Three Short Tales of Violation

Three short tales of violation

One: Cold carpet.

*An imagination building little scene. If your imagination is sufficiently dark to carry it. An aperitif, if you will.*

A forest? A carpet? For some reason she had expected a king size bed.

"Are you ready?"

She had expected sweeter words, but 'sure' was a much simpler reply than any complaint.

A joking shove to the back pushed her down, even as she was getting down.

Why had she thought there would be more class?

"No reason to turn over. The view is fine this way."

Laughter? Did one of them say 'finer'?

"No worries, baby. Ass up doesn't have to mean anal."

"It's a fine ass, though."

The first compliment that night. It didn't warm much though. Didn't warm half as much as the wind cooled her butt now that her short dress had been pulled up to her back.

Was she having second thoughts?

"No panties. A good girl scout is always prepared."

"Rubber up, buddy. That girl scout ain't that good."

Cool blanket against warm cheeks. Were they planning to talk like that all the way through?

They were done talking.

"Spread for me, baby."

In a manner of speaking, at least.

Maybe it was a bit hot in spite of how crude it all was. It did feel special. Good old vaginal penetration had a whole new feel, the way she lay. Stomach down, on a cold carpet, in an abandoned forest with...

"You like that, baby?"

"Yeah, she likes it."

Not even the guy-talk could ruin that feel.

"Fuck. She likes it too much. She's too loose. I can't feel a thing."

That talk ruined the feel.

"Stay down girl. He didn't mean it."

"I meant it, but I ain't done."

For a moment she thought she was done, but he was heavy enough to outride that moment.

"Stop wiggling, girl. We're having fun. Right?"

She relaxed again. Or tried to. If she really wanted out, they'd let her. Right?

"Yeah. That's it. Chill, girl."

Their hands. All those manly hands. Finally touching her. Everywhere. Well, everywhere there was no risk of touching the sweating stud above her. Straight if you watch. Gay if you touch.

She stretched her arms in response to their movements. Or...

"You call that a knot?"

They were pulling her arms and legs out. Tying them. Why?

"You trust us. Don't you?"

"We just don't like wiggling."

Laughter.

"Seriously. What have you been fucking? Rhinos?"

"That's no way to talk to a lady."

"Yeah, learn some manners."

"No. Seriously. That's the slackest pussy ever."

On that complaint he pulled out.

"I can't feel a fucking thing."

Rough hands spread her buttocks.

"Get me the lubricant."

That's when she started screaming.

On the cold carpet. In the abandoned forest.

-----

Two: One minute.

*On some random non-con forum a woman claimed to be into one minute gangbang fantasies, so I couldn't help but write this fast tale and paste it to her.*

minus ten seconds Faye walked down the hall looking for room 3f to visit her friend, but none of the doors were marked.

00:00,0 Faye rapped on a random door.

00:00,5 The door snapped open, Faye was pulled in by her wrist.

00:01 Faye shrieked in surprise and stumbled forward straight into a stranger's chest. She closed her eyes at the impact. Something was pulled over her head. Soft cloth, like a t-shirt, dark cloth.

00:03 With a fresh shriek Faye pushed away from the stranger and took a hand to her face to pull the bag-like thing off. Sooner than she could finish the movement somebody grabbed her wrist. Somebody else grabbed her other wrist.

00:04 Terrified Faye took a deep breath to scream her lungs out. She was too slow. Through the cloth she felt a large brutal hand grabbing hold of most of her face. It covered face and mouth, trapping both scream and breath inside.

More hands reached out and grabbed hold. Panicked, blinded, muted. Faye made no counts of hands. More than three assailants.

00:05 Faye was picked up.

00:06 Faye was carried.

00:07 Faye was thrown on a bed. She managed to catch a new breath before the hand again shut off her option to breathe.

