Janet Loses Control Ch. 01

It was going to be a party to remember.

Janet knew that. It was the first time that she was invited to an employee's party and she knew it'd be just great. At 29, Janet didn't have many chances to attend parties. She was the modern woman's ideal -- a, strong liberated San Francisco woman, daughter of a congresswoman, progressive in her ways. She's been at the leading edge of things since childhood. She always had high grades, ever since basic school. She was Class President, sat in the joint board meetings, led her school in rallies and protests alike. She had her bachelor's degree in Business and Management from UC Berkley and within three months of graduating, already sat in a San Francisco office of a large landscaping firm. Three years later, she was offered the promotion of running a field office in the foothills -- a big promotion for a 26 years old woman, no doubt. She reluctantly let go of the liberated city aura of San Francisco and took her brand new hybrid to what she personally thought of as Redneck Country. She found herself in Grass Valley, a town so alien to her lifestyle it could as well have been in another world. The people all drove big gas guzzlers, pulling large horse trailers behind them and it seemed like everyone owned a shotgun and couldn't stop talking about sports fishing and raising birds, pigs or goats. The town had no decent sushi place, the closest health food store was down in Auburn, some 15 miles away. The coffee shops were all so... unrefined.

But it was all worth it to her. She had always been on her way to the top and this promotion was just one more step on her way. She had 19 landscapers on her staff -- little more than gardeners but saying she managed "landscapers" sounded so much more artistic. They were all locals, all married and most had kids. She had nothing in common with them -- big, gruff men who talked football, baseball and war. She secretly despised them, although she'd never admit that to anyone. They were little people, with no initiative, no control over the course of their life. She, on the other hand, was always in control, always in charge. Responsibility could be heavy, challenging even, but she was always strong enough to handle whatever life had to throw on her plate.

So what if she didn't really have time to party? She didn't need parties or romance or friends to get personal satisfaction. She could always count her successes and take the pride in knowing she was on her way up... and if her employees didn't invite her to parties they held, so what?

Which was why she found it strange that she was excited about Bob's party. Perhaps it was because she never got invited to the parties. Maybe it was because of the chance to see how a local party looked like.

"Or maybe I'm just enjoying a nice Sunday afternoon," she told herself as she drove her blue hybrid into Bob's driveway. The driveway was packed with local cars -- SUVs, pickups, not a single hybrid. The only pretty car she noticed around was a perfectly restored late 60s Chevy Corvette but just the thought of how much gas that old monster must drink soured her opinion of the classic car.

There was loud country music playing in the backyard. Trace Adkins or some other redneck, she thought. They all sounded the same to her, but she knew better than to expect cultural music at this event.

She stepped out of her hybrid, straightened her burgundy dress and donned her best smile. She entered through a small gate in the ugly chickenwire fence.

"Janet," Bob smiled to her. He was a 34 years old man, descendant of Gold Rush miners and prospectors and looked the part -- large, loud, with a thick bushy beard and big callused hands.

"Bob," she said, "your house looks really nice."

"Thank you," he said, "it's good that you came. Please, make yourself at home. Something to drink?"

He showed her to a table of what appeared to be the local equivalent of bottled water -- Miller Lite. She hated beer. Fortunately, she foresaw that and was ready in advance.

"I wasn't sure what would be appropriate to bring," she smiled politely, "I hope this bottle of wine works"

He took the bottle -- a $30 bottle of Zinfandel from a good Napa Valley winery -- shrugged and said "Sure, let me get a bottle opener."

She managed not to sigh. At least she'll have good wine to drink.

Half an hour and two glasses of Zinfandel later, she was about ready to find an excuse and leave. The party was horrible. Her employees and their wives were all rednecks. They were talking on and on about the most boring of things -- Guns! Hunting! Fishing! Some were sitting around a small TV in the porch watching a baseball game! The women were just as bad -- all they could talk about was their kids and their churches. She knew little about children and cared less about religion. She was positively bored stiff. In addition, her bladder was starting to complain, reminding her of too many coffee cups since she woke up this morning.

