tagNonConsent/ReluctanceLittle Miss Gullible

Little Miss Gullible


The following story is more of a confession. It is a true story, and it should have horrified me, but instead, has been a memory I draw upon when ever I am alone and touching myself. I use the word "confession" because I have never told a soul, and it is with shame that I admit what a turn-on the reality of the experience has become for me.

I was 18 years old, and worked after classes at a local convenience store. I had the usual regulars that came in, and a lot of them flirted and some were sorta cute, so I would flirt back. One guy came in every day, and I do not even remember his name now. I remember that I was not especially attracted to him, and he looked a lot like Gary Busey. You know, the actor that played Buddy Holly. Nevertheless, he flirted, I flirted back, and for some reason, I ended up having to stop at his house one afternoon. I wish I could remember why; looking back, I think I must have been the biggest fool, and just so gullible that I was a victim just waiting to happen.

What I remember about my first few moments in his house was that he was sitting in this large armchair, just watching me as I paced the floor, rambling on about something in a rather nervous stupor. He told me that he had been in Vietnam, and showed me a bullet hole in his leg. That's all I can recall about our brief conversation. I guess there was some part of me that felt danger, because I did feel excessively anxious, and was smart enough to say within five minutes that I didn't feel comfortable and had to leave.

He stayed in his chair as I went to the front door, still trying to maintain a cheerful disposition, when I discovered that the door latch was all the way at the top of the door. At 5"3', I couldn't reach it even on my tipsy toes. So, I asked, in a joking tone, if he could unlatch it for me. I didn't want to seem like an idiot if I came off paranoid, or untrustworthy. At that point, I was still feeling like I was being unfriendly, and he didn't deserve that. It wasn't until I heard him say, "no", did I start feeling like something was not right. I looked around for something to stand on, trying not to panic. He was just having a joke on me.......watching me lugging the ottoman across the floor. It didn't fit through the doorway into the foyer though, and at that point, I decided I needed to be a little more serious.

"I really have to go". I said it as adamantly as my 18-year-old, inexperienced, unsure self could muster. But he just sat there. I went into the kitchen to see if there was a back door. None. I don't know why, but I didn't even think to look for a telephone in there. (Hmmm. Funny, the things we think about in retrospect.) When I returned to the living room, he wasn't in his chair anymore, which I found very frightening.

At this point, I can recall every detail of this event as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I jumped at the sound of his voice, which came from behind me on the staircase. He told me to follow him. No way. That's what I said...I can hear my own voice saying it right now...very clear and a bit shrill. He came down the two steps to the bottom, grabbed my hair, and told me that I was a very naughty girl, and he was going to teach me some obedience. At that moment, the reality of my situation came crashing on me. I was no longer trying to suppress any feeling of unease I had felt, and I no longer doubted the alarms that were trying to warn me. I bolted, but his grasp on my hair was sure, and he had no trouble dragging me up the stairs. One of my hands was on my head, trying to keep the hair from being ripped from my scalp. The other hand was alternatively on the stairs or the banister trying to keep myself on my feet. I did lose my balance at one point, and that just made it easier for him to hoist me up the last steps and propel me into a room at the top. I tripped over a rug, and stayed there, half-sitting, half-prone, trying to sort out a million thoughts racing through my brain. I couldn't seem to process what was going on...make any sense of the situation, like it was a dream and sequences were moving at slow motion and out of order. I even remember thinking about whether or not I had locked the store up among the racing thoughts of how to kick someone in the nuts.

Frankly, if he had not slapped me across the face at that point, I may have stayed in that foggy state I had found myself. The stinging cleared up my head better than any shot of espresso or any cold splash of water on my face might have. I remember feeling almost relieved from it. In retrospect, I think my fight or flight response let go right then. One hard slap and all thought of what I should do left me. He asked me if I was going to be good, and I didn't respond, so he slapped me again. With my head spinning, I answered him with a quiet "yes" when he asked me again. He started to undress me, and in a way, I am glad he didn't ask me to do it myself. Although I am sure he could have gotten me to do it, I felt less responsible for what was happening to me. When he asked me to raise my arms, I did; when he asked me to lift my legs, I did. When I was naked, he stood back, and told me that I was a good girl, and as long as I did what I was told, I would be ok. Here is a confession; when he said that to me...when he said I was a good girl, I actually blushed a little. Immediately, my brain started analyzing why that would be. (I tend to over analyze things, much to many of my boyfriends' annoyance over the years) But really, in the few moments after his comment, a whole new aspect of my own psychology opened up to me....how I was always trying to gain my father's acceptance, and always disappointing him.

