Kick Off

"Grandma, do you like our new uniforms?" Alyson exclaimed as she bounced down the staircase and spun around at the midpoint landing. Expressing her zeal with a quick spin on one foot, she allowed her grandmother to see her granddaughter's new cheerleading outfit from all angles. The image was but a blur however, as the nineteen-year-old girl bounded down the remaining stairs, carrying her shoes and socks in one hand, and landed beside her on the sofa. As a small plume of household dust whiffed from the upholstery, her oldest granddaughter began to slip her bare feet into a pair of red and white slouch socks that matched her uniform. Her shoes came next, but as she placed them on the edge of the coffee table to tie the short, soft laces, Betsy could not help but chastise her.

"Alyson, get those shoes off the edge of the coffee table."

"Oh grandma, they're no worse than socks," she said in defense of the light canvas sneakers.

In reality, Betsy had to agree with the assessment and as the talkative youth began to rattle on about winning the championship football game that night, Betsy moved quietly to a hutch and removed her college yearbook without ceremony.

"I was a cheerleader once to you know," and sat down beside her as she opened the book on her lap. As it flipped open to a dog eared page, Alyson looked at the vintage black and white photograph of her grandmothers cheerleading squad, and then flipped it back to the cover.

"Nineteen sixty-two? That was the last time we won the State Championship!"

"Yes it was," Betsy said with obvious pride. Alyson again looked at the photograph, now with more detailing interest, and could not but help but note that in forty two years, the cheerleading outfits had changed very little. Granted her new outfit was made out of polyester and rayon, rather than cotton and nylon, but other than the materials, there was still the same tight fitting top, short pleated skirt and remarkably, even the same type of canvas shoes. Alyson would have continued to pour over the antique photographs of the old cheerleading squad and the pictures of the victorious football game, if a car horn had not blasted the serene suburban neighborhood with noise.

"Well wish me luck," Alyson stated as she bolted up to join her college friends, her youthful attention span now switching gears to the present. With no remorse for the spoiled moment, Betsy understood this stage of a teenager's life, and settled into the sofa to drift back in time nearly forty-two years to the day.

As the football stadium itself began to come into sharper focus from around the victorious football players, Betsy began to remember a much more sinister aspect of that win. In the far right corner of one particular photo, she could just make out the number thirty yard line written in chalk. As she did, fear began to grip her as she heard the final stake being driven into the ground. With every collision of the heavy hammer onto the stake, she jumped, hearing the report echo through the empty stadium and felt the rope around her right ankle being pulled tighter and tighter to the white chalk of the thirty-yard line.

"That ought to hold her," one of the football players quipped with a sinister laugh.

"Bitch," said another as she thrashed at the four ropes that pinned her to the ground. The thrashing only made her predicament that much more obvious, and of the eight guys that surrounded her, all were laughing at her helpless state.

Betsy wept in shame, realizing that only a few hours before her team's field goal kicker had booted the ball from this very spot to win the championship game against their arch rivals. It was not the Superbowl, but you would not have known that from the way the fans poured out onto the field and the exuberant festivities that erupted from the win.

Betsy too was consumed with pride, but as the Captain of the Cheerleading Squad, she had responsibilities. Someone on the squad would always leave a sock behind, or an arrant pompom in the locker room, and she was always the last to leave, picking up after her teammates like a doting mother. Stepping from the locker room that night, she never even had time to scream. A hand cupped her mouth and then she was carried kicking and screaming through the stifling hand of her abductor as she was carried to the football field.

From downtown the fans could be heard blaring their horns, screaming loudly and resounded the sound of a radio broadcasting the news of the great win. This was all to the chagrin of her captors, eight members of the opposing football team, and they looked at Betsy with sheer contempt.

"Please, don't do this," she begged, realizing since they could not score in the game, they were going to at least score with her. "It's just a game. It's just a game," she kept repeating.

"Tell that to the others," their wide receiver said thumbing his hand towards the whoops and hollers of the downtown crowd.