00:12 Faye's wrists had been handcuffed to the bed. Strong hands held her legs apart. Her skirt had been pulled up. A hand was sliding under her panties. Involuntarily she started screeching again. She hadn't meant to. Every time she made a sound the hand blocked out all her air, she had understood that already.

As expected the hand again covered both her nose and mouth. Over the sound of the harsh breathing of her assailants. None of them had said a word. Faye heard her panties tearing.

00:14 Two fingers brutally entered Faye's pussy. She managed not to shriek and was rewarded with the liberty of continued breathing through her nose. The fingers kept moving.

00:15 "Is she wet?" some voice Faye didn't recognize asked.

Two others made hushing sounds, and a third hissed. "Shut the fuck up."

00:20 The fingers pulled out, and something else was put in.

Lubricant. Understood Faye when the bottle was squeezed and a cold sensation spread against her warm inner skin.

00:21 The fingers again now making loud sloppy sounds, thanks to the generous application of lubricant.

00:25 The first guy was in position to fuck her and pushed in. Faye managed to get a very short scream out before that hand again covered her mouth. She even tried to kick. Pointless effort. Hopeless. Her legs weren't chained, but they were held tight.

00:27 First guy was still pounding. Due to the lubricant, there was no real pain from it. So Faye's senses were free to feel every other aspect of the intrusion. The filling. The moving. The emptying.

It felt like being fucked. It felt as it would have felt if she had spread her legs willingly.

She didn't spread them willingly.

Why couldn't Faye's body tell the difference?

00:36 The guy on top of her was grunting. The whole bed shook with his thrusts. Under the dark cloth, tears were running from Faye's eyes.

00:42 The first guy was done. He crawled off. Faye's blouse was ripped open, before number two was in position.

00:45 Two guys were having a nipple rolling contest on her. Or so it seemed at least. As if they were copying each others movements. Faye tried to distract from it. For, just feeling what it felt like was too much for Faye. She didn't want to feel things like that.

A boyfriend was allowed to make her feel things like that. Or a lover.

Not the unseen beasts.

Whose hands were those?

00:50 No. They had no right. Why were they touching her. You don't touch that way in rape.

It's not fair to touch that way in rape.

Someone was playing with her clit. Number two was still fucking her and someone was playing with her clit.

And someone was still rolling one of her nipples.

00:54 Faye opened her mouth to scream. She had to rebel. Her body was acting as if this wasn't rape. So she had to fight. Because it was rape.

The hand stopped her scream before it was even half-way out.

She didn't like...

Didn't like...

Would never enjoy...

Number two was coming inside her. Faye was half a second ahead of him.

00:56 Faye's body was spasming. After-spasms. She was sobbing. No one heard, though, the guys were cheering. A random chaotic sounds. Like guys watching a sports game, the sound they make when their team scores.

00:57 "How was it, Dianne?" asked someone.

Faye pretended she didn't hear. She barely noticed what he called her.

Someone pulled the baggy thing off her head. Faye shut her eyes closed. She didn't want to see them.

"Oh shit," someone whispered.

"Holy fuck," someone else seconded.

"That's not Dianne," another someone whispered.

00:60 Faye lay alone, on a bed in a dorm room. Her blouse was torn. Her skirt was raised. Her rapists were long gone.

-----

Three: The rape of the afanayare.

*This used to be part of one of my bigger projects, but I found that the graphical details distracted from the story at large, so I copy-pasted this part and saved it separately before editing most of it out of the main story.*

He took his time preparing, my first rapist. I think he made sure to reach full size before beginning.

When ready, he crawled onto my frame holding on to his tool with one hand, he lead it into position. He pushed.

This isn't all that bad, I thought, at that first sharp sting. How could this ever make anyone scream? I turned my head to the side. Looking into his eyes during the act might be perceived as a provocation.

He rearranged himself somewhat.

I could do this all night and not break a sweat, I thought.

And then he was in position. He took a breath and pushed.