* . * . *

She tentatively entered the house itself. She noticed the others going in and out so she figured she didn't need to ask for Bob's permission... and she definitely didn't need help finding the restroom. She passed through the living room, doing her best to ignore the three shotguns on the gun rack and the hunting trophies hanging from the wall. She turned into a corridor between the living room and the kitchen and saw a door in the end that was partly open. She went there and opened the door. It was a bedroom, she saw, darkened by the shutters on the windows. It'd probably be rude to just go in, she thought, but her bladder was insisting and she could see the door to a bathroom on the far end of the bedroom. If she went in fast, she thought, no one will see...

She went through the door and hurried to the bathroom door. Just as she got to it, she heard the bedroom door close. She stopped and turned around. It was Bob, she saw, and he looked unhappy.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was-" she found herself stammering and stopped, reminding herself that she's a strong woman and even if she committed a small act of rudeness, that's all that was to it.

She was about to tell him that, apologize politely and ask for the restroom but stopped when his hand turned the bedroom door key, locking it.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice quavered. The darkness in the room felt uncomfortable. She chided herself for acting like a scared little country woman.

He moved to the dresser next to her, opening the second drawer.

"I've been waiting for this opportunity," he said and his voice was strange, excited.

"What opportunity?" she asked, trying to turn her fear into anger. She could sack this man in an instant, she knew, she was in control.

He pulled a revolver out of the drawer. It was a dark metal thing, with a wooden grip and a smooth barrel and no forward iron sight.

"What-" she found her voice croaking, "what are you doing?"

The gun scared her. Guns were evil. Guns killed people.

"Undress," he pointed the gun at her.

"What??" she was so shocked that for a moment she forgot to be afraid.

"I said take off your damn dress, bitch!" he snapped.

She gasped. No one has talked to her like that. Ever!

"Are you deaf?" he prodded her with the barrel, "you want to get a .22 bullet in you?"

The whole thing was unrealistic. It couldn't be true, she thought, it was some hoax. It was a hoax and she won't play along. She will get out of here -- and quickly, her bladder reminded her -- and that would be it.

"Let me go!" she demanded like a strong woman that she was, "this is not funny, Bob!"

his free hand rose and slapped her face, sending her reeling backwards. Her cheek stung and unbidden tears welled in her eyes. She was shocked beyond belief.

"You're a real stupid bitch!" he growled, pushing her backwards. She felt herself falling and fortunately fell right on Bob's king-sized bed, "take your fucking dress off right now!"

It couldn't be real, she thought, but realized it probably was.

"Bob," she licked her lips, her voice wavering, her throat parched with fear, "you... you shouldn't do this! It's against the law!"

He laughed, a big hearty laughter. "Against the law?" he asked, "it will be your word against mine. Everyone else out there hates you, you fucking hippie whore, you and your inbred car and your howdy-toidy wines. They'll testify I was with them all along."

Fear gripped her in cold hands. Her stomach cramped and her heart was beating fast. He was right, she knew, he'd rape her and they'll all say he was fine. There was no way out...

It started as a feeling of pressure being released. She felt a little warmth between her legs, warmth that spread quickly in her underwear. Warm wetness was spreading against her butt cheeks, pooling under her, dripping through her dress and onto the bed below her. She was shocked to realize she's wetting herself. She tried to command her bladder to stop, to hold, but her body seemed to ignore her commands. Her pee was rolling under her thighs, dripping down the side of the bed. The smell was strong, overwhelming. A puddle was quickly forming under the small of her back.

"What's this?" he asked, "wet yourself?"

"Bob, please?" she tried, tears coming down her cheeks, "please, let me go. You're... you're married! What would Angela think?"

"It was her idea, bitch!" he said. She felt his hand against her knees, pushing them apart. Would it really be the redneck wife's idea, she wondered. Yes, she thought, she did deny Bob's requests for some family time off in recent months, despite his pleas that it was important for his wife and their kids. Trust the little country wench to plot revenge, not understanding the importance of work... His hand was moving on her thigh. She told herself to pull her thighs together but her body still refused to obey. She felt his hand hitching her dress up, exposing her purple undies. He pulled the undies down her thighs, putting the gun down and using both hands to slide the wet panties down her legs and take them off.

