From: olifra@mbox.vol.it
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Three  Rape Stories
Date: Mon, 15 Jul 1996 18:42:25 GMT

			       Chantal
		       She still doesn't know.

	Chantal sits cross-legged on my futon, leaning back against
the blue cushions. She hugs my stuffed lion close. Its golden fur
glows in the light of my single working lamp, blending into her
honey-brown skin. Her skin is a legacy of her despised mother, the
fashion model. She isn't as gorgeous as her mother had been, and she
isn't looking her best at the moment, tears running down her face,
dressed in rumpled clothing she's slept in for two days, but she's
still quite beautiful. Not that I'm objective.

	I'm trying to listen to her telling me again just how much
she'd loved Jeff, but even the gallon of chocolate ice cream before us
is starting to lose its appeal as I listen to the story for the
hundredth time, in yet another variation. She's done this before.
Fallen in love, had great sex, realized she had picked a jerk, dumped
him or been dumped. Over and over, always with the wrong guy. It was
only a month or so ago that I'd started to wonder if she were really a
lesbian.

	We'd discussed it before, since I'd come out to her years ago,
but she'd always denied the possibility and changed the topic. She'd
started avoiding my touch then too, giving brief hugs on greeting and
parting and sitting much farther away than she had before. Right now
I'm regretting having a full-size futon, large enough that she can
easily sit out of reach. I'd have to lean way over before I could run
my fingers over those impossibly long brown legs, curving down her
calf to cup her foot in my small hands, gently rubbing her toes. She
starts sniffling again, and I hand her another tissue.

	My heart is beating much too fast, and I can't stop looking at
her, hoping she won't notice it. Time is achingingly slow. I avoid
looking at my watch. Not because she'd think I wanted her to go, oh
no. If it were up to me, I would have her safe in my bed, in my arms
forever.

				 ***

	The doorbell rings. She looks up helplessly.

	"Don't worry, Chantal. I'll get rid of whoever it is. Just
hang on a sec." Her sniffle is quickly smothered in tissues.

	"Who is it?"

	"Domino's delivery."

	"We didn't order any."

	"Hey, I got your pizza right here."

	The voice is muffled by the intercom. "I'd better go down." I
tell her. Huddled there in her huge green flannel shirt, bleached
blond hair falling across her face, she is so much a child.

	Down the half flight of stairs, the man in the crisp white
shirt stands holding a pizza, having come through our broken security
doors. He holds out the pizza box. I reach out; he drops the box and
is suddenly up the stairs, shoving me up against the crumbling plaster
wall of the stairwell. I am almost falling onto him. I tense, then
feel the prick of a knife through my black t-shirt. It is
uncomfortably cold against my rib.

	"Christ!" explodes unbidden from my throat, my voice rising
dangerously. "What the fuck are you... "

	"Shut up, you stupid bitch." he says, deceptively calm, in a
voice pitched to carry through my open door. I can tell he is nervous.
The knife trembles against me, and I am terrified of what is happening
here in this now unfriendly building. This scene has gone out of
control, and I no longer know what he, or I, will do. We enter my
apartment, and he swings the door closed with his foot, not bothering
to turn the lock.

	Chantal has risen from the futon and stands framed in a halo
of flickering light. That lamp has never been reliable, and in this
uncertain moment it sounds its death-knell, flicking in and out.

	"Not a sound, bitch." he warns, cutting off the scream that is
only now rising in her throat. "If the neighbors hear anything
unpleasant, that's it for your girlfriend."

	Chantal sinks down onto rumpled blue blankets, a moan caught
in her butterfly mouth and frightened eyes locked on the glint of
bright steel against black silk. I feel a sharp pain where the knife
point lies poised against me, but it is impossible to tell if I am
actually bleeding against the black.

	"Strip." he orders her, an unnerving thread of excitement
clear in the tremor of his voice.

	She shakes her head mutely in protest, wrapping her arms tight
around her golden body. She must not know how that motion pulls the
shirt taut against full breasts, how it pulls the fabric sliding up
her legs, baring even more tawny thigh. I catch my breath in pleasure
at the sight, and am brought back to reality only by the lifting of
the knife point from my ribs.

	Just as I start to shift away he slides a tightly-muscled arm
across my throat, pulling me back. He has lifted the knife only to
bring it to my throat, and I freeze. He slowly slides the knife down
the front of my silk top, slicing it cleanly in half, leaving the
fabric to flap aimlessly in the wind of the creaking fan. I wear no
bra at one a.m. Small dark breasts have fallen free, nipples hard with
fear, and the cold breeze, and excitement. I am wearing only black
silk shorts now, and I cannot help but think how beautiful he and I
must look, black silk against his white shirt and pants, brown curls
so oddly similar. He looks like my brother, I suddenly think, and then
must struggle down dangerous laughter. My nerves are being stretched
far too taut.

	He lifts the blade up to a breast and I am truly frozen now as
he holds the knife point a fraction of an inch away from tender skin.
He looks at Chantal.

