Roffeless

ROOFELESS

       I had my future all planned out.  Sciences, pre-med, I was going to rack up the credits, do the straight and narrow, and be a doctor.  Seven figure income, two car garage, vacations in Hawaii.   Funny, how I ended up here on my knees in a place like this.

       I wasn't really dating much at University.   I was hot, with full firm breasts and a nice tight ass in that nubile beach-teen kind of way, shoulder length honey blonde hair, a nice close cropped pussy.   I knew it, and I even liked showing off within reason, with nice tight jeans and T-shirts.  I didn't dress like a slut, but I dressed so you knew I was sexy.  I didn't mind getting a second look.  

       Hot, but not getting any.  Studies consumed a lot of my time, and I really didn't want to mess around with a relationship.  I don't know.  Maybe I just didn't meet the right guy.  But the whole dating scene just seemed to consume too much energy.  I was horny as hell.  My fingers got very busy.  But all the rest of that stuff...  I couldn't see doing keggers with the frat boys, or watching football jocks practice.  I was just too busy with my own stuff and I didn't really have spare time for all the relationship bull.  I mean, if I could just call someone, they'd come over, fuck me, and go away and I wouldn't have to deal with all the personal crap... that would have been great.  But obviously, I couldn't do that or I'd get a reputation as a slut. 

       I didn't mind partying once in a while.  It was great to just relax and unwind.  And hey, if I wound up in some drunken tumble then that wasn't a big deal, happened to everyone.  You're not a slut if its just some party thing... provided you don't do it too often.  Once in a while is chemistry, you know what I'm saying.  Regularly is skanking it up.

       Anyway, I was at this party, chilling out, relaxing.  I was slightly drunk, but not that much.  I seemed drunker than I actually was.  That's probably why he made the move he did.  And probably why I spotted it.

       There was this weasely guy, tall and skinny, with a sort of rat face.  You know the type?  Scraggly facial hair and receding chin and a big prominent nose.  Doesn't take enough baths.  Sunken chest, and gangly frame. 

       

       He slipped something in my drink.  I spotted it out of the corner of my eye.  Yes, he'd definitely slipped something when he thought no one was looking.   He hung around, waiting.

       Fine, I thought.  I picked up my drink, put it to my lips, pretended to swallow, but just getting a bit on my tongue.

       There was the faintest bitter taste.

       Roofies?  I thought.

       This weasel was slipping me a date rape drug?  What was this, the eighties?  How clumsy.  How obvious.  I thought about it, pretending to take another drink but carefully wiping my mouth to make sure I had no more contact.   When he looked away, I poured the drink into an cigarette butt covered beer can.  That problem solved.

       He noted the empty drink, seemed to smile, and got closer to me.

       Was this guy for real?   That was just pathetic.   All I had to do was say one word and the jocks around here would take him outside and turn him into a pretzel.

       But I didn't say a word.

       Why?

       I'd foiled his dastardly plot.  He was harmless.  It was funny, even.

       I decided to play along and see what he did next.

       After a few more minutes of watching me, he came over and introduced himself.

       "Hi," he said, "I'm Colin."

       Colin the pathetic loser, I thought, smiling at him.  Colin the date rape roofy artist.   I smiled, affecting my best bleary, half-drunk pleasant manner, and tried to decide whether he reminded me more of a weasel or a rat.

       "Hi," I said, smiling.  "I'm Barb."

       "How you doing?"

       I giggled at the obviousness of it.   What were the symptoms of roofies, I tried to recall: Reduced attention span, diminished coordination, mild intoxication...  Memory impairment of course.   But the symptoms when it was actually affecting you...  I let my gaze drift off into space.

       "Doing good, I see," he said.  "Mind if I join you?"

       Oh what a smooth operator, I thought, allowing myself to giggle again, as he slid onto the couch beside me.   He smiled, showing uneven teeth.  The only reason he had the guts to come near me was because he thought he had me drugged.   He was so transparent, it was unbelievable.  It was amusing.   I decided to play along, at least for a while.  Tease him, lead him on, and drop him before things went too far.  I'd have to put the word out about him.

       I smiled, thinking of his impending comeuppance.  How would I do it?   Denounce him in the middle of the crowd?  Or just leave him hanging?  I imagined the look on his face when his drugged out sex puppet suddenly turned into a very lucid, very sober, very angry feminist avenger.  He'd be finished of course, unable to show his face around at parties.  Branded as a sleazeball rape artist.  I pretended to giggle at something he said.  He stroked my bare arm.  Oh, he was in for such a surprise.

