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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2007.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
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Rage
By Jack Tompson (violenturges@hotmail.com)

***

A white teenage girl is sexual abused by a black man. 
But in the end she finds her way to avenging his 
wrongdoing. (M/f-teen, nc, rp, intr, v, sn)

***

I walked into a bar with some friends. It was a sleazy 
kind place, in a sleazy part of town. Not the kind 
place that my friends and I ever went to, but we had 
been to a show in the area.

We ordered our drinks, and then I heard him.

That voice, that cruel laugh. It was burned deep into 
my mind, far too deep to ever forget.

***

I had only been 16 years old, I was on my bicycle 
coming home from my dance class. My next memory was 
waking up on the floor in the back of a van, a pain on 
my head where I had been struck. My hands were tied to 
my ankles behind my back, there was something stuffed 
in my mouth. I couldn't move, and my screams made no 
sound.

The van stopped, the engine and lights were turned off, 
and the man came into the back.

He was large and black. He was grinning maniacally. 
There was a bulge in his trousers as he looked down on 
me, helpless.

He laughed then, that cruel laugh.

***

"Let's get out of this place." I said to my friends, 
and we all left together. I gave them the slip within a 
couple of minutes, and doubled back to the sleazy bar.

I went to the table. My palms were sweaty, my pulse 
pounding in my ears as I confronted him.

He wasn't as huge as I remembered. His shoulders and 
arms were powerful though, the bulging muscles of a 
lifter.

He looked up at me. There was no recognition on his 
face.

"And what can I do for you, sweetheart?"

If you didn't know him, if you didn't know that this 
was not a human being at all, but a monster, then you 
could be fooled by the apparently open, honest smile.

***

He untied me, but did not remove the tape from my 
mouth. When I lifted my hands to do so, he struck me 
hard across the face with an open palm, throwing me 
down into the corner of the vehicle. He lifted me by my 
hair, and struck me again across the face from the 
other side.

His eyes were bulging with excitement as he tore the 
clothes from my innocent virgin body.

My attempts at resistance only succeeded in furthering 
his obscene passion.

***

I sat down with him and his two friends at the table. I 
had a beer with them, and flirted with my rapist. He 
put a dark hand on my white thigh, and grinned at me. I 
wondered if it was possible for him to enjoy sex 
without violence, or if he intended to beat me up again 
first.

***

After he had enjoyed himself punching and kicking me, 
he told me to lie down and spread my legs. He kneeled 
down next to me, and squeezed my breast cruelly while 
pushing the thumb of his other hand into my vagina.

***

I didn't want to spend too long in the bar. I put my 
hand on his knee and asked him if he could take me to 
his place.

I was surprised that he owned a fairly late model car. 
Somehow, I had imagined that he was poor.

***

The least brutal thing he did to me was the actual 
sexual act. Although the humiliation of it was worse, 
the pain was less than the beating.

He put something around my head, and a bit between my 
teeth. He pulled his penis from my vagina, and stuffed 
it into my mouth. Somehow my teeth were held apart, and 
he could pleasure himself without me being able to bite 
it off.

***

We arrived at his apartment. Rather upper middle-class. 
I removed my clothes, everything. I folded my clothes 
and put them on a high shelf. He sat and watched me, 
enjoying the show. As he bent down to unlace his shoes, 
I kicked him in the head.

***

"I'm gonna kill you, bitch." He said to me, as he once 
more fucked me on the floor of the van. "First I'm 
gonna fuck you, and when I'd done, I'm gonna kill you, 
and put your body where no one will ever find it. Your 
mama and your daddy will never even know what happened 
to their little white bitch."

I could see how he enjoyed the panic in my eyes. He 
held me by the hair, smashing my head against the floor 
of the van while he ejaculated.

***

He looked up at me in shock, trying to focus. I kicked 
him again, in the nose, breaking it. Blood squirted. I 
felt intense joy.

***

I was only saved by the greatest of luck. Someone was 
walking through the woods at night where my rapist was 
digging my grave. I was still alive, tied up and 
unconscious. Like the bully he was, my rapist fled.

***

He stood, to my surprise. Anger was flashing from his 
eyes almost as powerfully as the blood was exiting his 
nose. He raised his powerful arms, and charged at me.

***

I awoke once more, this time in a hospital, my family 
by my bedside.

The pain in their faces was greater than the pain in my 
body.

My physical recovery took months. My mental recovery 
was more difficult.

I no longer went to dance class. I could no longer face 
the boy I had been seeing; for he was colored. I, who 
abhorred racism, was now panicked every time I saw a 
black man.

***

I punched him in the face. I don't have great punching 
power. So I punched him five times. Despite the agony 
he must have felt, he succeeded in grasping my other 
wrist. I slid my naked leg between his, hooked his 
foot, and pulled. He landed on the floor like the bag 
of shit that he was.

I kicked him in the balls six or eight times.

***

My father enrolled me in the most violent martial art 
that was available; wing chun. It is especially suited 
for women, emphasizing speed and accuracy above raw 
power. I mastered it after only five years of training 
five times a week for two or three hours each time.

***

I looked into my rapist's eyes. I still saw no 
recognition. I searched in my soul, examining myself, 
curious to know if I felt even the slightest pity. If 
it was there, I failed to find it.

I crushed his larynx with the edge of my foot, and 
watched as his eyes bulged, and the life slowly drained 
from his body. I wondered how many he had raped and 
killed. How many lives he had destroyed for his brief 
moments of sexual gratification.

I carefully cleaned his blood from my body, took my 
clothes down from their safe position, and dressed.

***

It barely made the news, it got three inches on page 
four of the paper. My therapist is surprised at my 
suddenly accelerated recovery. The dreams have almost 
stopped, and I may even be able to pass black men on 
the street without struggling to hold down the panic 
one day soon. But I know that the happy innocence I 
enjoyed before the attack is lost forever.

Comments to; violenturges@hotmail.com

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 49