	"Strip." If before his voice was nervous with excitement, it
is now implacable. It would take someone far braver than my poor fawn
to resist. She slowly begins to unbutton the oversized shirt. He is
not content with the flannel slowly slipping from her shoulders.

	"Stand and strip." he says, and she obeys almost silently,
muffling the whimpers deep in her throat. Endless moments later she
has unbuttoned the last button and the shirt falls unheeded to the
floor. My gaze slips back and forth between her, (never before has she
seemed so beautiful), and the possessive wanting in his eyes. "Come
here." he says. At that I stiffen even more, wanting to slap that look
from his face, that purr from his voice.

	Her hands flutter up and down her body as she walks toward us,
futilely attempting to preserve some shred of modesty, of dignity. It
is useless. She is too fragile a flower to stand up against this, and
her welling tears provoke a growing rage within me. She stops,
shivering in the direct wind from the ceiling fan.

	His knife hand suddenly drops away from my breast, although
his left arm is still rigid against my throat. He is fumbling with the
zipper on his pants, finally dropping them to lie puddled on the floor
around his feet. His legs are startlingly pale, almost blending into
the white cloth. He wears no underwear, and his erection pokes out
from his shirttails, rising hungrily. He smells of soap.

	"On your knees, bitch." he says to her, the hunger clear in
the hoarseness of his voice. "Suck me off."

	And I can't take anymore. I jerk sideways, pulling free. His
knife hand comes up quickly though, and his other hand swings in a
wide grab for Chantal... only to be blocked as I step calmly in front
of it.

	"No." I say, the words dry in my throat as I strive to make my
voice as seductive as possible. "Please" as I slide to my knees in
front of him, "let me." My eyes are locked on his, and I fervently
hope that he can see in them that he has pushed me far enough, farther
than is safe for any of us. I am all too aware of Chantal's gasp
behind me, the only sound she has let herself make, and of her skin
inches away from mine. I wait for his response, unable to read past
desire in deep brown eyes.

	He stares in silence for long seconds, knife poised. He looks
me over slowly, insolently, and I will myself not to stiffen against
his intrusive gaze. Finally he nods, silently. I lean forward and run
my tongue down his stiff erection. I trace small, lazy circles around
the shaft. I feel the pulse beating in him, as the salty fluid rises.
I tease the head with flicking tongue until the growing fever in the
eyes I have not dared glance away from warns me that teasing will not
be permitted for long. I suddenly realize that I find this man
beautiful after all, and if he hadn't had a knife to my throat I might
have wanted this as much as he did. I realize that I do want him,
despite the knife. I begin to tremble.

	It is quickly over, and I swallow carefully, not wanting to
rouse his dangerous unpredictability. I wait, kneeling in front of
him, holding his eyes with mine once more, willing him not to look
away, not to glance at Chantal. He seems to read my desire. His next
words are addressed solely to me, "Strip. Lie down." He seems to
disregard Chantal, though his body is still tight. I do not think I
can get the knife away. I rise obediently, and quickly step out of the
black silk shorts, not wanting them to be torn as well. Some part of
my mind must still believe that we will survive this.

	I lie down on the futon, pushing aside blue blankets to create
a clear space in the center, baring the dark green sheets. I stretch
lazily, offering my body up for him to drink deep. My eyes are focused
on his face, on the raw desire battling with some indefinable thought.
I doubt I could look away if I wanted to. Some tiny detached part of
me wants desperately to photograph his face. Portrait of a rapist. I
am shattering into a hundred different elements, held together only by
the need to protect.

	His free hand is suddenly on Chantal's shoulder, twisting her
cruelly around, off-balance. Then the hilt of the knife is shoved into
the small of her back, and she falls onto me. I voice a wordless
protest, but she falls silent, curving so as not to hit too hard.
Even in this she is graceful. Then he speaks.

	"Go on, bitch. Fuck her. I want to watch you sluts fucking
each other on your nice, clean sheets. Eat her, you dirty slut!" His
voice rises higher and higher, and I wonder if perhaps the neighbors
will hear. Doubtful - the walls are not that thin. Chantal is shaking
her head at the stream of invective, terror blossoming, a flower in
her face. And suddenly I reach up and hold her face still in my hands,
my eyes promising her that it will be all right. An outright lie; I
have no idea what will happen after this. She reaches a hand up to
clasp one of mine, then buries her head in my shoulder. For this
moment, this man is giving me a perversion of my deepest desires. It
would be unfair to ask me to refrain.

	I draw her down next to me on the green sheets, promising
myself that I will be ever so gentle with her, that she will find joy.
Chantal has gone still. Her eyes are closed, and she looks
terrifyingly defenseless. I bend to drop butterfly kisses on her
cheek, her neck, her shoulder. Carefully I avoid her lips, though I
ache to kiss. Somehow I think that would be too much. For her, and for
me. Her nipples are soft pools of darkness in the golden expanse of
her torso. I lick my way down to them, nipping gently until they stand
erect against my tongue. She has begun to move a little, confused by
her body's reactions. But she voices no protest. My frail love has no
way of understanding this night, her only hope to trust in me to keep
her safe.