I shrieked with pain and surprise and turned my face to his. It had hurt like a whiplash. Not unbearable pain, but it had taken me by surprise. I had thought his tool was already within me before, when actually it had been poised just inside my entrance.

His eyes burned with hate above me as he pulled out, leaving a path of stinging pain inside me. Then he thrust forward and I shrieked a second time.

I knew it was supposed to hurt, I was a virgin and not at all aroused. The pain wasn't unbearable, but it was a new kind of pain. At his third thrust I didn't shriek, I had adjusted.

My inside muscles down there tensed against the invasion. I realized their tension made the pain worse and again turned my head to focus on relaxing.

No longer getting a satisfying response at each single thrust, he thrusted faster.

I closed my eyes, and focused on relaxing. It wasn't all that bad after all. Painful, yes, unpleasant, yes. But not really a screaming matter, not now that I was getting used to it. It was like a beating on the inside. The pain even lessened after a while.

With each thrust I was bumped against my bondage. Skin to metal. I still had many bruises left after the caning they had given me before encasing me in metal. Some of those bruises were also bumped against metal with each thrust.

Unpleasant, but not unbearable. The muscles in my legs protested at the movements they hadn't themselves dictated, especially while being spread like that.

The bumping was annoying, and I wondered how long he would keep at it.

The soreness within increased, and a burning stinging feeling mingled with it.

I was getting motion sickness. It was like riding a carriage.

It is hard to relax when your body is being moved back and forth without your doing, while being beaten on the inside. Especially my inside muscles kept escaping my control to tense against the intrusion. Each time the pain inside intensified.

He kept thrusting. His breathing was rugged.

A drop fell on my cheek. A tear? I wondered. I wouldn't be surprised if he was crying at raping his wife's murderer when, if all had been right, he should have been making love to his wife.

A drop fell on my chest. Sweat, I realized.

It had to be hard exercise for him, thrusting like that. If lack of real lust could keep his ejaculation at bay, at least the rest of his body could not keep this pace up all night.

I listened to his breath. Slowly growing more rugged. He was in good shape, but he wouldn't be able to keep going forever. Inside me, the stinging part of the pain slowly grew worse. I felt raw inside, skinless. If I could have made myself feel aroused, the sting would have been less.

My insides needed lubrication to stand the friction. But, the only lubrication was the few juices supplied by his tool.

The clear oil of a man's lust, wizards call it. There are shorter terms for it, but that night I couldn't remember any of them. I didn't really care either. I just wished he had more of it, frankly I couldn't feel that he excreted any at all.

He must have had, though, because in spite of the sting and the pain, I didn't tear.

After a long while, I felt vibrations. It was his muscles, soon thereafter they started shaking. His body was tiring.

Sore at every spot which bumped against metal when he thrusted, I was relieved to know it would soon be over. He had fought a good fight, though, my front was drenched with his sweat.

In his own language he swore to himself when one of his legs started cramping. At least it sounded like swearing. He stopped a moment, waiting for the cramp to pass. Then he resumed the pounding. I noticed he had changed the rhythm, and his thrusts were less brutal. He was aiming for release.

From that point it didn't take that long. I guess that even without lust, the activity had wakened his tool to more than size. He delivered his load with a few somewhat dispassionate grunts and climbed off.

The stinging increased when he withdrew. It was his sperm, I realized. The salinity of it made the minor scratches inside me complain harder. It was less of a discomfort than the pounding had been.

With my eyes still closed. I heard skin patting skin, and I heard a towel against skin. It seemed one of his friends had patted the rapist on the shoulder, and handed him a towel to dry himself.

"Good effort, mate." I'm sure that was what one said, I didn't know the words, but the tone fit.

The vavin seated between my legs. I winced when his fingers examined the area the other had just finished violating. He spoke while inspecting me. Relaying his finds I guessed.

His third comment caused an actual cheer. I guess that comment was an announcement that I had been a virgin.

Don't ask me what it is about men and deflowering virgins, especially not when it comes to rape.

