Loading...Gina felt the man’s firm hands against her waist, felt his body grind against hers, his breath warm on the nape of her neck. She tossed her long brown hair to the side, exposing the soft skin at the side of her throat, and pushed her ass back into him, rolling her hips to the rhythm of the music. She didn’t know who the tall man behind her was, couldn’t quite remember how she came to be dancing with him, but it felt good.
The pulsing, flowing beat of the music, the inhibition of her body dancing, the long, strong fingers against her belly and hips, moving with her as she danced. She felt relaxed, joyous, free in her own skin.
Gina had left her boyfriend, Ben, at home that evening. They had had an argument, the pretext of which she couldn’t remember, but the undercurrent was that Ben didn’t want her going out dancing with her friends. He didn’t like it when he came with them, and he didn’t like her going without him; he wanted her to stay home. Gina had deliberately dressed in sexier clothes than usual – her shortest, pleated tartan skirt with a blue cotton G-string underneath, a black tube top and tall black heels – and had made sure he got a good look as she went out the door. Fuck him.
In truth, Gina didn’t need much reason to dress sexily. She was 24 years old and proud of her looks, her smooth skin the colour of burnt honey and brown almond-shaped eyes, product of her mother’s Filipina heritage; her long legs and slender profile thanks to her Scandinavian father. Her body was all her own work though; she knew she had a great ass, small but rounded and firm from countless hours in the gym, sitting atop her shapely golden thighs. Her stomach was flat and pinched in at her waist, accentuating her figure despite her narrow hips and shoulders. Her boobs were small but perky, and she liked them now even though as a teenager she had looked into enlargement surgery. Her nipples were sensitive and quick to grow erect, and she often went bra-less, including that night. She liked to flaunt her hard work in sexy clothes, and found the power it gave her intoxicating. She loved to be wanted, lusted after, and it turned her on. To see men’s heads turn as she entered a room, hunger in their eyes, whether predatory or slavish, gave her a feeling of both self-confidence and horniness.
She turned around to face the man dancing with her, to see which kind of eyes he would be wearing. She looked up at him, into his chiselled black face, high cheekbones and shaven head. His eyes were large and dark – definitely on the predatory side, but lizard-like, cold rather than the hot-blooded hunger she was used to. He was certainly attractive. Tall, with strong features and a stoic expression, and he moved well to the music, a long, lean strength to his body that she appreciated. She pursed her lips at him flirtatiously and pressed her chest forward as she danced.
After two more songs, the man spoke into her ear. “How about we get off the dancefloor for a moment?” His voice surprised her, it was deep and low, as she expected from a black man, but he also had a strong French accent. Haiti? Africa? It added a purr to his low voice and he spoke English fluently but slowly, in measured beats. It was a very pleasant effect and added to her growing attraction for the guy. By this point, both their bodies were glowing with a sheen of sweat from the dancing, which had grown sexier, more intimate, and was starting to turn her on. She felt the beginning of dampness in her panties and was glad for the opportunity of a respite. His firm hand guided her through the masses and she looked around for her friends, but couldn’t see them. She wasn’t worried, she wasn’t going to go too far with this guy; as hot as he was, she had a boyfriend and she knew how to handle guys like this.
The couple fought their way to the edge of the dancefloor but rather than head to the bar he pulled her into a secluded area outside the room. She didn’t object, she had drunk enough. Maybe even a bit too much, she admitted to herself, as she stumbled slightly on her heels. The man turned to face her and she pulled herself up to her full height, she wanted to look sexy but also intimidating in her sexiness. She hoped they could stretch this flirting and dancing out quite a bit longer but she also knew she might have to reject him if he overstepped the mark. She hoped he didn’t; she was having fun. The black man smiled at her and pulled her closed to him. “What is your name, beautiful girl?”
“Gina,” she smiled back. “What’s yours?”
“I am called Maurice.” Their bodies were touching now, one on his hands low on the small of her back, gently but firmly pulling her in. The other hand was playing with a strand of her hair. Dangerously close.
