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Subject: {ASSM} Raping Sally Madison {Innocentia} (M+F rape)
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Date: Mon, 02 Jul 2007 09:10:02 -0400
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Author: Innocentia
Title: Raping Sally Madison
Summary: This story is about the repeated violation of a teenaged girl.
Keywords: nc, rape

About the Author: I'm a 26 year old woman who has fantasized about rape
since I was little.  Although the story is written from the point of view
of one of the attackers, for me the erotic charge is in imagining myself
as Sally.  If you like this story and would like to read a sequel, let me
know.  If you are a man who has rape fantasies, I'd like to hear about
what you'd do if you had a pretty girl helpless for your abuse.  This is
all strictly in the realm of fantasy, of course.

*****

The first time I ever raped Sally Madison, I was fourteen, and so was she.
 It was our last year of junior high school.  The girls were filling out,
and us boys were getting interested, but dating was something awkward that
mostly happened via notes passed from hand to hand.  I'd never done more
than kiss a girl, but I thought about more, in my bed at night.

I was walking home that afternoon with my friend Jake, taking a shortcut
that went through the woods behind the softball field, when we heard
noises--a girl's soft whimpering.  We veered off the path to check it out
and came across a sight that seared itself instantly in my brain.  It was
Sally, lying on her back in the pine needles.  Her glasses were lying on
the ground beside her.  The white button-up blouse to her school uniform
was undone, and her lacy bra had been pulled down to expose her young
breasts and pointed pink nipples.  I'd never paid much attention to Sally
before--she was a quiet and studious girl, always with her head down over
books--and I certainly had never noticed that her breasts had grown as big
as any other girl's in our class, easily a C cup if not a D, while under
her glasses she had a sweet and pretty face.  She usually wore her brown
hair in braids, but one of them had come loose and her hair was spread out
in the dirt.  Her plaid skirt was up around her waist, and her panties had
been shoved in her mouth.  Kneeling over her, working something he held in
has hands in and out of her lightly-furred cunt, was a kid I
recognized--his name was Terrence, and he was a black kid, bussed into our
school from another district.  I'd never talked to him much.  Sally was
whimpering with pain as Terrence violated her with what I could see to be
a thick piece of wood he must have picked up off the ground.

"Jesus Christ!" said Jake.  Jake was a big kid, good at sports, confident
and loud.  He'd always been something of a bully.  The truth was I let him
push me around, because being his friend kept anybody else from picking on
me.  Terrence jumped, and Sally tried to cover herself with one hand,
taking the opportunity to pull the gag out of her mouth at the same time. 
"What the hell?"

"We're just playin'" said Terrence defensively.  "None of your business."

Sally spat out her panties and looked up at us tearfully.  "Don't tell,"
she said.  "Please don't tell."

Jake looked back and forth from the half-naked girl to the defensive
Terrence.  I shifted uncomfortably, the sight of her pale tits and little
pussy making me hard even though I was completely weirded out.  "Playing?"
 Jake repeated incredulously.  "It doesn't look like she likes it much."

Terrence shrugged.  "She won't tell, she never tells."

I found my voice.  "You've done this to her before?"

"Hell yeah," said Terrence.  "Two or three times a week for the past few
months.  When I can catch her."

Tears streaked down Sally's face.  "Don't tell," she whispered again.

Jake considered, and I knew that look on his face.  It meant he wanted to
do something mean to somebody.  Usually when I saw that look I'd try and
find a victim quickly, because otherwise it would be me.  Luckily, this
time, there was a helpless girl right there for the punishing.  "You ever
fucked her?" Jake asked, as if the F-word came naturally, though I knew
his dad would beat him if he ever said it around the house.

"Sure," said Terrence, but he said it too loud and too quick, and I
thought he was lying.  My guess was he hadn't been brave enough to do more
than mess with her, and from the way Sally pulled away and started
buttoning her shirt, I could tell she didn't like the idea.

Jake grinned sardonically.  "Okay," he said.  "Well, we won't tell on you,
but we're gonna fuck her too."

"No," Sally gasped, and started to scramble to her feet, but Jake walked
over and shoved her down again, a hard push that sent her sprawling,
giving me another good look at her bouncing tits and unprotected pussy. 
Jake leaned down and picked up her panties, and without even shaking off
the dirt he shoved them back in her mouth.  "Hold her down," he ordered.

