Favorite Band

Author's note: the author does not condone rape or any other form of abuse or sexual assault depicted in their work, in much the same way mystery writers do not condone murder. If rape is a trigger or makes you otherwise uncomfortable, please look elsewhere; there are plenty of amazing works on this site that will meet your needs.

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She had been looking forward to this concert for months. Her favorite band, close enough for the gas not to add up to more than the tickets, and a cheap enough mosh pit that her friends wouldn't have to hesitate looking at their bank accounts to join her.

Not that that last part mattered. Her closest friends were working night shifts of late and couldn't get the time off, and the only others she would have chosen to come with were out of town on a vacation of their own.

She was disappointed, but not abjectly so. Concerned, too, about what getting home was going to look like for her, all alone on public transport to her cheap hotel at three in the morning.

But she didn't want to dwell on that. She wanted tonight to be everything she'd hoped, and as soon as the music started, she forced herself to forget everything else and dissolve in the thrum of the bass and the current of the mosh pit.

The kick of the drums resonated in her ribs, sending her heart aflutter. Sweaty bodies pressed in all around, the tang of alcohol sharp and ever-present in the air. The lights dimmed for the show on stage, and the crowd began to scream their hearts out along to the song that she'd listened to every day for years.

She lost herself in the lyrics, in the camaraderie, in the light and sound and vibrations.

She lost herself, belting along and dancing with the crowd.

She lost herself, until she felt a pair of hands on her bare ass under her skirt.

She stumbled. Fell against one of the people in front of her, breath catching.

By the time she turned around, the hands were gone, and she found herself facing a jumble of limbs and chests, not a single one of them facing her.

A mistake, she thought. An accident, and they'd rather disappear than apologize.

I would, too.

She fixed her skirt back in place and turned her attention back to the music. Dove back into the song like the moment had never happened. Started dancing, again, just a little more mindful of the people around her.

Just as she started to feel comfortable again, she felt another hand below her waist--this time, the fingers slip between her legs and squeeze her inner thigh before letting go, and she's shoved to one side by someone a bit too enthusiastic and a little less observant than they should be.

She found herself flushing, gawking, looking for anything familiar in the crowd around her, but she wasn't paying attention herself the first time. Was that shirt with the demonic print there before? Did she recognize that merch from a figure darting away after groping her, or from the staff hawking at the tables before the show?

Everything is uncertain, but it's only a second time. Perhaps whoever grabbed her mistook her for their girlfriend. That's all.

Right?

She tried to tell herself that, but it wasn't working. Now, every point on her body that pressed or jolted into someone else threatened to tear her attention away again, no matter how much she tried to return to the magic of the night. And as the lead up to her favorite part--the lines she got tattooed on her arm because they meant so much to her once upon a time--began to swell, she fought so hard to immerse herself in it all, because this moment was all she needed to fix the night.

Her heart pounded. Her grin returned. The riff that formed the bridge to the words rang out from the stage.

She took a breath to sing with the crowd.

And a pair of rough hands were under her skirt again, tugging her panties aside too fast for her to react, and her first word was cut off in a gasp as someone plunged their cock into her.

Her scream was buried under the sound of the audience thousands strong. Her attempt to flee, her captor's arm locking around hers as he slammed her back onto his length in the same motion, went ignored with everyone else's eyes pinned to the stage.

His breath tickled her ear as his other arm snaked up and around, his large, calloused hand clamping over her mouth as he jerked her back again, burying another inch inside of her. Stubble scratched against her cheek as he heaved again, and she ached, tears welling in her eyes as his wicked girth and length pierced her deeper than she'd ever felt before.

And she felt his chest rumble into her back as he sang along to her favorite song, and began humping away.

He started out slow, and if she could be grateful for anything in that moment, she was grateful for that. From her estimation and comparison to past boyfriends, the length stroking slowly in and out of her was at least the size of a beer bottle, hot and stiff and veiny, like he'd been nursing the erection for a while in preparation.

But he was also squatting slightly behind her--he must have been at least a head taller than her--and she could feel that he wasn't in to the hilt yet.

Tears burned in her eyes. The lightshow on stage made every face around them flicker in and out with the beat, the beat that slowly ramped up at the same speed as the man thrusting inside of her.

The song ended. The band didn't stop, jumping seamlessly into the next, kicking it off with a bass riff that only grew louder with each second, until the audience let out a scream in unison.

It was then that the man let go of her mouth and arms, gripped her hips, and lifted her up to plunge himself as far inside her as he could.

Pain speared through her core. Her breath caught as he began thrusting harder, faster, now bringing one arm around to pin her to his chest with a hand around her throat, hooking the other down to plunge his fingers under her skirt and start rubbing at her clit furiously.

Her struggles weakened as he choked her, slammed into her, used her. Her body started reacting to his touch as her vision tunneled, forced to focus on nothing but the massive cock plunging into her again and again and the fingers working her clit with singular purpose.

No, she thought as she felt her body start jerking against his. No. I can't.

The universe didn't care what she wanted, and neither did he.

All he seemed to want was for her to come as he raped her.

He built her up, bringing her higher and higher and higher, closing in on the peak with the tip of his cock rutting into the deepest parts of her, scratching itches she never knew existed.

And just as she thought he wouldn't be able to push her over the edge before she passed out, he released his grip on her throat.

And she came.

Her reluctant cries were lost amid the mosh pit as her body shook and shuddered and gushed. The walls of her cunt pulsed on his cock as he continued railing into her, as he continued rubbing her clit, as he started grunting in her ear.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, breath hot against her cheek. "Cum on my cock. I want you to remember this every time you look at the baby I'm gonna put in you."

Her panic, though it had never fully gone away, renewed with those words. She started to writhe again, trying to get away, only effectively bending herself over at the waist and allowing him even deeper access as he followed her down.

"That's right," he growled, before biting at her neck. "I'm gonna breed you, bitch. And if it doesn't--"

A sharp, hard thrust.

"--take--"

Another, even deeper, and she felt him pulse.

"--the first--"

Rut.

"--time--"

He slammed as deep as he could, and she felt the first rope of cum burst from his throbbing cock.

"--then we'll just have to do this again," he growled, holding her tight against him, humping into her a few more times without pulling out as he released rope upon rope of cum almost directly into her womb.

When he finally let her stand upright, he kept his hand over her mouth as he worked her clit once more, his slowly-softening dick still inside her. And after her tears fell over his rough fingers and she came twice more, all she could feel was dread, not relief, when he finally pulled out with a promise of finishing what he'd started.

She'd gotten her tubes tied years ago.

If he fucks me until I'm pregnant, she thought, he's never going to stop.

But he left again before she could say anything, vanishing into the crowd of the mosh pit. And when she stumbled out into the lobby in a lull between songs a few minutes later, she found her wallet and phone gone from her pockets at the same time the first trail of cum finally spilled out of her panties and down her legs.

Getting home was going to be a nightmare.

But the thought gave her an anticipatory thrill, thinking of what might happen, and whether it would be anything like what just did.