“Hey, Maurice, I need to…” He interrupted her with a kiss. His lips slid between hers and she felt his tongue brush her own as their bodies pressed together. He was a good kisser and she felt the dampness between her legs intensify. But she knew she couldn’t let this go on. She put both her hands on his shoulders and pushed their bodies apart.
“Maurice.” She said louder and more assertively. “I need to find my friends.” She had dealt with pushy guys like this before, confident men were more likely to treat a small amount of dancing and flirting as a green light, and more likely to need stern words to desist. Part of her liked this in a man, but she had never once slept with one of these guys from a club and she was proud of it. She was no whore.
Maurice smiled at her again, and never let go of her waist. “Baby, your friends are gone.”
A trickle of fear crept into Gina’s mind for the first time. “What do you mean, gone?”
“I mean, they left. It’s just you and me now. You and Maurice.” He kissed her again, this time his strong hand at her hips moving down over her ass as he ground his body into hers. Again she felt her body respond, and again she knew she had to stop this. She pulled apart for a second time.
“Maurice, stop.” She tried to summon her most authoritative voice but fear and excitement made her breathless. “I need to leave.”
Maurice shook his head, no longer smiling. “You won’t leave. You’re mine now.” And before she could respond he pulled her, more aggressively than before, through a door she had not seen.
Maurice slid in behind her and locked the door behind his back. Gina looked around; they were in a small utility room, like a janitor’s office, with a sink and some dirty implements in the corner. Fear enveloped her mind now. She could hear the sounds of the club through the walls but it was so loud she was certain no one on that side would be able to hear them. Maurice was standing between her and the only exit. She tried to push past him, but he pulled her into him. He was kissing her again, more roughly this time, and his hands were exploring her body, roaming over her hips, her round ass, the backs of her long, smooth bare thighs beneath her skirt, and up to her breasts. She felt her body responding yet again. Despite her mind screaming in alarm, something about the sense of danger and the feeling of the black hands enfolding her was most definitely turning her on. Even as she pressed her palms against him to try to prise herself away, he bit her lip and she felt that her panties were now damp with her juices.
Maurice grabbed a handful of her hair and broke away from the kiss. “You need to be careful, little girl.” His low voice was now full of threat. “This could go very bad for you if you are not nice to me.” Gina froze in terror. What did he mean? It was a threat, no doubt, and he was right. There was no way she could overpower him, no way she could scream for help. “Besides,” Maurice continued, and the hand that was not in her hair was now fondling her breasts through her tubetop. “I think that at least part of you might be enjoying this.” He nipples were rock-hard and poking out through the material of her top. His strong hand moved down from her breasts, ran over her stomach to her skirt. He pulled up the front of her skirt and slid under the waistband over her panties causing her to shake as his fingers touched the slickness of her pussy. She saw him smile at the wetness he felt down there. “I was right. You are very wet. Do I turn you on?” He pulled her closer to him again and his long black fingers began moving up and down along the length of her slick pussy, sending small thrills up inside her.
Gina’s felt her cheeks burn pink with shame and embarrassment. Here they were in this dirty storage closet, this stranger of a black man was manipulating her body, playing with her pussy, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Worse, a small part of her did not want it to stop. Something about his touch was different to anything she had ever felt before. The fear running through her body like electricity, firing every nerve ending, the way his strong grasp moved her around, the wrongness of his uninvited fingers touching her down there all combined with the warm intoxication of the alcohol to make her body more sensitive, more excited than she had ever felt.
Maurice’s fingers began tracing small circles around her clit, and Gina let loose a tiny, unintentional gasp. Maurice used the hand still holding her hair to pull her face up to look at him. “It is good that you have stopped fighting. There can be pleasure in this for you too, if you please me.” Slowly, he slid his hand out from under her panties and Gina’s body gave an involuntary shudder of disappointment. He released his grip on her hair too. Gina momentarily thought about making a run for it, but he still stood between her and the door. She was trapped, and he would make it worse for her if she made an unsuccessful move for freedom at the wrong time. Then she heard his voice again in her ear.
“Get on your knees.”
