Stephanie

The next morning the memory of her rape came back to her, and she felt nauseous.  She staggered out of bed, thinking thankfully that she was on the pill, and had been since her freshman year (not because she expected to have sex, no, but because she was in college, and she could, and it helped with her skin and her cramps, and it made her feel mature).  She leaned against the shower wall, hot water coursing over her slender body, her mind consumed by the events of the previous night.  The fear, the shame, the overwhelming humiliation crashing in on her.  It was so awful, she thought, so awful, even as something deep inside her whispered 'kajira', and her pussy throbbed.

"No!" she said aloud, and then whispered, "No."  It wasn't her fault.  It wasn't, she kept thinking, but she knew it was.  "Oh god," she moaned aloud, the shame making her close her eyes--it was her fault.  By wearing that costume she had advertised her need; Jeff had seen her and had known.  He had used her like she had dreamed, fantasized, about being used, used like a kajira, used like nothing more than a beast.  He was in the right.  He had done nothing wrong.  It was her.  All her.  Her pussy throbbed again, and she sobbed and stood up straight, running her hair under the water, casting all thoughts of the previous night from her mind.  She wouldn't think of it again.  It didn't happen.  Jeff was Amy's boyfriend, and Amy was her best friend.  Nothing had happened, and nothing would ever happen again.  She had been stupid.  She wouldn't be stupid again.

The day passed without incidence.  She went to classes and spent time with Amy and even saw Jeff and thought she did alright, acting as if nothing had happened between them.  By the time she went to bed, she felt better, even the flashes that ran through her mind at inopportune times throughout the day, flashes of how she must have looked, pushed against the back of the shower wall in her white silk, her leg pulled up, her pussy pulled open, a man rutting against her, she managed to ignore.  Things could go back to normal.

Friday morning she woke up a bit late, pushing from her mind the half remembered dream of being dragged through a field at night, her clothes torn, firelight dancing on the handsome, savage faces of men at the camp to which she was being dragged, dragged to be used like an animal, mounted over and over by every man there.  She had two afternoon classes today, leaving the morning free.  She needed to study, and with Amy out of the apartment for the morning in her own classes, the rest of the morning was a perfect time.

She slipped into a simple dress that fell to mid-thigh and gathered up her books.  An hour later, deep in study, she didn't hear the deadbolt turn in the door, and looked up, surprised, when she sensed someone standing the doorway to her room, her heart skipping a beat.

"Jeff," she put her hand to her heart.  "You startled me.  Amy isn't here."  She kept her dark eyes on him, a flutter in her stomach and a growing warmth in her pussy shortening her breath.

"I know."  It was all he said, his eyes locked on hers, as he strode toward her.  She stood quickly, her chair skittering on the hardwood floor, the fluttering in her stomach turning into an ache.  She should scream.  She knew she should scream, shout, something, but she seemed to be paralyzed, and then he was right there, right in front of her, his hands on her, one tangling in her hair, pulling her head back hard, the other on the small of her back, pulling her to him.

His lips came down hard on hers, crushing her lips, possessing her, owning her.  Her body tensed even more, and she tried to move, to fight, to push him away, to turn her head, but for some reason she couldn't.  It was happening too fast, again.  It was happening again, and she sobbed into his mouth, her whole body shaking against his, shame flooding her at what she knew was about to happen.

He spun her like a doll, pushing her thighs against the desk, his hands forcing her down until she was bent at the waist, scattering papers around, her heart racing, her breathing short gasps.  A part of her dream flashed back to her, of herself bent over a log in the camp, a man's hands hot against her hips, and she started to tremble with shame and need.  As his hand pulled up her dress and pulled down her panties, exposing the soft flesh of her ass, she wanted to reach back and say "NO!", to resist the hand pushing against her lower back, to stand and push him away, but the back of her mind was whispering to her kajira, kajira, over and over, and she kept her hands by her head, staring blankly at the side of her computer, all her attention on Jeff, on the man who was going to rape her again.

She felt him push her feet further apart with his own, feeling her panties stretch just above her knees.  Humiliation flooded her and she moaned as she felt his cock slide across her cunt, realizing how wet she was, knowing that he saw her lust, her need.  Three strokes across her cunt and then he was pushing into her, raping her, and they both gasped as he broke through and plunged his cock deep into her pussy, his hips slapping obscenely against her ass.

She felt every millimeter of him inside her, taking her, raping her, his hands hot against her hips as he readied himself to truly fuck her.  She closed her eyes, tears leaking from them even as she flashed back to her dream, where she man after man had used her from behind as she thrust back at them like a she-sleen, welcoming them, wanting them, the feeling of ecstasy, both physical and emotional, overwhelming.  She sobbed as she felt him pull back, his cock seeming to send pleasure to every nerve in her pussy, and she sobbed in confusion, her mind a whirl of passion and shame and humiliation.

He was fucking her now, her body jerking back and forth across the desk, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the room, filling her mind.  Her body trembled and shook as she was raped, overwhelmed.  Her best friend ran through her mind, and her shame deepened, and then she thought of her friend walking in on them, of finding her bent of her desk while her boyfriend was fucking her.  White flashed behind her eyelids as the scene seemed to burn itself there, her best friend, aghast, Jeff, hands on her hips, plowing into her submissively bent over the desk.  Amy's shock, Amy's anger, Amy's horror at the scene--it was too much.  Her body clenched, her hands closing into fists as she came, a sob of humiliation and unbearable pleasure choked out from between her lips.

She felt Jeff grunt and speed up his thrusts, her own body still quivering under the onslaught of her pleasure, her mind spinning, whirling, and then she felt him stop, his hips pressing hard against her ass, his cock pulsing inside her, and she came again, came knowing that her rapist, her best friend's boyfriend, had just cum inside her.

She felt him pull out, jerked as he slapped her ass, remained laying there, the air cooling the wetness on her inner thighs, her ass up, her head down, as he left without saying a word.  She lay there for a while longer, her mind a blank, until she felt his cum begin to leak from her cunt.  The sensation pushed her into motion, and she stood unsteadily on her feet and made her way to the bathroom, sat on the toilet and cleaned herself up.

She felt like she was drowning.  What was wrong with her?  She knew that she could have stopped him.  All she had needed to do was fight, shout, yell, anything.  Instead she had just let him use her like a thing, "like a kajira" a part of herself whispered, but she pushed it from her mind.  The thought of Amy catching them ran across her mind again, and a mixture of shame and lust shot through the pit of her stomach, making her bend over on the toilet and moan in disgrace.  It was all so wrong, so wrong.  It just couldn't be happening to her.  She was a good girl, a girl whom her parents could be proud.  She wasn't this 'thing' she was becoming.

"Leave it be," she thought, finishing cleaning herself.  She shouldn't think on it; it would drive her crazy.  Just get on with her life, avoid Jeff, don't tell anyone.  If he came to her again, alone, tell him in no uncertain terms to stop.  That was what she would do.  It was what she had to do.