I did as he said, stepping over to them and grabbing Sally's arms.  A
second later Terrence grabbed her legs.  I think neither of us knew
exactly what was going to happen, and we were scared, but we wanted to see
it anyway.  Sally started really struggling, trying to spit out her
panties and making incoherent sounds of protest, but I yanked her arms up
over her head and held them firmly.  Jake unbuckled his belt and pulled
out his cock.  He stepped around Terrence to position himself between her
legs--Terrence let one ankle go, and Sally kicked ineffectively as Jake
pushed apart her knees and lowered himself between them.  "Shut up, I know
you like it," he said.  "You're already a whore for Terrence, now you're
gonna be me and Paul's whore too."

I could tell from the look of despair on the girl's face that she knew she
would be raped, but she never stopped struggling.  The sight of her lithe
body squirming in the dirt as we held her helpless aroused me more than
anything ever had.  I pulled her wrists together so I could hold them with
one hand, and grabbed one of her bouncing tits with the other, sneaking a
look at Jake to see if he objected.  But he smiled.  Her flesh was warm
and soft under my squeezing hand.  Jake grabbed her other nipple and
twisted it cruelly, making her buck and scream.  Then he aimed his cock at
the enterance to her pussy, and, as she made pleading noises beneath her
gag, pushed himself inside her.  I guess she was tight because he grunted
with the effort.

Terrence's abuse must have already torn her hymen, but it clearly still
hurt her as Jake forced his cock into her young cunt.  Jake made an animal
noise of pleasure when he all the way inside, and she lay there sobbing as
he proceeded to take his pleasure from her, enjoying his first fuck and
his first rape with all the brutal enthusiasm of a teenage hoodlum.  In
just a few minutes he shuddered and was still.  When he withdrew, he
tucked himself back in his pants and said, with studied carelessness,
"Alright Paul, your turn."

There was a moment when I knew the right thing to do was stand up and walk
away.  Yes, I had already held her down while Jake raped her, but I still
had a chance to be--not the good guy, but maybe the least of the villains.
 But she was so pretty, lying in the dirt helpless and raped, and Jake was
watching me.  I didn't know if he'd even let me go.

When I let go of her wrists she didn't really try to struggle, just drew
her arms in over her chest and moaned.  Terrence let me take Jake's place
between her legs and, feeling self-conscious, I unbuttoned my fly.  I was
throbbing hard.  I guided my cock into her pussy--it wasn't as difficult
for me, as Jake's assault had left her open, but I was still gratified to
feel her tense beneath me and hear her cry out as I sank into her.  She
felt it, all right.  I was taking her just like Jake had, and I was sure
that in that moment, her world held nothing besides me and what I was
doing to her.  I rode her with a steady rhythm, enjoying her tears of
shame and small little cries of pain, taking all the enormous pleasure
that her pussy had to offer.  I lasted a lot longer than Jake did, and
when I finally exploded into orgasm, it was the best thing I had ever felt
in my whole life.

"Come on, let's go use your Playstation," Jake said impatiently as I stood
up.  So we left Sally there in the dirt, and while we didn't stay to see
what Terrence did with her after that, I have no doubt that he finally
completed his experiments with her, and fully discovered the enjoyment
that can be had from the use of a helpless girl.

Jake and I didn't speak of what had happened in the woods, and the next
day nobody noticed anything different with Sally; she was considered a
nerd, and had few friends among the other girls.  If she flinched away
from us in homeroom, and sat making herself as small in her chair as
possible, well, Sally was always quiet.  I didn't worry that she would
tell on us; she seemed to consider what had happened her own shame, and I
think her worst fear was being found out.

When the halls filled after the last bell had rung, without exchanging a
word, Jake and I lingered at the front door of the school, looking for
Sally.  Terrence nodded when he saw us, and came close enough to say in a
low voice: "Sometimes she tries to get out the side door."  So we went
there, not running, but walking fast, and sure enough: we saw her pelting
down the sidewalk away from the school as fast as her legs could carry
her.  We chased her for a bit, but that afternoon she got away.  It turned
out she lived nearby, and her parents were fundamentalist Christians:
she'd been homeschooled in elementary, and had just joined our school in
the last year.  I guessed that if her parents learned she was no longer a
virgin, she'd be punished harshly.