Gina hesitated. She knew she had to play along until she saw an opportunity, but to be on her knees with this black man in front of her would limit her mobility, any escape would be compromised. More importantly, to her subconscious brain, she would be submissive. It would be the final admission that she was not in control of this situation.
Maurice placed both hands on her shoulders and spoke in a low growl. “I will not ask again. Get down on your knees.” Gina dropped slowly down under the weight of his hands, feeling the cold concrete floor against her bare flesh. Her eyeline was now level with his crotch. She felt her teased pussy pulse under her skirt. She could now see clearly the huge bulge of his erect cock against his trousers. Fear flooded through her in a new wave, making her skin prickle with goosepimples.
“Unzip me, like a good little whore.”
The shock of the words hit her like cold water to the face. It wasn’t enough that he was going to assault her, do God-knows-what to her – maybe even rape her, if she couldn’t get away in time – but he was going to humiliate her with his words too, and make her take an active role in all this? She looked up at him, wide-eyed and pleading, but when she met his eyes they were still cold and did not yield. She reached for his trousers, feeling another twinge under her skirt as her arm brushed against the enormous bulge. She undid his belt and unzipped his trousers slowly, all the while looking up at him, hoping that he would come to his senses, feel mercy or remorse or pity, whatever it took to make him stop what he was doing.
“That’s a good little slut. I will train you yet.” Maurice’s voice seemed pleased, with a faint hint of amusement. “Now pull my cock out.” Gina’s cheeks burned again with shame. She did as she was told, silently reaching into his underpants until she felt… Jesus Christ.
Gina had never slept with a black man before, but she was no prude and knew from rumour and from porn that they were, on average, more well-endowed than white men. But her boyfriend had a big cock, or so she had thought, and she never really felt like size mattered much except in the minds of men, and therefore as an important tool to manipulate them when neeed. But the monster that her fingers closed around was like nothing she had ever touched. He couldn’t get her thumb and fingers to meet around it, it must have been three times the thickness of her boyfriend’s, and it felt hard and smooth beneath her fingers, like polished hardwood. She struggled to free Maurice’s manhood from his jeans, but when she did her jaw dropped open. It fell millimetres from her nose, the dark rich brown colour of rosewood, and at least twice as long as her boyfriend, Ben’s.
Fear began to numb the back of Gina’s mind at the same time as anticipation sent a new spurt of wetness between her thighs. For the first time, she began pleading. “Please, I can’t… you’re too… don’t make me. Don’t do this! I have a boyfriend, please, let me go.”
Maurice tilted his head, considering her. “You have a boyfriend? And yet you come out without him, dressed up like that? You dance on me, grind on me, kiss me back when I kiss you. And now you ask me to stop? No, my whore, I do not think so. I think this boyfriend cannot give you what you really want.”
Gina looked at him aghast, looked long into his cold dark eyes, and felt something inside of herself rumbling. She looked down again at his manhood, the shocking size of it almost comical sticking out from his jeans, and she seemed to grow numb. Her panic subsided. She felt a stirring deep, low down within her belly, and she felt a heat radiating up within her from between her legs. The slickness in her panties began to leak down between the tops of her thighs.
“Now, open your mouth.”
As if in a trance, Gina did as she was told. She slowly parted her full lips until her mouth made a small ‘O’ shape.
Maurice ran his hand through her hair and let it settle behind the crown of her head. He pulled her slowly towards him and guided the head of his cock between her parted lips. Gina wrapped her lips around his enormous cock, unasked, but he didn’t stop as she had anticipated, instead continuing to force himself further in, inside her throat. Gina could barely believe she could fit this monster inside her mouth, and soon her jaw and the muscles of her throat were working desperately to suppress her gagging and accommodate him. A small trickle of saliva ran from the corner of her mouth down her pretty chin before Maurice pulled back. The relief was momentary, as he immediately forced her head back down on his cock, and soon he was thrusting in and out, fucking her beautiful face.
