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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
o  	The 'Bookshelf collection' offers a very wide variety of  o
o  stories. They have been submitted by people from all over the  o
o  world.  Also from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups).   There is no  o
o  particular  order  other than offering them to you in  alpha-  o
o  betical directories.                                           o
o   	Lest we forget!!!   This story was produced as adult en-  o
o tertainment and should not be read by minors.   Kristen         o
o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o


Debbies's Date Rape (MMF rape)
by: rd dragon


The following is a true story told to me by a close friend from work. She
has had quite an adventurous and sometimes painful sexual life. She shared
this story with me as a reminder that although rape can be an exciting
fantasy, when it actually happens to you, it's not the turn-on you might
expect. Only the names have been changed... etc.



Back when I was younger, I had a fantasy about how it would feel to be
taken forcibly by a group of men. I'm a petite blonde, 5'2" and 110
pounds. At the time of this story, I was 20 years old, and had experienced
some good sex and a little great sex. I had a submissive streak in me,
though, and my rape fantasy bubbled to the surface every once in a while.
The story I'm about to tell is about how I came to be rid of that
fantasy forever, and I'll tell it from my point of view, twenty years
ago.

I was visiting my sister out in California, taking a break from both Junior
College and work to come out and see the sights, and to get a first-hand
look at the lifestyles in L.A.

I had been with a few men before, and was always eager for sex, even so
much so that frequently I would test my partner's stamina and re-cycle
time. This perceived need for more continuous stimulation was what drove
me to think about getting gang-banged from time to time. What I didn't
realize is how degrading and mechanical such an experience could be.

One night, I went out to a club not far from my sister's place. She had
begged off coming with me, with an excuse about it being a weekday night,
too tired from work, and the need to be in to work early tomorrow.
I called her a party pooper, but she said "You're on vacation, so you can
sleep in, while I can't. Why not just run out by yourself?" It sounded like
a practical idea at the time. But it was a Big Mistake.

I put on a bright red crepe dress, cut short above the knee with a pretty
pleated skirt. It was nice and soft and fluid, and draped beautifully over
my breasts and hips. I wore just pantyhose and a smooth bra underneath,
since the material clung a bit and would show a panty line for sure. Even
my sister said I was looking good.

Anyway, at the club, the action was great. Lots of guys looking over a lot
fewer girls, good music, cheap drinks and a big dance floor. My kind of
place. I had hardly sat down when I was approached for a dance, and when I
returned I found that three different drinks were delivered to my
spot by wanna-be admirers. This was looking like a fun night.

A group of three handsome, obviously well-to-do guys took a big interest
in me, and spent their time paying close attention, switching off dancing
with me until I begged to sit and rest, and buying me more drinks than I
could possibly consume. I kinda liked being the center of attention for
three cute guys, and I teased them all a little with my talk and my hot
dancing.

As the night wore on, it was obvious that these three guys were a team,
and were not going draw straws or something to see who had to leave and
who got to stay with me. That was OK by me, since they were all fun to
talk to and dance with, and they kept me busy with all of their attention.
Finally, it was last call and we were about to part and head our own ways,
when Brad asked if I needed a ride or something. The club was only about
six blocks from my sister's apartment, but I had walked over (no car) when
it was still light out, and would now have to walk back in the
dark, slightly tipsy. Getting a ride with them sounded safer than the
alternative of walking back alone, so I said yes. Another Big Mistake.

We walked out together, and Brad and John led me, arm-in-arm, to their
car. It was a four-door Beamer, red, and Steve and John climbed in front,
while Brad held the door open for me on the driver's side rear. As we
drove out of the parking lot, I began to give directions to my sister's
place, but they turned the other way. When I protested, they said they
knew an after-hours private club where we could pick up where we left off,
and that it was not far away. I pressed them to just take me home, but
Steve just drove faster and didn't even acknowledge my protesting.

We stopped for a light, and I opened the door to get out. But I was
stopped cold by Brad's huge hand around my arm, pulling me back into the
car. "Let me go, please!" I said with a stern attitude, but he just
dragged petite little old me across the seat and onto his lap. I could feel
that he was hard, and could sense the excitement in his tone of voice. I
was, as I said, a bit tipsy, and that little submissive fantasy light went
on in my head. Here I was, with three cute guys in a nice car, and they want
to take me somewhere. I wondered how it would feel to take them all, one
by one, and have my multi-orgasmic appetite satisfied once and for all. So
I quit protesting and turned around on Brad's lap and straddled
him, giving him a big, wet kiss. Another big mistake (who ever said that
whiskey makes you frisky was both a prophet and a bastard).

Brad quickly got the message, and said "That's more like it, baby." I slid
off of him, back onto the seat. He held me close and told me how beautiful
I looked, and how he and his friends were so taken with my charm and
beauty, and how they all just wanted to spend a little more time with me,
drinking and dancing. I should have known that I was being schmoozed, but
my radar was just out of order or something. We pulled into a parking lot
of another club, and got out. It looked like their
after-hours club story was legit, so I wasn't on the defensive and was, in
fact, eager to get inside where there were other people. Stupid Mistake.

Steve led the way, and unlocked the door, holding it open for the rest of
us. I couldn't hear any music or people inside, and I began to get this
cold. clammy feeling that they were up to something that I hadn't planned
for. Steve locked the door behind us, and left the lights off, so that only
the light from a couple of beer signs behind the bar dimly lit the entire
club area.