So it became a game with the three of us, trying to catch Sally after
school before she could make her way home.  On days that she won, we'd go
off and toss a football or watch TV.  On days that we won, we'd drag her
into the woods and rape her.  Terrence and I lacked finesse; mostly we
just stripped off her shirt and panties as quick as we could, and then it
was a race to see who could force their cock in her first.  But Jake was
inventive.  He liked to hurt her in new and subtle ways, liked to see her
tears and hear her begging.  I think he liked the rush of power, and truth
be told, I liked it too.  Jake was the first to propose tying her a tree
and whipping her with our belts, then holding her down and whipping her
across the nipples and pussy.  One day he gathered ants and spiders and
released them on her naked body while we held her, and she screamed and
writhed with terror and disgust.  Jake was the first to bring clothespins
to pinch her nipples with, and while the tears from that torment were
still fresh on her cheeks, he was the first to rape her ass.

In retrospect, it's a testament to her health and stamina that she was
able to take our abuse; three horny teenaged boys, free to enact their
sickest fantasies on her sweet body.  She took our cocks in her mouth,
ass, pussy; her magnificent young titties endured our most inventive
torments; she was forced to grovel before us and beg us for her own
punishment and rape.  To my mind, she grew more beautiful by the
month--certainly more submissive, though our classmates never saw anything
but shyness.  Though we used and degraded her, she never lost the innocent
quality of youth, and never lost so much of her spirit that she stopped
fighting us.  She would run whenever she could, but the chase just made
our victories sweeter.  We didn't realize how many grown men would pay
fortunes to have a sweet schoolgirl at their total mercy like we did, but
I can't say that we didn't fully enjoy our opportunity.

Eventually, of course, we were discovered.  We'd gotten careless, stopped
taking her so far from the school for our fun.  That afternoon we'd just
dragged her into the darkened science lab after everybody had left the
school, and used rope from a clothesline Jake had stolen to tie her to one
of the dissecting tables.  She was gagged, as usual, with her own panties,
and we'd already opened her shirt and loosened her bra to expose her
vulnerable tits, which we so delighted in torturing.  Jake was talking
about all the fun we could have if he could get into the (locked) science
cabinets -- with scalpels and acid, he said, "We could really do a number
on her."  That kind of talk made me uncomfortable.  I'd grown fond of
Sally and I didn't want to see her permanently scarred.  I put a
protective hand on her soft breast, idly pinching and pulling at the
nipple, which made her shudder with revulsion; meanwhile Terrence was
pulling out his cock.

"What are you kids doing?" said a stern voice.  It was Mr. Carver, the
science teacher.  He was a weird guy, a chainsmoker who tried to mask the
smell with some kind of cheap aftershave.  It reacted badly both with the
stale cigarette smell and with his natural B.O., surrounding him with a
repellent stench.  We made fun of that, and of the permanent yellow stains
that appeared on the armpits of his old Oxford shirts.  But in that moment
I've never been more terrified of another human being.

I'd frozen, my hand still grabbing Sally's tit.  I looked at Jake.  Jake
looked at Terrence.  "He started it!" he said.

"We was just playing a game," Terrence muttered.

Mr. Carver strode over to the table and yanked Sally's panties out of her
mouth.  "What's going on here, Sally?" he demanded.

Tears poured from her cheeks.  "Please," she whimpered.  "I just want to
go home.  He--he--he was going to pour acid on my cunny!"

Mr. Carver looked us over dourly.  "I'm afraid this is a matter for the
principal," he said gravely.

None of us knew what to say, but fortunately Sally went into hysterics,
surging and bucking against the ties that still bound her.  She probably
had no idea of how fetching it made her look, titties bouncing as she
struggled helplessly.  Her voice was nearly incoherent through storms of
tears, but she was begging Mr. Carver not to tell anyone.  I didn't miss
the way the his eyes traveled up and down her young, violated body. 
Finally, he said thickly, "You boys had better run along."

Jake and Terrence didn't need to be told twice.  They peeled out of there
without waiting a second to see what would become of each other or of me.