Gina couldn’t believe the state she was in, a beautiful, strong woman, kneeling on the floor as this black man used her throat like his plaything. The lips she kissed Ben with were wet with saliva, wrapped around this stranger’s cock, her own spit running down her pretty face, leaving dark stains on her top between her breasts. But even more upsetting to her was the way her body was responding to this violation. As Maurice moved his cock in and out of her mouth, her body was becoming even more excited. Soon, she could think of nothing else, not even the ache in her jaw. Her pussy was on fire, and she could feel her juices soaking through her blue cotton panties. She was so horny, if only she could get some pressure, some release. What was happening to her? She had never been turned on by sucking cock before. She did it occasionally for Ben and liked the pleasure it gave him, but the thought of a woman enjoying it for her own sake was alien to her. Yet the wrongness of what was happening to her, the feeling of those black fingers in her hair, the taste and smell of him, the roughness with which he was treating her, was turning her on like she had never felt.
Her hands were resting on the floor in front of her, between her knees like a dog in a sitting position. And slowly, without her thinking it, seemingly of its own accord, her right hand raised up. It moved up between her thighs, under her skirt, bunching the front up around her waist, and slid down between the front of her drenched panties and her smooth, slick skin. Her hand began rubbing against her soaked pussy, and her body responded against the cock invading her throat. Stiffening, she let out a soft moan on the cock in her mouth, barely audible over the wet slopping sounds of Maurice fucking her throat. What was happening to her? She had her hand in her panties and was playing with herself like a slut as this man used her, violated her, raped her. But it felt oh so, so good. The pressure was building in waves through her body. Nearly there, just a little mo…
“What are you doing?”
Maurice pulled his cock from her mouth with a wet “schhlockk” sound and Gina froze, her mouth open, her right hand uselessly static inside her panties.
“Are you fingering yourself?” Gina couldn’t tell if he sounded angry or amused and she looked down, avoiding his eyes, desperately ashamed.
“Look at me.” he ordered, and when she didn’t comply he slapped her across the face. Not hard really, but enough that the sound and the stinging of her cheek shocked her and raised a new blush of humiliation to her face. No man had ever treated her like this.
She looked up into his big, dark brown eyes and he repeated his question: “Were you fingering yourself while you sucked my cock, slut?”
Gina wanted to die of embarrassment and shame, but the stinging in her cheek demanded a response and she whispered to the floor, “Yes.”
“Call me master when you answer.”
She stared up at him, agape. She wasn’t going to… he couldn’t actually expect…
“Little girl, if you want to put your fingers in your pussy as I fuck your mouth, I will let you.” His low voice rumbled through her ears. “But you will have to ask your master’s permission first.”
Gina’s face burned hotter than before, and her pussy responded by throbbing against her wet hand. Deep down, she felt something inside her was enjoying this humiliating treatment, craved it even. It turned her on. But that very knowledge only amplified her shame. She could not let her rapist know.
“Of course, if you do not want to ask your master, that is okay. We will continue as before. But I will need you to pull your hand out of your panties.”
Gina looked down at her right arm buried up underneath her skirt, fingers against her throbbing pussy, then up at the huge ebony cock that still stood inches from her face, glistening with the saliva that also covered her mouth and chin. She felt the waves of pleasure now subsiding agonisingly within her.
“Please” she whispered, “please let me…” She trailed off.
“Please what, slut? You will to have to do better than that.”
Gina looked up at him with wide, begging eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words but her pussy was burning up, her body needed relief. Her hand shook gently inside her panties, desperate to start rubbing again and provide the pressure she needed.
Her lips formed the words even as the rational part of her mind fought them, was horrified by them. “Please… please master. Can I… can play with my pussy, while I suck your cock?”
He only smiled in response, but her fingers were already moving against her sodden pussy and she moaned as he shoved that big black cock back between her lips.
The wet sounds started again as he thrust in and out of Gina’s throat, and her body went into overdrive. Her back arched, her fingers rubbing faster, harder, now solely circling her clit, sending waves of pleasure rushing through her body. She was moaning with each of his thrusts in her mouth now, and could feel the pressure building up inside her. She was going to come as this man raped her mouth, she felt it, it sickened her and yet this turned her on even more, pushing her over the edge.
He body stiffened and she let out a longer, louder moan, that would have been a scream but for the cock still filling her mouth. Her hips bucked involuntarily, pushing her pussy forward against her fingers as the waves of pleasure crashed over her.