I said, "This place doesn't look like it's open for business or anything,"
They all just laughed, and Brad said that it sure was, and that I was going
to find out first-hand. I struggled out of Brad's grasp, and ran for the
door. Locked. They walked over to me and Brad scooped me up in his arms
and carried me over to the pool table. Now I was getting excited, mostly
because I was scared, but a little because I thought I knew what they were
going to do, and I had this fantasy.....

Brad gently laid me down on the table, and I tried to get up, talking loud
now about just what was going on here or something. Brad held my legs,
Steve held my arms, and John reached into his coat pocket for something.
He brought out a small bottle of something, opened it, and shoved some up
my nose. I snorted it back out quickly, and thought, "Are they trying
to get me high on coke or something?" I never did any coke, and didn't
know how it should have felt. My rejection of the stuff made John angry,
and he got some more of the substance out of the bottle, covered my mouth,
and stuffed it up my nose again. I struggled and squirmed, trying
to break free or shake the stuff from my nose, but eventually I had to
breath, and I took the whole load up my nose in the process.

I immediately went limp. My mind buzzed as I felt completely detached from
my body. I couldn't even move a muscle, and I couldn't feel a thing.
No touching, no pain, but complete awareness of my surroundings. I thought
I had died or something, but I was still breathing. They put some
more of the stuff in my nose, and my involuntary breathing reaction sucked
it up into body. Steve said, "That oughta be enough to keep her down."
Then they started in on me.

I couldn't even move my eyes, but I could see from my side vision that
they had lifted the skirt of my dress up to my waist, and were taking off
my pantyhose. I could see them moving my legs to get the stockings off,
but I couldn't feel a thing. It was almost like watching a movie or
something.

I couldn't see clearly, but one of them (I think Brad) dropped his pants
and was obviously trying to work his way into me. He got on top, but I
couldn't even feel the pressure from his weight. I could see myself moving
up and down in rhythm with his motion, and I could smell his perspiration
and beer breath. He pounded my pussy for a few minutes, and made a
grunting noise that indicated that he had came. The next one, I think it
was Steve, took his place and did the same thing, pumping
me, then grunting. The last one, John, wanted it a bit differently, so he
grabbed me by my waist and lifted me up in the air and down onto his cock.
While holding me at the hips, he worked me on and off his dick, and I
could hear the slurping sound as my now cum-drenched pussy took him in
again and again. Still, I could only hear and see peripherally, and
it was totally weird that I couldn't feel a thing. Completely numb. I
couldn't even blink, and my eyeballs were hurting because they were
getting all dried out.

After they were done, it sounded like they got a round of beers from the
cooler and were winding down. I could hear them comment on how tight and
hot I was, and how wet I got. John said that the way he worked me on and
off him was a lot like getting a great hand-job, and they laughed
and said he oughta know about that, him being his own best sex partner
and all.

After the finished, they picked me up and carried me back out to the car.
We began driving again, and quickly wound up back at the first club. They
carried me out of the car, and sat me up on the side of the club, just
outside the door on the sidewalk. They said thanks for the wonderful time,
and told me that the stuff would wear off soon and I could be on my
way.

I sat alone for what seemed to be an eternity, then I began to twitch
involuntarily. This made me loose my balance against the wall, and I slid
down into a doubled-over laying position. After a few more minutes, I
could feel the prickly sensation coming back to my arms, legs and skin. I
could move now, and I crawled a little to a post, then used it to get me on
my feet. I could now feel everything, and I could tell I was sore and
bruised all over. Slowly, I walked one step at a time back towards my
sister's apartment.

My ability to walk smoothly returned quickly, and I nearly ran the rest of
the way to her place. I pounded and pounded on the door, and my sister,
Jean, opened it up in near panic. After the expected "Oh my God's" and
"What happened to you?" she said we needed to call the police. I thought
the same thing for a minute, then hesitated. Here I was, a good looking
girl from out of town, went to a pick-up bar by herself, seen drinking and
dancing with these men for several hours, and left voluntarily with them.
No last names, no license plate, no witnesses to what they did to me, and
apparently no witnesses when they dropped me back off. Not a real good set
of facts or circumstances for a Grand Jury to ponder.

So, I talked Jean out of calling the cops, and agreed to see her ob/gyn the
following morning. He was very nice and understanding, and said that I had
been probably been drugged by PCP, some sort of animal tranquilizer that
has the weird effect of leaving the body completely numb but completely
aware. He said that I had some bad abrasions and a few bumps and bruises,
especially where I was grabbed around the hips, but that I would be OK in
a few days. He gave me a prescription for some pain killer, and an
antibiotic just in case.

I spent the remainder of my California vacation just sleeping and gazing
dazily at the TV. I was still in a half-trance when Jean drove me to the
airport, and I slept soundly on the plane. I awoke when we touched back
down, and as I walked to the baggage claim, it all seemed just like a bad
dream, that it really didn't happen after all, but was some freakish
nightmare. I was back home now, and I could put the bad dream behind me.

Well, I spent the next few months hanging out with friends after school or
work, and never did get the desire back to do some of the lone bar-
crawling that I used to do. I guess I'm very lucky that I came through it
all with no permanent damage, either physically or mentally. I do have a
heightened sense of awareness and suspicion about new-found friends, and
I'm cured of doing stupid stuff like getting a ride back home from
near-strangers. I also never, ever wish for my old fantasy of a gang-bang,
since I now know that without the caring and sharing that goes along with
making love, screwing is just a mechanical act.