Maybe for these men it was knowing that the rape had made some kind of difference at least. Before I had been a virgin, afterwards, I was not.

The virgin, not-virgin thing, made no difference to me. Before the rape I hadn't been sore on the inside, after the rape I was. Not a big deal, really. It had been more unpleasant than I had thought it would, but now that it was over, it was over.

At least, that was what I thought when the vavin rose. To this day, I really don't know why I thought it was over. There was forty of them, I had only been raped by one. Forty healthy and fit survivors.

The general talking that erupted after the cheer camouflaged the sound of number two undressing. I didn't realize there would be a number two until he crawled onto me.

I bit hard on my wooden bridle thinking, 'At least I am better lubricated this time.'

Number two pushed into me before taking a moment to position himself well. He made a single test thrust, then said something that made himself and the other men laugh. A chill ran down my spine. I realized that hearing your captors laugh while raping you, is frightening and something else too.

It took me a while to identify the other feeling, I only realized what it was when a few thrusts later another man spoke a joke which made my current rapist as well as several others laugh.

Humiliation.

For the duration of the second rape it bothered me, and the second rape lasted as long as the first. We are a proud people my kind, we severely dislike feeling humiliated. Due to pride, I made a real effort of appearing unaffected this second time round. It became increasingly difficult, though.

Painful bruises were forming at every spot that bumped against metal at each thrust in. My inner thighs began to cramp. And my insides were getting ever more sore. I was well-trained in matters of self-discipline though.

Ah, it really was foolish of me. When you are trapped and helpless, the proper course of action is not to try to fool your tormentors into believing you are unaffected. I'm sure my lack of response enticed the man to thrust harder, to put even more effort into punishing me inside and out.

After he was done, I was exhausted. He too had continued till his legs had started cramping.

Again the vavin inspected me.

The moment he rose, another man moved in, but to my great relief the vavin stopped him.

The man protested, the magician spoke a stern sentence, then spoke a second in a much lighter tone which made all the men laugh. And a third in a in a louder voice which made all of them laugh louder.

Comedy to relief their tension at the cessation of my ordeal, I guessed.

Then I heard the vavin undress and knew I had been wrong. He had only stopped the other one to take his turn. By then I realized he wouldn't be the last either.

Until then, the vavin had been the buffer, now that he participated, all I could expect was escalation.

He was the oldest of the survivors, but was neither old nor frail. He thrusted a couple of times, then stopped and jokingly heaved for air.

He spoke, I'm guessing his words meant, "This is harder than it looks." It could have been something else, of course. Whatever it was, it was rewarded with laughter. He resumed his thrusting. My eyes were still closed, my face still to the side.

"Afanayare," he whispered down at me.

I opened my eyes.

"Afanayare," he repeated in a hoarse voice.

I turned my face and looked up at his.

Hate, his eyes burned with it. It seemed he had decided he needed to vent just a little of it. He started speaking to me. I couldn't understand his words, apart from when he called me afanayare, the name of my kind.

Still thrusting he adjusted his weight to free a hand. He reached between the bars above my chest, and ran his fingers along my skin.

A long line of words he spoke, while his fingers trailed my skin till his fingertips rested gently right at a nerve-center at my side.

I shouldn't have pretended the rape didn't affect me. When he was done talking he pressed hard on that spot, sending a cramping pain through my side. That, really hurt.

That became the new routine. A period of thrusting, then painful activation of a pressure point. He had me screaming below him long before he was done. The one after him copied his behavior, and the one after, and after, and...

Torture. It wasn't red-hot pokers, but it was enough.

It continued all through the night and most of the next day. They didn't allow me the escape of unconsciousness. Not for a moment. Each time I fainted, they woke me.

There isn't much more to tell about that. I can't tell if they all had a turn in that time. I doubt they did. As long as each seemed to hold out, a night and half a daytime wouldn't have been enough. When they finally stopped, I passed out and was allowed to stay out.