Deep in the back of her mind, in the place that ashamed her, she wished Maurice would have come then in her mouth too, so that they would come together. She hated herself for the thought.
As her orgasm subsided, Maurice pulled out of her mouth again, this time thin strands of spittle following him, connecting Gina’s lips to his cock like chains.
“You really are a filthy little whore.”
His words stung and Gina opened her lips to protest. “N-no, I…”
“How can you deny it? You let me use your throat like my toy. It turned you on so much that you fingered yourself to orgasm. I watched you come as you sucked my big, black cock. All while your boyfriend waits at home.”
Gina looked down in despair. What he was saying was true, she had no way to deny it. She had gotten off on this black man forcing her, pushing her to her knees and using her like his tool, his slut. Was he right, did that make her a whore? Her pussy twitched again.
“Don’t worry though, my little slut. You’re not just any whore. You’re my whore.”
Ridiculously, these words seemed to raise something within Gina, as if throwing a narrow lifeline within her tormented psyche. She looked up at him, hating him and wanting more at the same time.
Maurice lowered his voice. “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Gina hesitated, but her desire was overtaking the logical part of her mind. She nodded slowly.
“First, you must say it. Say you are my filthy little whore. Then I will put this cock inside you and make you feel the things your boyfriend never could.”
Gina closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe the audacity of the man standing in front of her. No man had ever treated her like this, least of all Ben, who she kept on a tight leash. She had never been dominated and humiliated the way this man was doing, and most upsetting of all was the way he demanded that she contribute to her own degradation. But it excited her, excited and confused her, because she knew what Maurice was saying was at least partly true. And after sucking his giant cock, after cumming against her fingers for him, part of her desperately did want to feel him inside her.
“Please… please fuck me.”
“First, tell me what you are.”
“Oh god, please don’t make me.”
“Tell me what you are, or I will kick you out of this room. It make no difference to me; I have other whores.”
There it was, her opportunity. She didn’t even need to run, or to fight him, he was offering her a way out. Her rational mind yelled to take it, but it was as if she was trapped behind a glass window, no longer in control of her body. Instead…
“Oh god, I’m… I’m a whore.” Her voice was dry and cracked, barely even a whisper. She couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth.
“Not good enough”. Maurice was merciless. He wanted Gina’s full acknowledgement of her own disgrace.
“I’m your whore. Your filthy little whore. Please fuck me.” Gina was begging now, pleading from her knees.
Maurice reached down under her armpits and lifted her up standing with remarkable strength. He kissed her roughly and deeply on the mouth, turning her on even more. “I love to hear you say that.”
He twisted her around her and grabbed her hip with one black hand from behind, as he had when they were dancing. This time though, she felt his other firm palm between her shoulder blades, pushing her upper body forwards and downwards until she leant over the low sink. She was horizontal now, her ass in the air pointing up at him and to her humiliation she arched her back involuntarily, offering herself to him.
He laughed low at her body’s unrequested movement, and lifted the back of her skirt up over her ass cheeks, bunching it around her waist. Her beautiful round ass, product of all those gym hours, was staring up at him, naked and exposed but for her tiny blue G-string. He tucked two of his long fingers under the damp gusset of her blue panties and pulled them to the side.
He whistled. “Look at what we have here. I knew you were wet, whore, but I had no idea.”
Gina squirmed with embarrassment at his words, as she could feel her wetness against the inside of her thighs and knew again that part of the humiliation came from their undeniable truth. She wished he would touch her, rub her, fuck her, something. But he seemed intent on feasting his eyes on her first, bent over and open for him like the whore he kept calling her. That she had called herself.
“Your juices are running down your legs, little girl. It’s like a river back here.” She cringed at this; ‘little girl’ sounded worse to her ears even than ‘whore’ – it made her feel helpless and perverse. She concentrated and could indeed feel small droplets trickling down the inside of her bare thighs. Maurice reached down and touched her naked flesh, letting a single bead of wetness roll over his finger, then picked it up and placed it into her mouth. She sucked on it wantonly, tasting her own pussy.
