Ron Taylor: Roped and raped

He was tall and husky, wearing a T-shirt and overalls. His hair was dun-colored and, in spite of my gratitude I couldn't help thinking that he resembled a rat, facially. There was a blue-green Marine Corps tattoo on one of his wiry shoulders.

"Yes," I said, "It's my carburetor." I sighed.

"Do you think you could give me a lift to the nearest telephone, so I can call a tow truck?"

"Lemme take a look," he offered, brushing past me. It seemed that he took particular care to let his shoulder scrape my tits, and I didn't especially like it.

He peered under the hood for a few minutes, then looked out. "It's your carburetor."

"Yes, I know. Could you possibly give me a ride to the nearest gas station or phone booth, even? I'll be glad to pay you for the trouble."

"You talk funny," the other one said, coming closer. He appeared to be in his early twenties, while the other looked as if he were about my age. Well, they sounded a little hilarious to me, too, with their nasal Appalachian drawls, but I wasn't a speech therapist so I didn't bring up the matter. "Where you from?"

"Massachusetts," I replied, indicating the Bay State tags on the car. I didn't feel like chit-chatting at the moment.

"They sure growin' 'em pretty up in Massachusetts," the older one winked, coming back to where I stood.

I felt as if they were trying to surround me, and I stepped back. Both of them moved, too – it was like a fucking dance – and I had a closer look at the Marine tattoo. It was subscribed SAIGON 1970. Obviously, the older brother had been at war while Angela and I were protesting it at home. Angela. Oh, damn Angela!

"Damn straight," agreed the younger one. He winked at his brother. "Built like a brick…"

"Shithouse." The tattooed man hadn't taken his eyes off my tits for a second, I was suddenly, sickeningly, aware. I looked at their faces and saw, strongest in the eyes, a reptilian kind of craving that made my skin crawl.

"Forget it, okay?" I told them, turning half away. "You just hop back into your truck and be on your way, and I'll wait for somebody else to come along."

"Come on, now, honey. Don't take no offense."

"Don't call me honey, Goddamn it!" and I stepped back, defensively folding my arms across my tits.

The tattooed one grinned. "No harm meant, and I'm sure ain't none taken. Now, why don't we just push your car to where it's good and safe? You got two wheels on the road, and ole road ain't none too wide as it is."

I looked, and he was right. The road was narrow here, with a high, wooded bluff on the far side and, on this, a steep drop-off maybe ten feet from the edge of pavement. I hadn't had quite enough momentum to get completely off the paved part when the engine died.

So before I could offer any other suggestions, the two of them were hopping into position. The younger one poised at the back end of my car, while his tattooed brother reached inside to let off the emergency. "Got her?" he called, and his brother grunted. "Okay, let's go!" With a whoosh and a straining of muscles, they began to shove, and my car started rolling.

"There," I said, "that's good – what in the Hell??"

The car rolled off the road, onto the gravel berm, right to the edge and that steep drop-off into the wooded hollow below. My heart pulsated with concern. Couldn't they see? I ran towards them.

"Wait! Stop! Goddamn it to shit, stop!!"

They weren't listening. My car kept rolling. "Heyyyy!!" the tattooed one yelped, jumping back. The front wheels went over the edge of the cliff. From the rear, his brother gave a hard push and the entire car went over, clattering down the hillside. My eyes bulged but I couldn't see anything. I only heard a thumping and bumping, the sound of metal crashing against trees and through underbrush.

"Sorry," said the tattooed man, turning to me with an evil smile. "Guess we just don't know our own strength."

I ran to the edge of the drop-off and looked down. My car was fifty or sixty feet down the hillside, nose rammed against a huge oak tree, front end smashed to hell.

"Look at that, damn you!! Look what you've done to my car!!"

A momentary flash of vertigo twittered in my belly and I stepped back from the cliff, right into the arms of one of the men.

He locked his hands around my midsection and jerked me back. "LET GO OF ME!" I screamed, fists flailing the air. He kept pulling, and my heels dragged through the dirt and gravel. I couldn't bend my hands back far enough to hit him where it counted.

"Got a real live one," his brother commented. "Lookit her kickin'!"

"Ain't nothin' to worry about," my captor purred into my ear. "You be nice to us, and we'll be extra nice to you."

The tattooed one was holding me. His body was rank from stale sweat, and the noxious aroma infiltrated my nostrils, weakening me for a telltale instant. During that instant, the younger brother grabbed my feet. I lashed out, but too late, and now they had me. Like a sack of potatoes I was carried down the slope toward their pickup truck.

"Lookit them titties wiggle," the younger one said. He caught both feet in one arm for a moment and reached in to squeeze my breasts. I screamed, and I writhed, but I couldn't stop him from touching me.

"She ain't even wearing a brassiere," he added delightedly. "Feel them jugs!"

His brother took the invitation, hands coming up to fondle my tits. "Big ones, too," he grinned. "But real firm!"

"You take her tits. I got my eye on this…" and the other one punched me between the legs with his thumb. He dug at the tight crotch of my jeans, and again I squirmed in helpless fury, unable to prevent this degradation of my body.

"Let go of me!" I moaned.

"Goddamn, step on it, Luke!" the younger one hollered. "Or ain't neither of us gonna get nothin'. And if I don't get my dick wet, I'm gonna cut the damn thing off. Hooo-eeeeeee!"

Let me cut it off for you, I wanted to say, but I was afraid. They were madmen. They'd pushed my car over the Goddamned hill, they'd grabbed me, they were handling my body, talking about… My God, they were talking about fucking me! "NO!!" I yelled, struggling again, but by then we were at the pickup truck, and they tossed me unceremoniously onto the flat bed, as if I were a sack of feed being loaded. The bed was hard, and the fall almost knocked me unconscious. When I shook my head and looked up, Luke, the tattooed brother, had joined me on the truck bed and his hands were inescapably near.

I had nothing with which to defend myself. Sure, my knife was in my bag, but my bag was lying on the ground. It might as well have been on the moon. Fingernails? I was too liberated to wear my nails long and pointed.

He grabbed my tits and his fingers dug into my flesh. I was braless underneath the thin top and there was nothing to stop him from testing the firmness and shape of my breasts. His fingers pulled at the top's straps. I heard it rip and then I was completely bare-breasted, my tits heaving in desperation.

His eyes gleamed approval and he reached for my quivering boobs, but before he could lay hands on them again, I leaped up and tried to jump over the side of the truck. The younger brother was there, anticipating.

"Not yet, honey," he grinned. "Luke gets first because he's the oldest. But just hang on. I'll be comin' in for my turn pretty soon."

I hung suspended over the edge of the truck, hair fallen into my face, blinding me for a second. Something wet attacked my nipples. It was his mouth! I felt nausea, a gorge in the pit of my stomach, and then something worse. From behind, Luke was dragging down my blue jeans.

"She don't wear pants either, Randy," he called as the retreating denim laid my ass bare. One of his fingers jabbed into the space between my legs, and he pawed the lips of my cunt.