Me, on the other hand, I was worried for Sally.  I felt possessive of the
abused girl.  I dragged my heels leaving the room, worrying about what was
going to happen to her (and me!) if her parents found out about everything
we'd done to her.  Halfway down the hallway, I heard the lab door shut
behind me; I had to know what was going on, so I crept back and peered
through the keyhole.

Mr. Carver was untying Sally and helping her off the table.  He put an arm
around her and stroked her hair as she sobbed against him.  "How long has
this been going on?" he asked her gently.

"M--m--months," Sally hiccuped.  "P--p--please...my parents...they can't
know, they cant!"

"My dear girl," he said.  "Poor dear girl."  His arm moved from her hair
to her back, smoothing her rumpled shirt, and he brought his other hand up
to caress her face.  "You've been letting those boys fuck you for months,
and not told anyone?  I'm afraid that makes you a whore, sweetheart."

She looked at him in horror, and he dropped his hand from her face to her
breast, squeezing her tender flesh.  "You're a dirty, dirty slut, Sally,"
he said in the same soft, even tone.  "It's not really those boys' fault
that you've driven them to this.  It's your fault, honey.  You're a filthy
whore.  You made them do it.  Look what you're making me do right now!"

Sally's face crumpled in misery.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I'm so sorry,
I'll be better, please let me go home."

Mr. Carver palmed one titty, then the other.  "No," he said regretfully,
as if saddened by the sight of Sally so demeaned.  "I'm afraid you must be
punished."

"What are you going to do to m-ahhh!" Sally's small voice broke off as his
fingers clamped around her nipple.

"First I'm going to give you a spanking," Mr. Carver said, "and then I'm
going to give you a raping, but if you're good I won't tell anyone about
it."

Sally assured him tearfully that she would be good, and at his direction
she obediently bent herself over his teacher's desk, hiking her skirt up
around her waist.  Mr. Carver ran his hands over her pert pink bottom,
slipping his fingers into the crack of her pussy.  Then he drew back his
hand to deliver a stinging slap.

He couldn't know, of course, that Sally had become used to much worse
whippings.  I suspected her father also beat her at home, because she
endured even the worst punishment with little more than a helpless
whimper.  Mr. Carver slapped her young ass until it reddened and he grew
tired of the fun.  Then he spread her legs wide, so that she had to stand
on tiptoe to remain bent over his desk.  He unbuckled his belt and pulled
out his cock.

Peeping through the window, I was excited to see how a grown-up would rape
Sally.  I felt I could learn a good deal about how a man uses a girl.  Mr.
Carver paused with the tip of his cockhead pushing into her pussy.  "How
do you feel, Sally?"

Sally just shook her head, too overwhelmed with misery to answer, so Mr.
Carver prompted her.  "Ashamed?"  Sally nodded.  "You should be, whore,"
he hissed.  "Are you hurting?"  Sally nodded vigorously.  "Good," he
whispered.  "I'm going to hurt you more.  Are you scared?"

"Yes!" she sobbed.

This was apparently what he needed to hear, and he thrust himself into her
with one long stroke, wringing a cry of pain from the young girl.  Her
back arched with the agony of his entry.  He grabbed her hair and twisted
it around his hand, keeping her in that arched position, as his other hand
reached around to once again claim her titties.  He fondled her, cock
buried balls-deep in her unwilling pussy, for a long time.  I think he
just wanted her to feel that total invasion, violated from within while he
held her helpless and leisurely molested her body.  "You deserve this," he
told her, in a low hoarse voice.  "I put up with you cock-teases every
damn day.  This should happen to every one of you sluts."  She only
trembled with the pain, breathing in ragged gasps.  Finally he let her
collapse back against the desk as he moved his hands to her hips, holding
her in place as he withdrew his cock from her pussy only to slam into her
again.  He seemed fascinated by the sight of his own veiny cock sinking
into her abused body.  I could tell he was keeping the rhythm slow so as
to prolong her agony.  When he finally gasped and stiffened, I knew he was
spasming his seed into her, and it was time for me to leave.  I crept away
before I could be discovered.

After that Mr. Carver often ordered Sally to see him after class.  We
didn't really mind, because it made her easier to ambush afterwards.  And
after a "session" with Mr. Carver she was always especially pliant and
obedient.  He was very very good at breaking her will, at convincing her
that everything she suffered was her own fault and that the cruel
domination he inflicted on her was somehow for her own good.

