Peyton Ch. 01: Uncaged

I wish I were being paranoid. I would've felt better if I were. But when I passed the group of friends, one of them whined out, "I'm such a slut!" in a high pitched, whiny voice. Then, they all burst out laughing.

Obviously, they heard me getting fucked. They heard me yelling out that I was a slut. And they all thought it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

I...was...humiliated.

Honestly, I wanted to fall into the earth and disappear. Tears stung my eyes as I briskly walked away, leaving their taunts in my wake.

I seriously considered dropping out. I imagined the entire campus being in on the joke of me yelling out how much of a slut I was while getting the daylights fucked out of me. I probably would've dropped out if it wasn't for the blessed hand of fate and consequence.

Gotta love Karma.

Remember that girl I saw running out? Well apparently, she filed a claim of sexual assault with campus police. Funnily enough, her story sounded a lot like mine. Invited to the party, plied with drinks, given some cocaine, and taken to a private part of the house.

However, her story had two key differences.

I was taken to Josh's bedroom and fucked by him. When the guys wanted to gangrape me, he shooed them off. Well, she was taken to the basement. Unfortunately for her, there was no alpha there to keep the other wolves at bay. She got fucked by FIVE GUYS who had no sense of boundaries, including the two finger sniffers.

After being disappointed about not being able to stick their dicks into me, the dumbasses took Josh's advice. They went and found another girl who was ripe for the taking.

Of course, there was an investigation. And it was BAD. People who attended the party were questioned, including me. And let's just say that most of the women who woke up with hangovers and beat up pussies had comparable stories.

It got brutal for the Fraternity after that. The entire lot of them were branded sex offenders by the students. They went from being the popular guys to the most hated in a matter of a couple of days.

But bad PR wasn't their only punishment. Steve, Dumbass, and the other three who gangbanged the poor girl were arrested and charged with rape. She was also able to identify a few of the other guys who stood around and watched. They were expelled. The few frat brothers who escaped those consequences and got to remain on campus were put on indefinite probation.

As a final fuck you, the entire chapter of that fraternity was banned and not recognized by the school. Forever. So that meant no more house, no more school funding.

The only thing that saved Josh from being expelled was the fact that I didn't paint him in the same light as the girl did her rapists. I didn't consider what he did to me sexual assault. Yes, he was a sleaze who preyed on the naivete of barely legal women, but he was only guilty of playing a little game of "manipulate the stupid freshman." Trashy, yes. Rape, no.

After that, things on campus became a modern-day Me-Too War of the Roses. Various female led groups were calling for the end of Greek Fraternities as a whole. In their minds, every pledge and member of a fraternity were rapists.

As for me, many of the women wanted to label the women who spoke out against the fraternity as heroes. We were going to be the poster girls for survivors against sexual assault.

Most of the girls took that badge of honor. I couldn't. For one, I didn't want that publicity. Unlike many of the girls there, I was a freshman. This was my first year on campus. Honestly, I just wanted to attend school without having my first college party follow me for the rest of my time here.

But I had another problem though; one I didn't anticipate. In fact, it was so crazy that I thought something was wrong with me.

I couldn't forget the sex; how Josh fucked me. On the one hand, he was a sleaze who deserved all he got. On the other hand, the memory of me being bent over with my face smashed into the mattress brought back intense feelings.

Maybe it was the X that made it feel so...fucking...good, but that was the biggest orgasm of my young life. My mind kept going back to that moment of my ass being stuck up in the air, my arms around my back, and me being forced to take Josh's dick as he vigorously pounded me with everything he had. The way he manhandled me, fucked me hard, made me submit to his desires; that screwed with my subconscious. I kept hearing the smacking of our skin, the sound of my moans, the smell of my cunt...

Wow.

And that was before the dreams.

A couple weeks after the hammer of consequences had fallen upon the ostracized Fraternity, I started having vivid dreams. Hot dreams. Nasty dreams. Dreams about the "What If" scenarios that had previously frightened me.

What if Josh gave those guys permission to fuck me?

What if Mr. Scratch and Sniff wasn't distracted in the hallway?

The me in my dreams screamed with the cries of a cat in heat as I was fucked by multiple cocks. I felt trapped inside of his room, my wrist clamped behind my back, being fucked by unknown men. Each of them took their turns, sampling the wet tightness of my young pussy. Copious loads of cum were jacked off on my back, my stomach, my face. My body was a plaything; their plaything, and I was forced to submit.

I was such a slut.

The first morning I woke up with my hand in my shorts, I brushed it off as an anomaly. After a few times, behind the same dream, it began to disturb me. I knew something was off with me. Why the hell would I get turned on by that? Why would I dream about it with such heat, and yet loathe the guys who would do that?

There was a support group on campus for survivors of sexual assault. A few of the girls, including the one who was gangbanged in the basement, approached me to attend a meeting. They wanted me to share my story. I declined, stating that I didn't think of myself in the same boat as them. I got a few "you poor thing" looks from them before they shoved a brochure into my hands. They felt it was their mission to "educate" me on what happened to me.

Once again, I was nothing but a stupid freshman.

I wasn't going to attend the next meeting, but then I had another dream that had me howling in orgasm. My roommate thought something was wrong with me. I told her it was a nightmare, but I'm not sure she bought it. My cries weren't the type people have when they're afraid.

So, I decided to go to one meeting. Maybe I could get some perspective on what was wrong with me, and why I was having these dreams in such a pleasurable sense.

I sat in my hard, metal folding chair as the girls took turns going up front to tell their horrible survivor stories. Some of them weren't even at the party that night but had been to similar parties and endured similar fates.

I gasped at the truly heinous ones. I cried at the dangerous ones. I got angry at the violent ones.

However, when it was the girl from the party's turn to speak, I listened intently to her tale. She went into vivid detail about how the guys made sure her cup was full, how they lured her into the basement with a promise of more cocaine, and how they threw her on a mattress on the floor. Yes, there was a mattress in the middle of the floor, surrounded by couches and other chairs. There was also a camera off to the side, mounted on a tripod.

This gangbang wasn't their first, and probably wouldn't have been their last.

As she was up in the stratosphere, leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch, a set of hands started massaging her breasts. A set of lips started kissing her neck. Suddenly, her shirt was on the floor. And then her bra. And then, a pair of hands reached up her skirt and slipped her panties off.

And then...and then...and then...

She doesn't remember all the sexual assault. What she did remember was being spit roasted for the rest of the night while other people cheered and watched. She remembered being double penetrated in her pussy and ass while she howled out. She remembered getting ejaculated on repeatedly, even by people who didn't fuck her. Many of the guys just wanted to watch her be degraded.

I'm so ashamed. I was ashamed on her behalf, but there was more to it. I was ashamed because as I listened to her story, I started getting wet. The dreams I was trying to forget were now being narrated to me. I imagined myself in that basement, getting fucked by a bunch of faceless frat boys I barely knew while they hi-fived each other over me. I imagined getting splashed with so much cum that I was covered with it.

That night while I slept, I was fucked, ravaged, pillaged by Steve, Dumbass, Josh, my chem teacher, the guy who sat next to me in English, the janitor, and any other guy whose face I could remember. I was spit-roasted, double penetrated, forced to swallow cum, and pounded in my virgin ass. The entire time, I kept yelling out one thing.

"I'm a slut."

I woke up wailing in orgasm, two fingers stuffed inside of my drenched snatch. Good thing my roommate was spending the night at her boyfriend's apartment. She would've had me committed for sure thinking I'd gone mad with an extreme sex addiction.

Perhaps I had. Perhaps I was broken. Something inside of me had been uncaged. Something primal. Something lustful.

Something insatiable.