"This town, their football crazy, that's all," she started to say, but her words were ripped from her just as quickly as her red and white sweater was ripped off her chest. For a split second she could feel his thick fingers gripping the plunging v neckline of her sweater, and then felt its release as the strong football player easily ripped apart the cotton fibers, splitting it in two.

"No," she screamed, but it was already too late. He had clutched her white sports bra as well and flipped it off her breasts with quick agility. As the cool night air hit her bare chest, her nipples instantly hardened and the man looked delighted as he claimed credit for it.

"Look her nipples are hard. The bitch is getting turned on."

"No," she yelled again, tears streaming down her face as she was being stripped. She realized she was also being molested as his hands cupped the fleshy globes of her chest and flicked his finger nimbly across her nipple. In any other instance it would have felt pleasurable, but lying on the short-cropped grass of the football field, she only felt incensed as eight horny guys loomed over her.

"Move out of the way Moose, let me take off her skirt."

"Oh God no," Betsy sobbed as she felt her indignation continue as a new man's hands began to ply her body. With deftness, he slid his hands down the sides of her bare rib cage until they landed on the elastic waistband of her mini-skirt. As he tugged at the pleated skirt, Betsy squirmed, trying to defeat the man's efforts at taking her modesty. She gasped when the constriction of her cheerleading uniform released its tight grip around her slender waist and began to slide down her thighs. Betsy was equally horrified when she realized he had hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her panties and they were being pulled down my legs as well. In one well-orchestrated move, the light, airy fabric of her cheerleading uniform was hauled to her ankles. Betsy screamed from the defiling maneuver, a movement that abruptly stopped when she saw the athlete brandish a knife and look at her menacingly.

"Keep quiet," was all he needed to say as she watched the sharp edge being placed against the cotton fabric of her skirt. The fabric made a zipping sound as the fabric relented to the keen knife blade so that it could be removed from around her roped bonds. The tearing of the fabric and her own sobs were now the only sounds Betsy could hear as the throng of partying fans moved up main street and further and further from the stadium. As another football player pulled away her severed skirt, Betsy watched it tumble towards the end zone, floating on the gentle evening breeze.

"Whore," he whispered as he looked at her vagina. That was exactly what Betsy felt like as she lay there for the eight men, their eyes washing over her with hatred and lust all at the same time.

One football player stooped down to shed Betsy of her shoes and socks. The red canvas sneakers, and white and red slouch socks, matched her school colors and were now the only two articles of clothing Betsy was left wearing. The man had pulled the laces loose and was working on prying her right sneaker from her foot when the quarterback stopped him.

"Leave them on Billy. I think she looks cute wearing those shoes."

There was a murmur as the other football players on the team agreed, and Betsy felt her shoe being abandoned as the men turned their attention to more pressing issues.

"So who should go first," the Quarterback asked with a smirk? Betsy began to sob at the statement and again strained at her bonds. They held with just as much pressure as the word first, which resounded in her head. She could not imagine being ravished by even one football player, let alone eight men taking her in such a defiling way.

"You're the quarterback. You should."

"No, I think Moose should have the pleasure," the Quarterback said with a nod towards his wide receiver. "After all, he did get the only touch down in the game."

Having undressed and taken showers in front of each other many times, Betsy was not surprised at their lack of inhibitions as the man they called Moose, began to strip out of his football uniform and accompanying padding. He seemed unaffected by the presence of his friends or the fact that he was stripping on the football field of the enemy. As his shed uniform began to create a small pile on the playing field, Betsy had just enough room to turn her head and look through tear-strained eyes to note that his friends were beginning to slip out of their football attire as well.

"No," she screamed again, and thrashed once more at her bonds. This time more vigorously and with more desperation. She flailed until a shadow fell across her nude body. Looking up in shock, she realized Moose had undressed and stood between her and one of the streetlights that dimly illuminated the exit in the end zone, for the stadium lights had long since been extinguished. The light was not conducive to seeing details, but Betsy could not help but look up at the man's genitalia to see what had been hidden by his jock strap for the last few minutes.

