Heather Brown: The rape girls

"Yes, scream, Jennifer, let it all hang out," Kimberly said. On impulse she wrested her fingers free from the frothing, clutching cunt and placed them on Jennifer's mouth. Jennifer licked them, tasting the sweet scent of her own beautiful, creaming pussy. Quickly, the others followed suit, and immediately Jennifer's face was glistening with cuntjuice.

"The thing about getting even," Kimberly said to the others at their next meeting, "is that Kitty and Jennifer more or less know who the guys were who attacked them, while Gilda and I haven't got the faintest idea who jumped us."

"Yeah," Kitty said, "that does sort of throw a monkey wrench into things."

"I don't know," Gilda said. "This talk of revenge makes me nervous. The idea of trying to get even seems so extreme."

"It is," Jennifer admitted. "But the way I figure it, not any more extreme than what's already happened to all four of us."

"Maybe you're right," Gilda said sadly. "Maybe the world is getting to be the kind of place where you can't be reasonable any more and be safe."

"Man, you girls sure sound educated," Kitty said. "You take all day to say something that's this simple: It's a dog-eat-dog world out there. You either fight back or you get eaten, just like in the ghetto, and I been livin' there my whole life."

After a pause, while they all digested the ominous course the discussion had taken, Kimberly said, "Well, okay, it seems decided. Revenge is our main purpose. The only question now is whether we'll go after the ones who raped us, or just launch an attack on men in general."

"I'd really like to sock it to those fat ass rich bastards who did me in," Kitty said. "I really crave some action like that."

"What about you, Gilda? Jennifer?"

"What can I say?" Gilda said. "After all, I don't know the identity of the man who raped me. We'd have to hang around the ghetto trying to find out who he was by spotting him."

"And that might take forever," Kitty said. "People come and go down there like the wind. Anyway, it would be funny as hell, three honky chicks hanging around on the street like you'd have to do."

"What about you, Jennifer, what do you think?" Gilda said.

"I'd like to know which direction Kimberly thinks we ought to take."

"The way I see it is this," Kimberly began earnestly. "We've got to decide what's the most important: getting back at just these guys who raped us, or at men in general. It's a sort of philosophical question."

"I'll tell you," Kitty interrupted. "All men are pigs and it don't make no difference who we waste. One's as good or bad as the other. And I'll tell you right now, that's where I stand, that's the way I see it."

"Kimberly?" Gilda asked.

"Yes, I agree with Kitty. I feel that way too. How 'bout you, Gilda?"

Gilda sat there silently.

"Gilda?"

"Yes, yes, I agree, too," Gilda said hesitantly.

"Do you agree, Jennifer?" Kimberly said.

"I wish I could answer differently. But now that I think about it honestly, there's no way I can disagree," Jennifer said matter-of-factly.

"Then it's settled unanimously," Kimberly said commandingly. "It's men we're after. Not just this man or that one, but all men. They're the enemy."

"Right on!" Kitty declared, and the others chorused their approval.

Kimberly waited a few moments until there was silence and said ominously, "Then, all that remains is the planning for our first strike. Just remember, we want to make every step we take count."

Mayor Richard Staley was an old-fashioned politician, which meant that he had no place in his administration for minority groups and women except in infrequent token slots. His troops were staffed by men, men just like himself, whose method of operation was to exploit anything and everything they could to accumulate more power. Lately, however, there had been some question as to the closed nature of the Staley administration, and suits had been filed in court by people seeking equal opportunity.

When questioned about the discrimination against women in his city, Staley was prone to stretching his flabby jowls into a grotesque smile and saying. "Everybody knows a woman's place is in the home. They're already on a pedestal, why should they lower themselves to just being equal with men when we already hold them above us in our hearts? Believe me, there aren't more women in my administration because they don't want to be there. They're already satisfied keeping the precious home fires burning. Anybody who says anything different must be against motherhood and the American way."

Mayor Staley was married and had six children, a fact out of which he made much political hay. However, in the corridors of city hall, and at cocktail parties where people connected with the administration drank a little too much, there were stories that a staff member was assigned full time to fix him up with girls, the younger the better. Apparently he avoided a mistress to decrease the possibility of complications and blackmail, and also because he liked a variety of young pussy.

"You're in the business," Kimberly said to Kitty after their discussion of Mayor Staley's background. "Is there anything to those stories about Mayor Staley? Have you ever heard about anybody getting a call to make it with the big tub of guts?"

"Yeah, I've heard a few things about him," Kitty said.

"Like what?" Gilda asked, fascinated.

"That he likes the young ones," Kitty said.

"Well, almost anybody's younger than he is," Gilda said.

"No, no, baby, the real young ones," Kitty said.

"Jesus," Jennifer said with disgust, "that old fart must be sixty-five years old if he's a day – and he's fat as a pig. Anyway, didn't I hear he was in the hospital a couple of years ago for some kind of… down there?"

"Oh, you mean on his prostate gland," Kimberly said. "I remember that, you're right, he did have prostate surgery. It would seem to me to be a miracle for him to be able to get it up."

"Well, not bein' able to get it up don't mean nothin'," Kitty replied nonchalantly.

"How can it mean nothing?" Gilda asked incredulously. "I mean, why would a man hire a girl if he didn't intend to… you know… if he…"

"Fuck her?" Kitty said.

"Well, yes."

"Shit, kid, I can see you gotta lot to learn," Kitty said. "When you're a hooker you meet all kinds. It gets so that you think of some guy who just wants a straight fuck as some kind of square. Everybody's got their little quirks. A lotta dudes that ain't been able to get a hard-on for years see hookers all the time."

"What do they do?" Gilda wanted to know.

"Oh, just about everything you can think of," Kitty said with a professional air. "Some of them like to smack you around, and then others want you to smack them around. Some just wanna look while you get yourself off. Others like to lick your pussy. Some even like to have you shit on 'em. All kinds of things."

"What do you suppose his honor goes for?" Jennifer asked.

"What I heard," Kitty said, "is that he likes 'em to dress up like, little girls – you know, long wool stockings, petticoats, white cotton underpants, shaved curds, the whole bit."

"What's he do then?" Gilda asked.

"He plays with 'em for a while, and then sort of fucks 'em."

"But, how, how could he? I thought we decided he couldn't get it up?" Jennifer said.

"Not regular fucking, from what I hear tell. They say he has this thing he straps on made out of rubber or plastic – a fake dick, a dildo. Anyway, he puts this thing over his real shriveled-up prick and sticks it in the girl's pussy, and she's supposed to pretend that she loves it and talk all kinds of baby talk to him about what a big cock he has while he's fucking her."

"That sounds revolting to me," Jennifer said, gagging.