Ray Majors - Laura_s Training Camp

The sight of him undressing did it. For a few moments she stood there paralyzed, not really believing he was actually taking off all his clothes. But then she saw his penis, as thick as she'd remembered it but so very long. It was twice as large as the gnawing cavity in her belly and it was upward-curving, a stout shaft capped with a huge knob, and fitted with a single eye that stared accusingly at her. In a flash she was perfectly sober and able to slip away from his groping hand and get out the front door.

She kicked off her remaining shoe dashing across his porch and then was off at a ragged sprint through the darkness. She didn't try to cover herself as she ran. She ardently hoped it was her nightmare, but the rain in her face and the dog barking and, worst of all, the fast footsteps behind her, told her it was all too real. He caught up with her before she'd gone twenty feet.

She was driven down in the mud under his heavy body, and it stunned her. She could hardly fight at all as her panties were torn from her body and she was rolled over, her slip and skirt up around her waist, her breasts defenseless. He was wedging her legs open with his knee, and though she knew this was the time to kick him in the testicles, she couldn't do it for he wouldn't let her. He was incredibly naked, and she could feel his penis, hot on her leg.

"Get away, Czar!" he shouted, and at least the deafening barking stopped. She screamed, but she knew no one heard.

It was better to fight, and she pounded at him with her fists and twisted frantically under him, but he just laughed and worked his penis closer to where lie was rubbing his fingers. Right in her cunt he was doing it, and even through the pain and fear and confusion, it felt good.

"I'm a virgin," she panted. "Please don't."

"You won't be for long," he said, and got both his legs between hers.

Her mother had once told her that if it ever got that far, she should cease resistance to rape and thus spare herself unnecessary injury. She had to fight on, though, when she felt his penis, unmistakable because of its size, pressing against her weakest, softest flesh. She still didn't think it could be happening to her, and now it was the sharp pain that accompanied his grunting surge at her that brought her back.

"Goddamn, you're tight," he rasped, and shoved even more of himself into her.

It didn't hurt as before, when he'd ruptured her hymen, but it was terribly uncomfortable. She tried to open herself wider for the ghastly wedge going into her and she panted, "Do it. Get it over with. But don't make me pregnant."

"Don't worry about that," he said, drawing back, giving her blessed relief. "Don't worry about a thing."

She found she could relax and go with it. His second insertion, deeper than before, could be stood without feeling sick and paralyzed. The rain was washing the mud off her face and his body was keeping her warm, and she was starting to think she'd survive it. The worst was over and he was right in that it wouldn't do her any good to worry.

"You like that, baby? You startin' to get with 'it?" he asked, and slowly slid himself out and in again.

"I hate it. I hate you."

"I bet I'm going too slow for you," he said, and assailed her with his penis, pumping it in and out with strokes that should have destroyed the insides of her body. But she could even stand that, once she opened herself wider and got her hips cocked up at the right angle for him. She could stand anything. She wished, though, that she was drunk again, as she had, been in the house, when the good feelings had been all over her and she hadn't cared what was happening to her. She closed her eyes and thought about being drunk, and she was drunk then.

"Don't pass out on me, baby. Keep that ass moving."

His clutching fingers made her move it, and that was better still. It did feel good to fuck, even with a huge prick like that in her, even though she was bleeding and lying in the mud. She squirmed and humped back at him, let him kiss her and feel her breasts to further add to her drunken, wanton pleasure. She'd see him arrested, she'd see him executed, but that was later; for now she'd get all she could of the marvelous feelings of being fulfilled as a woman.

"Come, baby. Come. You can't help yourself," he urged her, panting at her ear and completely filling her cunt with exactly what it needed.

"Can't help it," she moaned. "Can't stop it."

She was on the way to the biggest orgasm by far that she'd ever known. It was mounting to a crescendo, driven inexorably on by his slipping, sliding prick, and she was clutching at his back and trying to kiss him in a desperate need to feel all she could of it, every bit, and then he pulled it out.

"No! More! Do it now!" she cried.

"Oh, you'll get more," he said, and then she was being rolled face down in the mud.

Spitting at it, trying to push herself up, she felt him mounting her from behind. She flattened herself again to escape it, but there was no escape. The hands parting her buttocks were too strong and the penis pushing at her rear was too wet and slick. She tried with all her might to get drunk again and she'd almost succeeded when the sharp pain came. But soon the pain receded, the friction in her anus became tolerable-then it became good.

She grinned and clutched the wet earth, loving the feeling of it against her bare breasts. She opened her legs wider and arched her back for him, and felt her orgasm returning, mounting with each of his hot breaths at her ear. His weight was good bearing down on her, making her helpless to resist, and his prick was good, going in and out of her body. She was good and drunk and being fucked half to death and loving every moment of it, and when thunder rolled in the distance she felt her orgasm burst in her and she panted, "Fuck me. Come with me."

"I am," he groaned, sounding as weak and helpless as she for a moment, and she let herself shiver and shudder in his surging embrace and share completely in the ecstasy she was knowing.

"The last thing in the world you should do is run," Helen Peterson said. Seated beside Bobby Barker on the couch in her apartment, all she wore was a robe. It was almost the same color red as her hair, it was opened enough to reveal much of her bounteous breasts, and it was so short that all of her legs could be seen.

Perry scarcely noticed her. He was pacing the room, gnawing on his knuckles. There was mud on his face and his black hair was wet and lank, and he was very worried. "I can't stay," he said. "She said she'd turn me in, and I believe her. God, that was the stupidest thing I ever did in my life. Loan me fifty. I swear I'll pay it back as soon as I find a place to hide."

"That's not the way, but I will lend you the money if you insist on panicking. But calm down now. Tell me now it happened. Would a drink help?"

"That's what started it. I talked her into going down to the Happy Hour. I got the waitress there to load her beers up with vodka. She got gassed and I loaded her into the car and took her to my place. I wasn't drunk, but… man, once I grabbed her, I couldn't stop! She was up and down. One minute she'd be fighting me off and the next she'd be swinging right along with me. It was wild."

"Yes, but was it good?" she asked with a smile. He smiled back, something he thought he'd never be able to do again, and he said, "Yeh. It was damned good. Front and back, she was tight as a mouse's ear. If I wasn't on parole, it would have been worth it."

"And where did you leave her?"

"On my bed. Tied up. I figured I'd call the cops when I was a hundred miles away from here and they could get her loose."

"I'll just bet you figured on doing that."

"What the hell, she'd get loose by herself in time, and I was worried about me, not her."