Apparently though, this was not the place this man wanted my thoughts to be. He slapped me again, which brought me right back to the fact that I was naked in a strange man's bedroom. Although I had pretty much resigned myself to what was happening, I tried very hard to be conscious of my surroundings. I noticed the room in such clarity and detail, that I could describe it better than I could describe my first car. What stuck out in my mind were the black curtains, drawn, so I couldn't see if there was any hope from that direction for escape, and the most awful bed I have ever seen. I know now they call it the pineapple bed; four posts, about six feet high with carved pineapples at the top of each.

He instructed me to get atop the bed, which I did reluctantly, and slowly. He had been at a bureau alongside the wall, and retrieved a nasty looking belt. I can recall the black leather, and the weaving of the strips that reminded me of a repeating Celtic knot. Before I could even respond in self-defense, he had sliced the air with the belt and it bit into my thigh. I screeched, and immediately curled into a ball. He told me that I was too slow to respond to his requests, and I had to do better. His hands were on my stretching my arms above my head, but my eyes were screwed tightly shut......I was afraid of the belt, and that it would hit my face and my eyes. I was very afraid of him, and I started to cry, saying no, no, no, over and over. When I did attempt to divert him from tying my arms by kicking him with my legs, he straddled my stomach, and continued. He had secured my arms to the two posts flanking the headboard, and when he reached for my one leg, I totally panicked. For the first time, I fought hard......I even tried to spit at him. I am not sure if this infuriated him, or if he actually found this display enjoyable, but I was surprised not to feel the sting of that belt. For a few moments, it was hand to foot combat. I would not open my legs, and let myself be opened and exposed. That I just could not bear. At one point, I even managed to half turn myself around and had my legs twisted around each other like Twizzlers licorice.

Unfortunately, my twisting brought my ankles next to each other, and all he had to do was tie them together. It seems I had done the work for him. My sense of triumph crushed, I started to cry harder, feeling him lift the tied ankles above my head, where they were secured in the middle of the headboard. My knees ended up bent alongside my breasts with the back of my thighs toward the ceiling. The position was painful, but I wasn't focused on the pain at that moment. Every sense that I possessed was aware of my private parts. Not only could I see my pussy spread open a mere ten inches from my face, I could smell it. I could feel the lips forced open by this uncomfortable position. And what made it worse was this guy standing at the foot of the bed, staring at my cunt so intently. I could hear his breathing, so steady and even, in contrast to my broken sobs. I started sputtering out appeals to him to stop, to untie me, to stop looking. I recall saying over and over, like a litany, don't look, don't look. Most of what I uttered was nonsense, just babbling. And the longer he stood there, staring, the more horrible I felt. I closed my eyes again in an attempt to block out this vision of him staring at me.

When I felt the weight of the bed shift, I opened my eyes to see him kneel below me. He grabbed onto my hair again, and forced my head up. He slapped me again, and told me that if I closed my eyes again, he would fuck my ass with a baseball bat. Keeping his hand in my hair, forcing my eyes to see what he did, he ran his hand down my upturned thigh down to my hair-lined pussy. His thumb rubbed my labia, and spread it further apart. My feeling of humiliation was so strong; I would have rather peed my pants in the middle of the mall than what I feeling right then. Slowly, he inspected my clitoris, my vagina, and my asshole with his fingers. He went about it slowly, continuously watching the horror on my face and making sure my eyes were open. When he inserted his finger into my vagina, I tried to squeeze him out. Instead, he commented that it would feel very nice if I did that when he was fucking me. When he did the same with my asshole, I tried to pull my bottom away, which succeeded in drawing my torso above my breasts, where he scooted even tighter under my buttocks and lower back. Now I was resting on my upper back, with my lower back resting on his thighs. Gravity pulled my breasts onto my chin. He made some comment about what an attractive position I was in, and leaned over to reach for something on the nightstand. It turned out to be a Polaroid camera. I remembered that it was there, although it hadn't had any significance at the time. Now, if represented a chronicling of my horror. Evidence that this wasn't a nightmare. Something that I couldn't deny. He snapped off a couple of shots from his vantage directly above me, and at one point, made me look at one in which the look on my face of almost comical with my chin framed by two tits. He put the camera away, and began a dialogue with me. It was in this conversation, that I learned what was to happen to me, and what was expected of me. He told me that he intended to fuck me, and although I figured that already, it seemed to take on renewed horror hearing the words. He said that any resistance on my part would be met with the belt. He said that he would take me in the ass, and teach me how to suck him off. I guess I had made a face of disgust, because he laughed and said that by the time he was finished with me, I would be swallowing his cum like it was champagne. Then, he added, that if I were a very accommodating young lady, I would be allowed to cum. (I had never had an orgasm with a guy at that point on my life, and doubted very much that this was going to happen) Besides, at this moment, if lightening had come out of the ceiling and struck this man dead, I would have been quite happy.

