Joseph Cirelli - Attack from behind

Diane turned to leave, but Red caught her with his huge forearm. "C'mon, honey… you've seen naked women before. This is just part of the fun!"

"Well, I don't want any part of it… I'm going home!" she said.

Red smiled confidently. "Okay, baby… go right ahead. There's eight miles of dirt track and swamp between here and the highway, and if you make it that far, there's only another five miles into town. There ought to be a lot of Marines on the highway tonight, heading back to the base down at Cherry Point. I'm sure a carload of 'em would be delighted to give you a lift!"

Diane shuddered at the possibilities and her stomach turned as she realized that Red was right; he had the car keys and she knew no one else in this foul-smelling place who would give a damn whether she got home or wound up gang-raped in some sleazy motel.

They made their way to a dirty, drink-stained table and Red wiped it clean with a soiled napkin that he found on the floor.

"Here… just like one of them big city strip joints. Maybe not as fancy, but a lot more action!" he boasted.

Diane nearly laughed until she realized, with growing fascination and disgust, that he was serious. He really was proud to be a regular in this awful dump!

Diane tried not to look at the woman who was taking her clothes off as the club's seedy patrons cheered her on, but there was nothing else in the ramshackle place to keep her attention and her eyes kept wandering back to the pathetic stripper.

She was down to her brassiere and panties and she tried futilely to manage a sexy bump and grind, but when she did it, the sensuous movements took on an air of the grotesque, her heavy body undulating and twisting as if she were having convulsions.

Diane watched as she took off her brassiere and her enormous breasts sprang from the too tight cups like freed savage animals, shivering and shaking in great rippling shudders as she writhed to the music from the country jukebox.

"Take it all off!" Red shouted in chorus with the others. "Drop those drawers, Mama!"

Diane couldn't help herself – like a sightseer at a car wreck, she found herself watching even though her stomach churned at the sight of the pathetic woman degrading herself in front of these people.

She finished her strip, pulling her wrinkled panties down and wriggling her bare buttocks to the audience Diane had been so engrossed that she failed to notice Red's arm moving to the back of her chair. When she felt it there finally, she did nothing, for it wasn't exactly a gesture to become alarmed about, but when his hand slipped down her upper arm a few minutes later and his fingers hotly groped for her breast, she sprang out of her chair in a flash and turned to face him indignantly.

"Just what 'ya think you're doing, Red? You keep your hands off me… keep your hands off my boobs!" she blurted before she realized that most of the patrons had turned their attention to her now that the performance was over.

They all began to laugh and some of the men hooted derisively at Red.

"Hey, Red, you heard her! Keep your hands of them boobs, buddy!"

"Yeah, ol' Red's been grabbing aroun' in the wrong places, ladies and gentlemen! Yes, sir!"

Red blushed and his lips trembled, but not in embarrassment. Diane knew immediately what was going through his mind, for she had seen him tear a taunting rich-boy apart at a basketball game one night when he made fun of Red's bulky physique. The uppermost thought in her mind was escape… she had to get away from Red, she didn't know what he was capable of in this kind of ugly mood!

"That was a mistake, Diane… a big mistake!" he hissed through gritted teeth, pushing his sleeves up his thick muscled arms. Suddenly he lashed out at her and caught her shoulder in one huge, powerful hand.

"Aaawww!" she winced. "You're hurting me, you big bully!"

"Naw, I ain't hurting you. Not like I might if you talk back to me again, woman!"

"P-please, Red, I didn't mean anything… I didn't!" she cried as he moved her backward with a cruel vicious pressure on her shoulder.

She grimaced in pain, expecting fully to hear and feel the anguish of her collarbone crushing under his meaty grip. Only when the backs of her legs bumped against the makeshift stage did she dare to think the unthinkable; it was only the faintest glimmer of a possibility at that moment, but still her blood ran cold in her veins at the very thought.

"Atta' boy, Red… let's get her on the stage! This joint could use a new act!" someone shouted drunkenly, and a cacophony of hoots and derisive taunts chorused their encouragement.

"C'mon, honey, give us a show! Let's-see them titties you don't want big Red to play with! Shit, they must be made of gold!"

"Hoo-ee… I ain't never seen no gold titties a'fore… let's git on with it!" a burly redneck in coveralls howled, his voice rising as he yelled until it sounded like a hound dog baying at a full moon.

Diane's heart froze in her breast and her mind refused, in a kind of last-ditch defense against the inevitable, to believe the words that she was hearing. It had to be some kind of awful nightmare, it had to be!

"Get your pretty ass up on that stage and give the good folks a show, Diane," Red snarled, his lips quivering in rage and his cheeks reddened with hot coursing blood. "You think you're somethin' special… too good for the folks down here in the hollow. Well, let's see what you got that nobody else ain't… c'mon, let's see that gold-plated tail o'yours!" He pushed her roughly and she fell backward onto the stage, sprawled humiliatingly as the crowd of revelers moved in for the show. There was a solid wall of men and women, most of them in blue jeans and work shirts or faded gingham dresses, and they pressed in tight around the stage, blocking her slightest chance of escape.

"Here you go, baby… have a drink!" a weaving farmboy leered, extending a paper cup full of whiskey in her direction. Diane shook her head instinctively, for she disliked the taste of straight liquor, but then she changed her mind.

"Yes, yes… give it here!" I'll need it. I'll have to have it to live through this nightmare!

She gulped the hundred proof moonshine down as though it were a chilled beer from a mug, and her throat and stomach mutely screamed their horror as the burning liquid seared its way into her belly. She gagged and choked and someone slapped her on the back as the others laughed and taunted her mercilessly.

"Let's see that bod, honey! C'mon, hurry up!"

"Shit, baby, I'm getting tired o'waiting… move it, doll!" a bleached blonde woman shrilly demanded, her arm around a man's waist and her fingers deftly wriggling into his fly as they stood close to the stage, pressed against it in the surge of anxious onlookers.

Diane looked around nervously, eyes fluttering, in a futile search for a way out, but it was growingly apparent that there was only one… to do as they said! To strip naked and let them see her parading around nude like some harlot!

She tried to stall, hoping that the momentum would ease and perhaps they would find someone else to vent their lusts upon, but it was hopeless… they wanted her! She was new here, she was young and from a better side of the tracks… and they wanted her stripped bare, down to the naked flesh!

"Honey, maybe you need some help," one husky, bare-chested country boy suggested, licking his lips as he tried to climb drunkenly onto the stage. Diane gasped… God, no, anything would be better than having him touch her, anything!

"N-no… no, p-please! I'll do it, just don't touch me! I'll do it alone!" she tearfully sobbed. Her fingers trembled as they sought the metallic zipper that ran along her spine and when it opened, the onlookers cheered and raised their cups of whiskey and Coke into the air, sloshing each other and the stage in a rain of cheap liquor.