       So I played along.  It wasn't hard.   Just act a little more drunk, a little more out of it.  If anything, I was increasingly sober and attentive, watching coldly and carefully.  It really was acting, like playing a part.

       I found I liked it.  He made lame small talk, and I went along with it, laughing inwardly at his clumsy double entendres.  He was so lame.  He stroked my arm again.  I touched his hand.  He let his knee brush my leg.  Slowly, he was putting the moves on me, watching for any sign of resistance.  I moved too quick when his hand lingered on my knee, and he backed off quickly.

       Oh no, no, I thought.  Don't be shy.  Come further into my trap.  I made myself relax, lean back, giggly and apparently out of it.  Carefully, his hand crept up on my knee.   To encourage him I let my legs fall open.  It was okay to spread my legs a bit, I was wearing tight blue jeans.  I'd have never done it in a skirt, but blue jeans?  Pfft.  I was safe enough.

       It encouraged him.  His hand slipped a up above my knee.  Not far up my thigh at all, but definitely there, exerting a slight but steady pressure.  I let my knees part a little further.  He was very close to me.  His head dipped towards me.

       Oh god, he was going to kiss me.  Okay, I thought, game over.  I'm not going to kiss this freak.  But even as I was deciding that, his lips clumsily brushed my face.  Oh fuck.  A flicker of expression crossed my face.   He froze, wondering if he'd outpaced the drugs he thought were in my system. 

       Moment of decision, I thought quickly.   I could sober up, slap him and walk away.  It wasn't quite the perfect scene, the perfect humiliation of him, that I'd fantasized about.  Or play along a little more?  I was having fun playing along.  I didn't really want to kiss him, but I wasn't really kissing him... it was acting.  The more I lead him down the path, the bigger his fall.

       He was watching me nervously, I could practically see sweat breaking out on his forehead.  He looked ready to cut and run.   How pathetic was that?  He thought he had me drugged, but he still didn't have the guts.  What a scared little rabbit.   Deliberately, I let my eyes go half lidded and vague, put on the trace of a smile, and leaned back a little, relaxing.

       Satisfied, he moved in, his lips pressing almost confidently against mine.  In another moment, his tongue pushed into my mouth.   When his hand crept up my blouse to cup my firm breast, I was ready for it, even giving a tiny theatrical moan.  A tiny moan, I didn't want to overplay it.   And all the time that his tongue was clumsily probing my mouth, I was deliciously plotting his destruction, every transgression of my body would be paid back in spades.

       I returned his kisses, let him bring one hand further up my thigh, spreading my legs a little further, almost intellectually curious to see how far he would go.   And there was another reason: I was wet, I realized.  As I shifted my hips, I felt the slight delicious pressure of my tight jeans and panties against my crotch.  My nipples were hard.  I was slightly flushed, slightly aroused.   Part of it was his clumsy pawing, but not that much.  A bigger part was my own enjoyment of my own acting, playing the role of a drugged out slut, the lack of control, the freedom to just experience.  And part of it was the excitement of actually being in control.  I could shut him down at any time, I could destroy him utterly, and that was exciting... he thought he was running the show, but he was a stupid little mouse and I was the cat.

       His hand slipped under my blouse, under my bra, pushing it up and pinching a hard nipple between thumb and forefingers.  I tried to push him away without being too obvious, but I couldn't, I had to pretend to be uncoordinated and drugged, so my hands fluttered uselessly, as he explored my breast, cupping the bare flesh.  He clearly thought I was too drugged out for much resistance, and ignored my feeble pushes.   His other hand confidently settled on my crotch, kneading it, parting my legs.  He was practically on top of me, his mouth covering mine, extinguishing my protests.   Oh, he was good, I decided, he knew what he was doing, in complete control of his drugged victim, subtly cutting off her ability to struggle or protest.  He'd done this before, I thought.  His clumsy awkwardness had given way to a certain smooth confidence.  Too bad it had to be with helpless victims.   I was no helpless victim, I knew I could throw him off with a hard shove.

But...

But I liked his hand on my crotch, I could feel myself automatically pushing slightly against his palm.  My nipples felt hard and tight, my stomach tingled with arousal.  I ached a little at the thought of calling this charade off, oh it would be satisfying, but the sexy fun part would be over.  And I was enjoying his pathetic domination, his emerging aggression, maybe it wasn't really threatening, but I realized I had this little tiny submissive streak, and I was enjoying letting him have his way.  I mean, even to let a loser like this touch me was a little degrading, sort of exciting in a dirty kind of way, and he was doing a lot more than touching me.