"Bob, please," she whimpered weakly, then nearly gagged as he pushed the undies into her mouth. The taste of her pee overwhelmed her. She gasped but couldn't seem to get her hands to move and get it out of her mouth. She was being weak, the thought hit her, and she was not in control. This bearded mountain redneck was going to have his way with her and all her strength, all her independence was worthless, useless to save her.

She was both fascinated and horrified when she realized that for some reason she was aroused. Oh, she had not had a man since college, over seven years now, but that really wasn't it, was it? She did fine without sex. No, she realized, it was the loss of control that was arousing her. There she was, helpless, gagged, tasting her own pee, powerless... and all the stress of day by day control seemed to go away. For once, she was not in control. The responsibility wasn't hers. It was... liberating.

His thick, callused finger found her clit and she gasped as he touched it. She was shocked to find herself wet. She squeaked as his finger began rubbing her clit, massaging over the it, then moving the folds aside to expose the sensitive part underneath. She felt shivers going down her spine coupled with a strange sensation of warmth in her stomach. She made a gasp and tried to tell herself that it's a gasp of fear.

His finger slid down, rubbing in circles around her wet vulva. "You like that, don't you, whore?" he asked. She whimpered and clenched her teeth not to moan. This had the effect of squeezing more of her pee out of her underwear and she drank it so she wouldn't choke. His finger pushed into her and she couldn't help a muffled moan escaping through her. He was raping her, she thought in fascinated horror, and she was enjoying it!

His finger moved in her, pushing in and pulling out, again and again. She concentrated on trying not to make a sound, not to let him know she's... enjoying it. She felt the tip of his finger pushing up, felt it rubbing a sensitive spot... and found herself bucking in response.

He chuckled. She chided herself for reacting that way but when his finger touched that spot again she bucked again.

This did it. She couldn't take it anymore. Her body finally rallied to her command, she spat out her underwear and brought her hands up, pushing Bob away. She'll make it to the window and break through it. Even these barbarians won't let him rape her in full view of everyone!

She turned on her stomach and started moving on all four, away from him. For a second, she thought she'd make it.

His heavy body came down on top of her, pushing her down on the bed and knocking her wind out. "You don't get to get away!" he whispered in her ear and she knew in horror that he was right. He was too heavy, too strong. His one hand holding her down, she felt the other reaching to his jeans, heard the zipper being pulled down. She felt his dick come down against her butt cheeks and gasped.

"Do you want it in you, bitch?" he asked.

She tried to say 'no' but couldn't say a single word. She was helpless like a little child, a little child that just wet her panties. She was helpless... and she was liking it.

"You want it in you?" he whispered, his dick scraping against her butt cheeks. She couldn't hold a back a moan. Yes, she wanted it. She needed. She was horny as hell.

He drew back a little and she almost felt disappointed. She heard a little scraping then realized he was putting on a condom. She wasn't sure what to make of it.

When he pushed his dick between her legs, she spread her legs eagerly for him. All defiance has left her. She was helpless and powerless and she liked it like that. She felt his rubber-covered hard pushing against her wet pussy and she whimpered. He pushed in, his weight forcing her down against the bed. She felt her nipples pushing against her bra, hard with excitement. He pushed himself in her and she felt the pressure of her vagina expanding to accommodate him. She moaned softly as he started moving. The feeling of his dick in her was answering something in her, something she had denied for years. The rubber made his movement smooth and eliminated a good deal of the friction.

"You like it, bitch?" he asked in her ear

"Yes," she whimpered, "yes, I like it."

"Yeah," he said, "you're a horny little hippie, aren't you?"

"Yes," she moaned, "I'm... I'm a bitch"

The word tasted strange on her lips yet it was making her horny.

"I'm a bitch, a whore," she whimpered as he moved in her. "yes, I am"

"You like getting fucked?"

"Yes, I like," she moaned, feeling her body heating up. There was pressure building up in her lower stomach, a hot kind of pressure that she all but forgot in those long years without sex. He pulled himself up on his knees, pulling her to him as he did that. She braced herself on her knees, trying to keep him moving, wanting the release.