I often spied on their sessions; they fell quickly into a pattern.  He
would make a gesture or utter a short word and, knowing what was required,
she would strip for him.  She always kept her eyes downcast in in shame as
she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, allowed her breasts to spill
free of her bra, and kicked her panties down around her ankles.  He
usually let her keep her skirt on, along with her shoes and kneesocks.

Then he would give another short order and she would, slowly, fearfully,
approach him.  He would spend a little time running his hands over her
captive body, fondling her breasts in an almost bored manner: I think what
he liked most was her shivers of fear and shame.  Then he would push her
roughly to her knees, and sometimes draw out his cock, or sometimes force
her to loose his belt and pants.  Sometimes he'd give her detailed
instructions, telling her to lap at his balls with her reluctant tongue,
then suck on his cockhead "like a lollypop".  Or sometimes he'd just grab
his head and fuck her face roughly, making her choke as his cock raped her
throat.

If she was lucky, he'd come then, either spurting down her throat or
withdrawing to aim his come over her face, whispering to her about what a
whore she was.  If she was unlucky, he'd pull out and make her bend over
his table so he could punish her little pink cunt.

Sally had become a sex slave to Mr. Carver, in a way she never had for us,
not even to Jake at his meanest.  She would still fight our every attack
-- not very successfully, but the will to resist was there.  We all
controlled her body, but I envied Mr. Carver his control over her spirit.

The experience of raping Sally shaped me profoundly.  I can only imagine
it shaped her, as well; but at the end of the school year she was sent off
to Bible camp, and then, as it turned out, she ended up going to the high
school across town instead of the one Jake and I attended.  I finally got
my growth spurt, and now that me and Jake were the same size, I stopped
letting him push me around.  With no real reason to remain friends, we
drifted apart--he was a jock, and I hung out with the arty kids.  I made a
punk rock girlfriend: when we fucked on prom night, I lied and told her I
was a virgin too.

I went to college and found a few more relationships.  They were all nice
girls--pretty, smart, independent.  But at night it was never one of them
that I thought about when I jacked off in bed.  I thought about Sally,
about those first perfect experiences.  "Perfect" in that she was so pure
and sweet, and I had done absolutely everything I could imagine to her. 
"Perfect" in the intensity of those moments.  There was something about
forcing her that made it so intimate; my pleasure was her pain, and while
I was mastering her I *knew* she would never forget me.  I wonder if she
had liked me at all, if she had known that I cared for her in a way that
Jake or Terrence or Mr. Carver never did.

As I got older, got a job, a house, even a wife, I always kept Sally in
the back of my mind.  I imagined her growing up, getting a haircut maybe,
putting on five or ten pounds (it would go, I figured, to her ass and
thighs).  I imagined her becoming a nun, or a missionary.  I imagined her
going to some heathen African tribe, where they would see something in her
flinching shyness, recognize something, and the men of the tribe would
savagely rape her.  I would picture them taking her two at a time, dark
cocks sawing into her pussy and ass as she begged for mercy.  I would
pretend my wife was Sally and that her soft moans of pleasure were Sally's
whimpers of pain.

I hated my office job, and my marriage ended in divorce.  "You never pay
attention to me," the wife said, and I guess it was true.  She didn't like
to be tied up, or even held down while I fucked her, and I just kind of
lost interest.

One night, on a whim, I Googled for Sally.  There are a lot of Sally
Madisons, so it took me some time to sort through all the useless family
trees and find the one I wanted.  Her name and photo were on a web page
advertising a dog training business in a city several states away.  She
hadn't become a nun, after all, although I was right that she'd cut her
hair.  She had a thick fringe of bangs and wide-rimmed glasses, like she
was still trying to hide from the world.  Her smile in the photo seemed
tentative and fearful.

My fantasies changed.  No longer was Sally being raped by strangers, but
it was *me* who grabbed her in the dark alley, who brought her back to my
house, and kept her, using her for my every sexual need.  I would inflict
pain when I wanted, but I would also be tender, and she would recognize in
me her natural, her destined master.  It would not take many rapings to
bring out her essential submissiveness.  I would easily enslave her, and
in time she would even come to love me.

I am not sure when the fantasies changed to plans...

-- 
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