So I let it go on, playing my role, pretending to be out of it, and letting him feed my arousal.  I didn't even have to do anything, just play along.  It was so easy.  I giggled again, until he clamped his mouth harder on mine, extinguishing it, and invading me with his tongue.

But one thing that was bothering me more and more as he got bolder, was the people around.  I mean, people knew me.  Nobody knew I was drugged or apparently drugged.  And here I was making out with this total loser.  It was a party, you saw all sorts of shit, but you know... I didn't really want too much attention.  I had my reputation to consider, and getting tongued and pawed by pathetic geeks really wasn't flattering.

I kept deciding to end it, throw him off and crush him.  But each time I almost made that decision, well, he'd push against my pussy, or stroke my breast or pinch my nipple that would distract me and make me squirm a little, and I would think, oh just a tiny bit longer.  And it went on...

Then he pulled away from me, leaving me gasping and longing a little.  His spittle was on my cheek, my bra pushed up under my half unbuttoned blouse.  I could feel my panties were wet.

"Let's go upstairs," he whispered, pulling on me.  It wasn't a request, I could feel that.  It had the subtle touch of a command.

A girl on roofies isn't thinking, whatever thought, whatever impulse you suggest, she's likely to go along with it.  Control her movement.  He was gently pulling me up to my feet.  I pretended to wobble, and faked a giggle, still playing the part.

"Upstairs," he whispered, drawing me unsteadily up.

Now?   I thought.   Sober up.  Make a scene.  Humiliate and destroy him.

"Upstairs," he whispered, making it ever so subtly an order.

I swayed.

"Okay," I said, and giggled.

It was a total impulse.  Caution to the winds, and all that.  The truth was, I was horny.   And at least we were getting out of sight of everyone.  I mean, I was definitely not going to fuck him. No way. Uh uh.  On the other hand, I wouldn't mind groping a bit, it was fun and I had nothing against prolonging the fun.   Especially if I wasn't doing it out in plain sight of everyone, I mean geez, reputation to think of.   Heavy petting in public with this loser?  Not good.

And besides, if I made a scene... well, no one here knew I as on roofies, or apparently on roofies.  So it would just be, you know, a scene.  It just didn't seem satisfying enough.

I wasn't really worried.  If it came down to it, I was pretty sure I could beat him up.  He struck me as pretty timid with girls who weren't drugged out.   All I had to do was harsh up and he'd run away scared.

So we made our way upstairs, me leaning on him, giggling, playing the drugged out slut bimbo.  I amused myself pretending to lose my balance, forcing him to stagger around carrying me.  I wandered or lunged off in other directions on impulse, forcing him to guide me back where he wanted me.  It was a game, frustrating him.  I was having fun, a sense of sly adventure that mixed with my horniness.   There was no threat at all.  I felt completely relaxed and in control.

So by the time we actually got up to the room, I had decided to fuck him.

Oh, I wasn't proud.  Again, it was an impulsive decision.  Who gave a shit?  He thought he had me drugged, he wasn't going to go bragging about it.  This sort of thing happened all the time at parties, and we'd all seen uglier match ups.   And I was horny.   So what if I used him, letting him think he was using me.  I could spit in his face the next time I saw him.  But for now, I was in the mood and playing a role... it would be perfect to play it right to the end, to surrender to it, to abandon myself, to absolve of all responsibility...  I could fuck him, mindless, and if anyone ever asked or wondered, well, it was the roofies, so who gave a shit.  It wasn't Barb lowering her standards.

His tongue invaded my mouth, hands nakedly on my breasts, knee thrusting between my legs against the wall.   Possessive and possessing, in control, and I enjoyed it, letting myself be wet and willing, limp and wanton.

Finally, he lead me into the room.   The lights were soft, there was a dirty mattress in the middle of the floor, the walls lined with frat junk, kegs, posters, desks.  Someone's dorm room.

And men.

A half dozen men.

At first I thought Colin, being a loser, had just lead me into the wrong room.  I giggled and swayed.  What would he do?  Retreat in embarrassment?  Try to drag me.  This might be the perfect time to lower the boom, these guys would really fuck him up for trying to slip girls roofies at their party.  Or would he show some guts and try and get them to leave?   I wanted to see what he'd do next.

Instead, he simply dragged me towards the mattress, laying me on it gently and unbuttoning my blouse to fully expose my breasts.  Hadn't he noticed them?  Was he that horny that he just hadn't registered.