Then she felt a cold round spot against her butthole but couldn't really care much. She was close to an orgasm and she wanted it. Then she felt the pressure and realize that something hard and cold was being pushed into her butt. The pressure made her wince and whimper, her pleasure waning.

"Too tight," she squeaked.

"Shut up, bitch," he answered and she realized the cold long shaft was the barrel of the revolver. While fucking her pussy, he was raping her butt with that .22. Suddenly, she was full of fear again. He'll cumm, she realized and then he'll pull the trigger and the last thing she'll feel would be a bullet tearing into her rectum...

He started pushing harder, moving faster in her pussy while holding the gun barrel still. To her surprise, her body seemed to adapt to the pressure after a minute and now it was starting to react again to his touch. She part whimpered, part moaned, pleasure starting to rise in her. The tightness was increasing the pleasure from his dick in her. Somehow, the helplessness, the humiliation, the pain, it all seemed to disappear beneath the waves of pleasure that were emanating from her vagina. She whined, trying to hold back, fearing that when she cumms, it'll make him cumm and shoot her. It wasn't working. She was quickly building up to an orgasm and trying to fight it back was useless. Terrified but unable to control herself, she surrendered, moaning loudly with every thrust of his dick. She felt the pressure rise, rise, then it released in a powerful vibration of pleasure that nearly caused her to collapse. The pain from the pressure in her butthole kept her up as she heaved and whimpered, the pleasure drowning her fear.

His pushes were getting less rhythmic. He was grunting and moaning now and she realized he was close to cumming. He would shoot her when he's done, she thought, but she was unable to bring up any fear. She was a helpless little whore, totally in his control, and she had no responsibility. Whatever was going to come, she couldn't do anything about it.

He made a loud moan of pleasure as he began cumming. She felt him pull out as he did that, pulling the gun out as well. It was a strange feeling that made her suddenly feel empty and hollow. She collapsed on the bed, close to tears.

She felt him reach around her and then felt her wet undies pushed in her face.

"Get dressed and go," he ordered, "I'll make some excuse about why you had to leave"

He got up, pulled the condom off his dick and shortly after was fully dressed again. He unlocked the bedroom door and left, leaving it partly open. With cheeks flushed, she looked at the wet undies. She had no way to hide them and definitely wasn't going to leave them here. She pulled them back on, knowing she should be disgusted but for some reason feeling nothing other than that strange emptiness. She made her way out, moving in a hurry, hoping she doesn't stink too bad. She waved quickly to people in the porch before heading to her hybrid at a near run.

* . * . *

An hour later, she was in her bed, naked, having just gone out of a long shower. She should feel ashamed, she thought, humiliated, violated, hurt. But she felt nothing. All she felt was that emotionless hollow emptiness.

"I'm in shock," she told herself out loud. Her voice sounded loud and rude.

I'll go to the cops, she thought, tomorrow. I'll go to the cops first thing in the morning and start regaining control over this situation. Then, I'll go in the office. I'll fire him! Of course I'll fire him.

After that there's the time sheets. They need to be filled out and sent to the office. And the work orders from Nevada city that came in on Friday....

She found herself moving restlessly. She knew that restlessness -- it was the stress from all her responsibilities. It often kept her tossing and turning at night. Control came with responsibility. Normally, she wasn't very aware of it. Now though, it was loud and heavy. A few hours ago she was out of control and that stress was gone. Now it was back and she wanted it gone again. She bit her lips and brought up the memory of that scene, pushing her finger between her legs, hoping to relieve some of that stress. It wasn't working, she realized almost immediately. She was being in control. She needed to lose control.

She got up, unsure what she's doing. She pulled a pair of panties on and after a moment's hesitation, laid back on the bed. She found herself blushing hard, realizing that she's doing something that she's been taught not to do all her life. She whimpered, trying to get her bladder to release. At first, it wouldn't, her inhibitions controlling it even as she asked it to release. Then, after a few moments, she suddenly released control. Pee streamed out of her, soaking her underwear, trickling into the bed. She was losing control, she thought, like a little girl... and she felt horny.