Heather Brown - The rape girls

"My God," Kimberly moaned. "I'm coming!" The feeling enveloped her, and she wrapped her legs around him and shoved her pelvis against him as hard as she could, clenching her pussy muscles like a vise around the powerful muscle of his stabbing cock.

Then, suddenly, he was pulling his cock out just as she was getting ready for him to explode inside her, imagining the creamy hot sperm coating the walls of her pulsating cunt. Instead, he grabbed his swollen, angry looking prick and thrust it into her face. Her mouth flew open in astonishment, giving him the opportunity to ram the monster cock between her lips and all the way into her throat.

Kimberly gagged and fought for breath as he began grinding away against her face, literally fucking her mouth, his pubic hair scratching against her nose and eyes, his balls banging against her lower lip and chin.

When he came, her mouth couldn't hold his seemingly endless supply of sperm in addition to his huge prick, and as spurt after spurt of cum exploded from his prick, her throat gurgled out the goo from the corners of her mouth. His cum spurts dripped from her chin and spattered onto her tits.

And then it was over. Kimberly's assailant withdrew his spent prick from her bubbling, gurgling mouth and got up and pulled up his pants and disappeared into the night, leaving her lying there, her face sticky with sperm.

Early that morning Kimberly was discovered by a passing patrol car. The policemen took her back to the hospital. They assumed she was unconscious.

"You suppose she was a good fuck?" one of the cops said to the other one.

"Are you kidding? Did you see that cunt? Before I put her in the patrol car I got a good look at her pussy and it looked hotter than a two-dollar pistol."

Kimberly recalled that as she had been lifted into the patrol car she had felt something groping between her legs, rubbing at the lips of her pussy, and she realized that the policeman had done more than just look.

While she was in the hospital as a patient, Kimberly realized for the first time what it was like to be so helpless and at the mercy of other people. For one thing, when it became known why she was in the hospital, the nurses began treating her peculiarly. It wasn't hard for Kimberly to detect that the nurses attending her felt that if she had been raped she must have asked for it. And then there was the doctor, who, while examining her cunt, said, "Just relax and enjoy it. After all, I'm sure that's what you did while you were being attacked. You can at least cooperate with me as much as you did with a rapist."

By the time she was released from the hospital, Kimberly was disgusted. Prior to being attacked she had been chronically depressed; now, the rape and its aftermath had served to transform her disenchantment into an active antipathy toward many of the people she had to deal with, especially Jim Spencer.

It was only the first night she had been back on duty as a nurse that Jim approached her and said, "I see you're back among the living. I've been horny as hell waiting for you to come back." He gestured down toward his crotch where Kimberly saw the bulge of his swollen prick straining under his fly.

Kimberly couldn't believe his callousness and selfishness. He hadn't even bothered to visit her when she was a patient. "You're a doctor, Jim, I'm sure you can figure out a way to do it."

"Do what?" he asked.

She placed her hand over the bulge in his pants and applied slight pressure. Then, as he beamed, she tightened her fingers as hard as she could and painfully pinched the shaft of his prick against his balls, hissing, "I'm sure you can figure out a way to go fuck yourself!"

She turned around and walked briskly away from him, not bothering to look back.

Days dragged on and Kimberly started to realize that her problems went beyond the rape.

The more Kimberly thought about it, the more she decided that she had to have some outlet for her feelings. That was why one morning she stopped by the newspaper office and put the following ad in the classified section: Rape victim seeks others with similar experience for talk and discussion. Jennifer Kincaid had been in the city six months now and nothing had broken for her. She had come to the city from a small town after graduating from high school, hoping to escape the boredom that had enveloped her in her hometown. As she went from place to place looking in vain for work, Jennifer realized from the disinterest shown to her background and intellect, and the stares her body received, that the only way she was ever going to make a living in the city was to trade on her nubile eighteen-year-old body with its voluptuous-looking breasts, long honey-colored legs, and slim hips.

After a couple of months in the city without work, Jennifer wound up dancing topless and bottomless in a sleazy beer joint called The Blue Room.

There were no two ways about it, The Blue Room was a dive. The clientele was made up of a bunch of drunken truck drivers and motorcyclists whose idea of a good time was to shoot spitballs and paperclips up between her legs while she was dancing in the nude. Every night when she got home from work Jennifer inspected her legs and crotch for marks, and frequently found small bruises and cuts on her inner thighs and groin. The longer she worked at The Blue Room the more disgusted Jennifer became with men in general and their slobbering lust. In order to satisfy her sexual feelings, Jennifer was content to lie in bed with a mirror propped up in front of her. She spread her legs, revealing the parted lips of her cunt peeping out from her curly blonde pubic hair. Placing her hand against the wet lips of her pussy, she would poke her middle finger in and out of her drooling gash, her palm pressing hard against the fleshy mound just above the opening of her cunt.

By undulating her hips she set up a steady rhythm, finger-fucking herself, stretching her pussy lips, the sticky warm goo spilling out between her quivering thighs and onto the bedspread.

She tasted her own steaming discharge. Then, with her eyes riveted to the image of her creaming, open cunt in the mirror, the pubic hair glistening with cuntjuice, Jennifer would begin a full attack on her clitoris with her forefinger, plunging her thumb deeply into her throbbing, clutching pussy.

Orgasm always came soon, a shuddering climax that never failed Jennifer as she bucked her cunt wildly and uncontrollably against her probing, talented fingers. Just as she started to come, she would place the palm of her hand flat against her cunt and tip forward just enough to catch the full load of scalding moisture that cascaded from her pussy. Then she would place the handful of pussy juice to her face and rub it in, licking the sweet fluid as though it were honey. When she was finished, lying relaxed on the bed, her pussy muscles exhausted, she was always sure that no man could satisfy her as well as her fingers.

Thursday night started off badly for Jennifer. The Blue Room was packed with a lot of greasy members of some motorcycle club called Satan's Mothers. The owner of The Blue Room, a little short, fat, bald guy named Harry, was the typo who thought the customer was always right, even if the customer was a sadistic madman bent on maiming one of the dancers, or just a drunk asshole who puked all over somebody's tits.

This night the Satan's Mothers were celebrating the fifth anniversary of their club and had rented The Blue Room for the night. Anybody else who tried to wander in was stopped by a thug in a leather jacket.

"Listen, Jenny," Harry said, using the nickname that Jennifer hated. "We got a special crowd tonight, so I want you should do something special."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked sarcastically. "Grow an extra tit?"