"Who're theesh guys," I carefully slurred, waving my arm around aimlessly.

"Shhh," he said, "they're nobody."

"She's pretty out of it," someone whispered.   Someone else shushed him.

What was going on?  I squirmed, still playing the role, playing half aware, uncoordinated.  Colin unbuttoned my jeans, started struggling to pull them down the swell of my hips.  I didn't have to do much more than let my weight rest to make it hard for him.

"I can't believe he got her up here," someone whispered.  "Look at those tits.  What a piece of ass.  I can't wait to have a piece of that."

"Love them roofies," someone whispered.

Oh fuck, I thought, not dropping the role.  This isn't just a date rape, this is a gangbang.  A thousand thoughts went rushing through my head.  Had I made a terrible mistake?  Had a played along too long?  Was I going to be gangraped?  What if I screamed?

But I was still aroused.  I tried to think.  I mean, I was ready to be fucked.  I was playing the role.  Suppose I just kept going along.   Every girl has fantasies of doing a gangbang, we just don't ever admit it.  You can't.  You do something like that or even talk about it, you're totally branded as a slut.  You can't even do it in secret, what's a secret?   Guys talk.

Except that they wouldn't talk.  They couldn't.  They'd brag to each other.  But admit to anyone else that they'd gangbanged a girl out on roofies?   Immediate rape charges.  They've be drummed out of university, careers over, possible jail, total disgrace.   No, they'd do it, but as far as they were concerned, it would be as if it never happened.  And they were counting on me not remembering.  I could have a wild gangbang, explore a deep dark fantasy, and totally get away with it.   No stories, no ruined reputation.

What decided me, was that they were all better looking than Colin.  A lot better.  I wouldn't have minded a drunken fuck with any one of these guys.

So... why not?

Colin got my jeans down over my hips and pulled them off my legs.  I kicked feebly.  He pushed my legs aside.

"Socks," I muttered.   He took my socks off, leaving me naked and exposed, my pussy wet and ready.

"Gonna fuck theesh guys too," I muttered, waving vaguely.

Colin spread my legs, his hands firm.  His cock was rampant, he was well hung.  He reached out, squeezing my breast, pinching the nipple.  I squirmed under him, my hands fluttering beneath his belly, stroking his cock.

"Shhh," he ordered.

"Ohkay," I mumbled, deliberately submissive.  "Allofem."

"She's ready," someone whispered, his voice tight and high with excitement.  Instant erection.

Colin slowly slid his big hard cock into my wet cunt, forcing a drawn out gasp of pleasure from me.  The first real sound I had made all night.   A second later, my stomach tightened nervously as I realized he wasn't wearing a condom.

I'd had sex lots before, but always with a condom.  For the first time in my life, I was being fucked bareback!  And then he began a firm deep stroke, and the pleasure rippled through me.  It felt so good to feel his bare cock inside me.  Too late to do anything about it now, I thought.  It would break character, and I couldn't break character.  His thrusting increased to a pounding, his hands digging into my breasts.  My back arched, hips pushing to meet him.  My legs wrapped around him.

I was being fucked hard.  Oh I was being fucked by this pathetic loser who thought he had me drugged, who probably could only get a date if the woman was drugged.  And he was fucking me in front of everyone.  Oh it was so degrading, and it felt so good.  And they were going to fuck me too, taking turns, all of them watching my debasement.

I was almost ready to come when I felt Colin's cock swell up inside me, felt it getting hard and ultra rigid, felt his body stiffen.  Then for the first time in my life I felt a mans cock ejaculate inside my fertile walls.  Oh god, I hoped I didn't get pregnant.  Oh god a little more and he'd make me come.  He was pulling out.  Oh no, don't.  Fuck me a little more.  Please.  I reached down and made hard fierce circles around my clit.

Colin got off me.  My body was suddenly cold with drying sweat.  I mewed, writhing, as I dug my fingers into my drenched pussy, feeling his semen oozing from me.

But I wasn't alone for long.  Another man knelt in front of me.  Willingly, wantonly, I spread my legs, opening my cunt to him.   He thrust inside, fucking hard and within minutes I had my orgasm, screaming out pleasure.  As he pounded my helpless body, and I gasped in post orgasmic throes, a rough hand seized my hair, and I found myself drawn, face impaled on a hard cock.  There were more hands on me, I couldn't tell whose.  Even as I felt myself lost in sensation, I felt my cunt tightening, the cock inside me pounding relentlessly on my g-spot, pushing me steadily towards my next orgasm.   Oh god, I thought.   And I surrendered completely.