She was appalled at how hard he was, obviously from the thought of having sex with an attractive cheerleader, and it arched upward and to the left in a smooth, unbroken curve. What shocked her though was the tip. Being uncircumcised, it looked long in length and equally as massive in girth. As Betsy marveled at it, she was not sure if the blunt-tipped shape gave it the illusion of being bigger than it actually was, or if it Moose was enhanced more than most men. Whichever it was, Betsy knew the squarish penis was going to be extremely painful as he forced it into her as she lay bound hopelessly to the ground.

"That's the real reason we call him Moose," the Quarterback said to her, his voice still streaming out of his lips in a sneer, his face still a few inches from hers. He had to move when Moose's massive two hundred and fifty pound frame loomed over her, dropping to the ground just before her, and reached out to gently tap on her vagina with the four fingers of his right hand. Instantly her clip protruded from its protective hood. Betsy could not help but squirm from the erotic touch and tried to fight off the unwanted sexual molestation. Bound as she was, she could only toss her head from side to side and continue to say no as Moose extended his tongue and lapped at her clit he had so skillfully uncovered.

"You taste good Betsy, but I bet you won't taste so good when all eight of us are done with you."

'Eight,' Betsy winced in horror as she felt him extend himself out over her stretched body. He placed his forearms on the ground beside her slender trunk so that he would not crush her, then she felt his thickened and protruding shaft touch her. He had to position it strategically with his right hand as he balanced himself on his forearm, placing it between her tongue-slickened vagina lips.

"Please don't hurt me," she begged, tears of fright and confusion streaming down her cheeks as she said it.

"That's up to you. The more you resist, the more you tense up, the more it will hurt. Just relax and enjoy it."

'Relax and enjoy it,' Betsy asked herself in her jumbled thoughts? And then Moose pushed into her, confident that the angle was right and that Betsy would be as ready as she ever would be.

She wasn't, and she let out a scream as the pain began; his untapered shaft forcing its way inside her from the weight of his body and the unforgiving hardness of the ground. The sound of her resounding voice echoing inside the stadium came back to her, but it seemed so different from that of her own voice, and she realized that from this point on, she would be a very different person.

"God you're tight. Are you a virgin," he asked?

"No," she lied, but when his shaft stopped at an expanse of skin that was obviously not to the true bottoms of her depths, she changed her story.

"Yes," she mouthed through sobs and tears. Neither of which was going to stop him from taking such a sought after prize, and she took a deep breath knowing what was about to happen.

He reared back, easing off the hymen only to drive his full weight and kinetic energy down upon her, his every intention to break through the barrier and allow himself to be her first. Betsy winced with the tremendous pain and then felt its rupture. Pain, pressure and humiliation flowed out with the blood that proved what had been accomplished and lost, all at the same time.

Sobbing at the damage he had inflicted, Betsy had no recourse but to accept the forceful man as her first, and tried to let him complete his pleasure within her. This he continued to do, scraping her walls as she felt each vein, each ridge of his penis open her up. He could have manipulated it better inside her, by giving little thrusts with his pelvis, sliding it in and out of her, rather than relying on his weight to penetrate her. He took more pleasure in feeling her body accept him though, even if it was grudgingly. Inch by inch, the muscles of her vagina relaxed, and inch-by-inch he sank inside of her like a roughneck patiently sinking an oil well deep into the earth.

"She was tight, but I took her virginity," he said triumphantly to his fellow players. Betsy was looking through too many distorted tears to see their smug faces, but she could hear their whoops and cheers as Moose began to work inside of her with a lot more vigor.

"Fuck the?bitch. Fuck the Bitch. Fuck the bitch," their chant began as Betsy sobbed and rocked with the man that pounded into her.

The pain had eased somewhat, though Betsy knew she was not nearly as slick as she would have been if it had been consensual sex. It did not help that her bound position did little to stimulate her. She could not throw her arms around the man, toss her legs over her shoulders, or even thrust back for more pleasure. She was simply a naked female, bound and positioned for the football team to take full advantage of like a farmers cow, bound up to be bred. Because of this, friction prevailed, and she could feel heat and chafing wherever his penis stroked within her.