“Reach back and open your pussy lips for me whore.” Gina squirmed again but did as he bid her, reaching a hand between her legs and pulling her labia apart with her index and middle fingers.
“Now, say it again.”
She knew what he meant. This time, it came easier. “Please master. I’m your whore. Please fuck me. Please.”
Maurice smiled as he looked down at this beautiful young girl; she had seemed so proud and sure of herself at the start of the night, dancing with him, attempting to tease him. Now here she was, her face covered in spittle, her long, golden brown legs straight and her tight round ass sticking up at him as she bent over the sink, spreading her wet pussy with her fingers, calling herself his whore and begging him to fuck her. He loved the power he had over her, but even he was slightly surprised at how easily she had submitted to him.
He guided his cock between Gina’s spread labia and she gasped as she felt him gently push at her entrance. He was going slowly and she was soaking wet, but still it felt like his cock would split her open. She felt an overwhelming sensation, a mixture of pleasure and pain that overtook every thought, every other feeling, as he pushed his way inside, millimetre by millimetre, her pussy stretching and slipping against the girth of her intruder. She tried her hardest to think, to relax her muscles, to give her insides every chance to accommodate a cock so much larger than any she had taken before. She moaned unashamedly for the first time as Maurice slipped further inside her, reaching deeper than she had ever felt, her every thought overcome by the feeling of delicious fullness mixed with the pain of her stretched pussy.
His cock was only about halfway in when both of them felt it touch the end of her canal, the entrance to her cervix. Gina gave a little jump that sent a burst of the pleasure-pain mix rolling through her. Maurice pulled slowly back, smiling at the beautiful contrast of Gina’s translucent white juices covering half the length of his black cock. Then, when only the head was left inside her, he began pushing slowly back in.
Gina moved the hand that held her pussy open and placed both hands on the sink in front of her. She was in rapture. The slow fucking was from necessity but it made it seem that she could feel every bump, every vein and skin imperfection of his mammoth cock as it slid along the stretched walls of her insides. As Maurice sped up his thrusts, the pain began to subside and the waves of pleasure began to build inside Gina. That wonderful full feeling grew warmly, and the end of each thrust sent a wave of joy like a tiny starburst behind her eyes. She realised suddenly that she was moaning with every thrust, louder than she ever did. How long had she been doing that? She was never loud in bed, never, but it didn’t matter, all that mattered was that full feeling, that beautiful warmth spreading to her fingers and toes, all that mattered was that he didn’t stop… don’t stop… “Don’t stop, please…”
Maurice looked down at her, almost incredulous at the ease of the control he had over her. Was this beautiful asian woman really begging him not to stop as he fucked her in a dirty utility room of a nightclub? He watched the way her pussy clung to his cock on each back-thrust, the way her body was shaking now, her gasps and moans becoming shorter, quicker.
Gina felt the orgasm building. The rational part of her mind behind the glass screamed in horror and humiliation; she couldn’t come twice for this rapist, she couldn’t.
But that part of her was tiny now, relegated, stuffed deep down within her, all that mattered in this moment was every nerve ending in her body firing, every inch of her skin on fire, that wonderful warmth flooding her mind with the pleasure that only this black cock could bring her.
The orgasm hit hard. Gina began shaking violently and cried out. Her long legs shook so much that Maurice had to be careful his cock did not slip from her as he pounded, faster now, harder and harder.
Gina couldn’t breathe, she was screaming as her body shook and writhed. She was cumming, cumming for her rapist and somehow that thought made the whole act more erotic as her pussy squeezed and clenched and stretched against his giant dick.
As her orgasm subsided, Gina’s conscience seemed to move cautiously to the forefront of her mind again, even as Maurice continued his pounding. What had she done? She had betrayed her boyfriend with this man, this black guy who had forced her into sex with him, and instead of resisting, she had given in to in, gone along with it, even been turned on by it. She had called herself his whore, and had come harder than she ever had for her boyfriend. Ben, her loving boyfriend. Tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes for the first time and her moans were punctuated now with small, pathetic sobs.