He continued to describe acts of fornification I had never heard of, while his hands reached between my knees, squeezed my tits, and pulled at my nipples. My head was starting to feel very hot, from being scrunched up in ball...all the blood was rushing to my face. To my relief, he withdrew from the bed, and my body returned to a more comfortable position. My relief was short lived, though. He returned to the bed with what looked to me like a pacifier. It turned out to be a butt plug. He inserted this into by cringing ass without too much difficulty. He mumbled something about having to stretch me open for later use. He then explained that I needed to be wet, and would need to remain wet for the next couple of hours whether he was using me or not. He proceeded to insert his fingers deep into my pussy. I forgot about the eye rule, and was met with a slap across the face. His finger methodically assaulted my cunt, and was soon joined by another. He worked in another finger, and another, until four fingers were sliding in and out of my pussy. I hated to watch them push and pull the lips around my pussy with their ministrations, but I hated having him watch me watch it even more. I couldn't move much, but I couldn't help trying to escape this digital attack by screwing my buttocks into the mattress. This only succeeded in getting him more aggressive in his attack on me. My grunts of anguish were getting louder with each forceful thrust, and he eventually stifled them with his other hand. It wasn't until he thrust his entire hand into my tight passage that I screamed into his palm. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain. He stopped rather abruptly, and remarked that my pussy was nice and ready now. When I looked between my legs, I grimaced with embarrassment to see that indeed my cunt was inflamed and very wet.

He got off the bed, and untied my legs. I didn't realize that I had lost all feeling in my feet until then. As the blood returned to them, the pain was awful. He didn't untie my hands, though, and explained he would be back. With that, he turned off the light, leaving me in the dark room by myself. I spent the better part of an hour or so in that room, listening to myself, berating myself for coming to this guys house, and trying to ignore the warmth and wetness forced upon me between my legs. When he finally returned, I had convinced myself that I would get out of this by offering him money. Sure, I would cash in a CD and he'd stop this if he got 5 grand. It sounded plausible. I never got the chance to offer this. He waltzed into the room followed by another guy. Whenever you think that things can't get any worse, remember that they can. I would have been willing to cooperate with him if he had given me a choice between letting him use me or sharing me with another stranger. The next couple of hours were spent having my body manipulated in ways I don't like to think about. I was covered with their cum. I let them do what they wanted, only struggling when something really hurt. If I closed my eyes or looked like I was spacing out, I would get a slap that would bring me right back to the rape of my body.

At one point, one guy was straddled over my head, facing my feet, and he had thrust his cock into my mouth, while his hands held my ankles spread wide apart for his friend fucking my pussy. The entire time, the butt plug remained inside me. They took it out when they were ready to use me there. The Gary Busey look-a-like knelt alongside the bed. Confused, I allowed the other to slide me off the bed backwards, towards the guy waiting on the floor. He supported my back with his hands, guiding me closer to his groin. The guy on the bed had both my wrists and ankles in his grasp, slowly lowering me until I felt the tip of the other guy's cock on my rectum. He used his thumbs to spread my hole, and simultaneously thrust the head of his cock inside me. Although I had that plug inside me, the presence of this mans cock in my ass was excruciating. The guy on the bed released more of my weight and my anus was further impaled. I struggled for relief from the pain. The guy on the floor took my wrists from the other, but my ankles remained securely above me in his hands. I could not get any leverage. My struggles and the weight of my body just allowed the man on the floor to enjoy the sensations of my writhing and squirming as my anus squeezed and twisted around his penis. His friend on the bed watched in fascination, and then told the other guy to scoot back. He let go of my ankles, so I was now on my back on top of the other guys with his penis still inside me. He reached down, grabbed my legs around my knees, and spread them up and out. His friend worked his cock inside my cunt.

And this part I will never forget the rest of my life. My "friend", under me with his cock imbedded inside my rectum, told me it was time for me to cum. Both of them held themselves tightly inside me. My legs were let go so they could thrash about, and my head was forced back in a powerful grip by my hair. With both of these men deep inside me, and my legs free to resist, I thrashed myself into the most powerful orgasm I have ever had then and until now, eighteen years later.

I never went to the police, and I never saw him again. And, I wonder if I will ever cum like that again

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