Only when he saw Betsy's bare breasts flopping back and forth and he swooped down to capture one nipple in her mouth did she begin to get turned on. That did not mean she did not get embarrassed as her scent waffled on the evening breeze and floated towards the teammates. She could smell it herself, a mixture of a fishy odor mingled with that of the scent of fresh cut grass and sweat. The latter came from the man above her, the smell being a masculine scent stemming from the knowledge that it came from playing a physical football game, which prevented it from being vile.

"Moose she likes this. Can't you smell her," someone on the team yelled gleefully.

"No. No," Betsy muttered, but only felt the man inside her ram his cock into her that much harder. She also knew Moose was now close to release. He had witnessed her abduction, saw her bonds being made, and participated in her violent strip tease. Now he felt her tightness, smelt her intoxicating scent, and was being prodded by his friends.

As his heavy breathing turned to panting, Betsy saw the change start within him. He suddenly thrust very hard into her, shoving his balls against her loins roughly as she slid along the short cropped grass and only stopped her forward slide by the bonds around her ankles and wrists. She cried out when the ropes cut savagely into her skin, then watched his eyes close and his body tense up. With a loud grunt, Betsy knew Moose had reached the point of no return, and then felt the first of several powerful spurts being jettisoned inside her with tremendous force.

The guys on his team cheered as Betsy felt the hot sticky fluid being sent inside her womb. It was a copious amount as Moose delivered several less intense thrusts and filled her feminine void with his seed. As it intermingled with the meager amount of her own sexual fluids, Moose collapsed on top of her, exhausted from the intense pleasure he had derived from her.

"Hey Moose get off her, you'll crush her," one of his teammates yelled again as Moose recovered. Betsy was snapped to reality with the statement as well and felt Moose's uncircumcised cock slide out of her with an audible plop.

"I suppose I'm next," came another player's reply as Betsy's worse nightmare continued. "What's your name anyway?"

"Betsy," was all she said as she watched him pull down his pants. He did not pull them down all that far, no further than his knees, and did not bother to remove any of his other clothing. Betsy was not upset at the inconsideration, knowing his minimal actions had all the makings of a quickie. She barely had time to see his cock as it emerged from over the waistband of his football pants and pointed towards the sky. A second later she felt it touch the soft flesh of her bottom as he adjusted himself over her, only to feel it prod at the entrance of her pussy.

Betsy did not care now what the other football players did to her. She had already been violated, and did not try to fight the man. As she lay against the grass, she closed her eyes and felt him shove his shaft into her in one deft move. Being forced open by Moose, and slickened with his baby batter, the teammate thrust his seven inches into her with ease.

The intense pummeling inside her continued, but Betsy no longer felt every thrust, every kiss to her neck, and every finger flick of his hand to her nipple. She heard his grunts, saw his heavy body on top of her and even smelled the musky scent of the sex they were engaged in. Still she barely felt him inside of her. Even when he came, she scarcely noticed the fact. There was a harder than normal thrust, a loud grunt and then a feeling of liquid warmth being deposited deep within her.

And so it went with the third, fourth and even fifth guy. Her newly exploited vagina was so riddled with soreness that her endorphin's had kicked in and blotted out their presence. It was the same with their invading tongues. They nibbled on her legs, stomach, rib cage and even chest. Some even had the audacity to invade her mouth, but like her sex, Betsy's mind too blotted out the foul taste of stale cigarettes and weak Gatorade.

Once, when she had enough courage to open her tear-streaming eyes, Betsy saw her slender frame stretched out in the meager light and was appalled to find it peppered with a plethora of hickies. Her slutty image should have driven all hope of retreat from her degrading treatment, but her quick glance suddenly gave her cause for hope. One of the ropes that was once firmly intertwined around one of the wooden stakes, began to slide an end out from under its knot. Kicking with her foot, the end of the rope moved further, again giving her hope as she further formed an escape plan. Waiting for the right moment in time, Betsy waited for what seemed like hours for the man to finish his turn within her.