From behind her, Maurice noticed the change. He knew the conflict that must be going on inside his victim after she came for him, and he relished her guilt and confusion.
“You are a good little whore, coming on my cock.” He whispered in her ear. “You put on quite a show. Now it is time to give you a present to take home to your boyfriend.”
Gina’s mouth fell open. What did he mean? Why was he bringing her boyfriend into this – hadn’t he taken enough from her? She felt his thrusts speed up in her still-sensitive pussy. Felt him start to breathe harder on the back of her neck. “Oh god, no, please, no, don’t…”
But it was too late, Maurice’s body stiffened and with one final hard slam of his cock he began to shoot his cum inside Gina’s soaking, stretched out pussy.
Gina was crying in earnest now, as her rapist dumped his filthy black seed inside her. It seemed to take forever, each twitch of his cock sending a new guilty spurt of pleasure through her body. When he was finished, Maurice pulled out, wiped his cock on her sodden panties, and pulled them back over the entrance to her pussy, trapping his cum inside her.
He bent down next to the sink and whispered again in Gina’s ear. “You are a good little whore. You will remember that. You’re mine now, your body won’t forget. And your first job as my whore is to take this,” he patted her panty-clad pussy, “back to your boyfriend. Let me know how he likes it.” And with a laugh, Maurice zipped up his jeans, unlocked the door and was gone.
Gina stayed still for several minutes, bent over the sink, skirt around her waist, too scared and numb to move. Her brain seemed unable to process what had just happened, what she had done, what he had done to her. Eventually, slowly, she stood up, smoothed out her skirt and pushed open the utility room door.
Gina had no idea how she got home. She was in a daze, walking on autopilot, unaware of where she was going and what she was doing. She assumed that she had got a taxi but she couldn’t remember it. When she got to her front door and put her keys in the lock, Ben met her at the door. She collapsed into his arms. He was shocked, but held her tight and began caressing her hair. He assumed she had had too much to drink. He held her for a while, asking her if she was okay.
Gina suddenly felt an outpouring of love for her boyfriend. What had they even fought about? Here he was, willing to take care of her, no matter what. She raised her head and kissed him passionately. He reacted with surprise, but then relaxed and began to kiss her back. He thought perhaps Gina leaving him at home while we went out drinking with her friends wouldn’t mean the night was a complete bust, after all. She felt his hands beginning to gently explore her body; it was nice. Then, as his hand crept down the front of her stomach, she felt it. A pool of wet stickiness inside her panties. As suddenly as she had kissed Ben, she pushed him away and ran to the bathroom. She heard him call after her but she slammed the bathroom door and locked it behind her, ignoring him.
She slipped off her high heels and slowly pulled down her panties. She saw it immediately laying there, white and glistening in her panties, the pool of the stranger’s filthy cum that had dripped out of her own pussy. She held the panties up closer to her; there was so much cum inside them, more she was sure than Ben ever came. Shit. She needed to get rid of her panties. She needed to flush them. She moved towards the toilet, but… But. She looked again, closer at the pool of cum on the crotch of her panties and something shifted inside her, a feeling similar to the one she had felt earlier. She froze. Her own voice was screaming inside her head, to throw the filthy panties into the toilet and flush them away forever, but she looked down at the pearlescent white against the dark blue cotton and the only move she made was to bring them closer to her face.
She heard Maurice’s voice too, and an echo of her own whisper, I’m a filthy whore… your whore. The voice in her head was still screaming, no, you can’t, this is vile, disgusting, your boyfriend is outside, banging on the door, but it was behind the glass again. As if in a trance, transfixed by the sight, she brought the panties closer until they were an inch from her face. She could smell the dirty aroma now, and the thing in her belly shifted again. Her tongue moved slowly out until she tasted the white liquid. Her rapist’s seed. Her master’s seed? Her tongue scooped up a small amount and swallowed as that voice in her head screeched, now wordlessly, unheard. Her tongue moved out again, and all she could taste and smell was sex and heat and her own delicious humiliation. She knelt there in her bathroom, licking and eating her rapist’s filthy cum from her blue cotton panties. Her hand moved between her thighs…