Again and again my pussy was filled with sperm.  My cunt used hard.  I felt bodies on me, above me.  I was moved, propped on all fours and taken from behind, then from front and back.  I buried my face on a soft cock later, moaning as I was fingered, until someone was ready to fuck me.  They all had me, my mouth, my cunt, my tits, I was drenched with their sweat, skin tingling from their grips, as they came in me or on me again and again.

Finally, they were finished, and I laid limp on the filthy mattress, exhausted, fucked out.   I lay there, letting my exhaustion pass for some drug induced haze, watched them stand or walk around me, their brutal, well used cocks hanging between bare legs.  Their come oozed from my hard punished, fucked out, cunt.

"She still out of it," someone asked.

"Yeah, till tomorrow," Colin said.

"And she's not going to remember?"

"Not at the dose I gave her, not a fucking thing."

"Good.   Now get her out of here.  I don't want her waking up here."

"Fuck yeah," someone else said.

There was something delicious about the way they talked about me.  Degrading.  As if I wasn't there.  As if I wasn't anything more than a cunt.  Half consciously my hand drifted down to stroke my clit.

"Look at her go," a voice said, "what a fucking slut."

I blushed, the humiliation adding to an inexplicable arousal.

But the pleasure, as insidious as it was, didn't last.  

I shivered as Colin knelt between my legs, and a wash of cold liquid surged up inside me.  I whimpered and struggled, staying in character.  Colin easily held me in place as he worked.

"What the fuck are you doing?" someone asked him.

"Cleaning her up.  Douching her.   She's got like a dozen loads of come in her.  You want her to wake up tomorrow, wondering why all this come is oozing out her pussy?  She'll figure things out pretty fucking fast."

"Oh."

"Besides, we don't want her getting knocked up.  That would also be a pretty fucking obvious tip."

He was so rude to these guys.  I hadn't thought he had it in him.  But now, in the aftermath, he was... professional, in control.  Everyone was standing around, but he was taking care of business.  Even as exhausted as I was, I wasn't drugged, and it was almost fascinating.  Almost.  I was really tired and not paying attention at the time.  But his quiet dominance must have impressed me on some level.  I let him clean me up.   Laying passive, using my apparent drugged out state.

"Do you have to do it here?"

"I could do it on her living room carpet, and she can wonder where the stain came from."

"Just hurry it up and get her out of here.  Get her out the back way, we don't want anyone seeing her."

"Teddy?"

"Yeah, I'll help, Man."

Teddy seemed to be the shorter, fatter one.  His cock had been stubby but thick.  He'd had a hairy body, and big heavy balls that had spurted and spurted inside me.

"Okay, here you go," Colin said, pulling the jeans up my legs.  Together they got me dressed.  Colin dug into my purse until he found my ID.   Oh, oh, I didn't really like the idea of him knowing my last name, or where I lived.  But it was too late to break character now.

Between the two of them, they got me down the back stairs, handling my deliberately limp frame, and into a car.  Then up to my apartment.

"Nice place," Ted said.

"Yeah," Colin replied, as they guided me towards my warm, welcoming bed.   I fell onto the clean sheets.  They smelled so good, so unlike the coarse fabric of the semen and sweat stained mattress.

"Look around," Colin said.   "Does she wear pajamas?  A nighty?"

He proceeded to carefully and gently remove my clothes.

"Can't find anything," Ted said.

"Keep looking."

I didn't want them turning the whole place.

"Jess panties," I mumbled.  "Thash all..."

"Thanks," Colin whispered.   He had my jeans off, my blouse.  Carefully he undid my bra.  I burrowed into the sheets.

"Oh she's fine," Ted whispered.  "I gotta get a picture."

A picture?  No way.  Pretending half consciousness, I pulled the sheets around me.

Colin pulled them away, exposing my breasts.  Uh uh.  I turned on my side, throwing an arm up.  "Go ..way," I mumbled.

Colin tried to roll me on my back.  I mumbled and fluttered angrily, pulling the sheets awkwardly.

"Oh fuck it," Colin said, "we fucked her good, that's enough.  We don't need evidence around to convict us."

"Fine," Ted sulked, putting away the camera.   They got up and went to leave.

But just before they left, Colin came back and kissed me on the cheek.  He thought I was unconscious, but I felt it.

As the door locked, my adventure ended, and I allowed myself to fall into blissful, sated, orgiastic sleep.   I felt victorious.  Untouched.  Satisfied.   I didn't know it, but it was the beginning of my downfall...