	His breathing is loud in the room, and as I kiss lower and
lower on her sweet body, the first moan comes from him. It is a sound
of pure frustration, and I am surprised that he restrains himself.
Then I am lost in the scent of her rising up beneath me, the brush of
my breasts along her long legs, the caress of her curling hair against
my cheek. And the greatest joy is that she is responding to my touch,
my tongue, my kiss. She is arching underneath me, tangling long
fingers in my hair, running nails across the tender places of my neck.
The lamp flickers wildly in the room; as she comes moaning in my mouth
we arch together suddenly still.

	Chantal relaxes beneath me, her still-heavy breaths sounding.
I cannot hear him, I realize. I half-raise, and twist my body up into
the wind from the fan. There is enough light to see clearly that he is
not there. The knife lies, discarded, well within arm's reach. He has
closed the door behind him. And suddenly I am battling the impulse to
reach out and take the knife and hold it to her sweet flesh, gaining a
night of unbearable pleasure as she fulfills my every desire.

	And also gaining her hatred. I shake my head, dismissing the
last foolish thoughts. This will have to be enough. Her trust, her
faith. Her slick body molded to my own. The memory of her arching
against me. And the chance that this night has changed her mind about
what she wants...

	I lie down against her, realizing that she is somehow,
impossibly, asleep. I am suddenly eager to join her.

				 ***

	The phone rings. I get up to answer, knowing who it will be.

	"Forgive me," he says. "I should have stayed with your plan.
Bringing the knife was a mistake. You were both too beautiful, and I
got... carried away." He pauses, embarrassed. "I'll buy you a new
shirt."

	"Forgiven." I say, and hang up.

	How can I condemn him? I asked him to come, after all. I go
back to the bed and gather her into my arms. She murmurs in her sleep
and cuddles closer. I hold her tight in a protective embrace, so that
nobody will ever hurt her.

Copyright 1994 M.A. Mohanraj

Subject: M.K.Smith "A Lovely Girl"

			    A Lovely Girl
				  by
			   Michael K. Smith

	There was a hurriedly-called town meeting at the junior high
gym, to discuss what might be done about the maniac who was
terrorizing the area, so I knew there was no one else at home. Very
stupid or very trusting people. Also no near neighbors, so I went in
through her bedroom window. The girl had stayed home from school that
day with the flu and hadn't gone to the meeting with her family. Now
she was sleeping on her back, only partly covered by a sheet, wearing
a boy's old sport shirt.

	A sweet face with wide, full lips. Most important, a long
swanlike neck. A really lovely girl; she'd be a beauty if she grew up.
I clamped a hand hard over her mouth. She woke instantly and began
struggling in desperation. Then I showed her the .38, first a side-view
so she'd know what it was, and then a view directly into the end of
the barrel, an inch from her eye.

	She wasn't stupid or naive; she knew already what I wanted and
began to tremble. I made a 'silence' gesture with my trigger finger
and smiled. She swallowed and nodded once, her blue eyes wide and
terrified, and I took my hand away from her mouth.

	I wrapped my fist around her pale blonde ponytail and yanked
her to a sitting position. I could tell it hurt and I regretted that,
but it kept her hands busy trying to hold onto her hair as she moved.
I ripped the top sheet off the bed with my other hand. Then I motioned
to her shirt. Her hands shook as she unbuttoned it and shrugged it
off.

	She was thirteen years old, just beginning to develop real
breasts, but her nipples stood erect because of her fear. I've seen
that before. She was a swimmer and her figure was trim and slender
with no baby fat. A nice body for thirteen. I gripped her ponytail and
yanked her flat on her back again; her shallow breasts jiggled and she
cried out in pain. I pointed to her white cotton panties. She tried to
shake her head but couldn't.

	"Please... ," she whispered, and the tears trickled down the
sides of her face. I brought the muzzle of the revolver to bear again
and raised an eyebrow.

	She shut her eyes tightly and pushed her panties down as far
as she could reach, and I pulled them slowly off her. She had long
legs, slender and tanned like the rest of her, with long athletic
muscles. Slender ankles and small feet, too. I was right; she really
was a very pretty girl.

	She was also a natural blonde. Her pubic hair was light and
fine and the crevice below it was completely bare. I wondered if she
was still a virgin. One could never tell these days, even with a girl
her age. I spread her legs and motioned for her to bend and raise her
knees so her genitals were open and exposed. I moved my hand from her
ponytail to her throat and while she was dealing with that, I shoved
the four-inch barrel of my gun into her.

	She jerked in terror and tried to cry out, but my hand on her
windpipe allowed only a small, scratchy sound to escape. I withdrew
the muzzle and noted the dark blood on the end. A small amount of
blood was also trickling from between her legs.

	I pulled her back up to a sitting position and then slapped
her hard across the face five or six times, knocking her back on the
bed in a half-conscious daze. I took the opportunity to set the
revolver on the floor and flip her over on her stomach. The technique
has proved useful.

	I pulled the already looped and knotted hemp cord from the
pocket of my sweatsuit and quickly tied her wrists firmly to the posts
at the foot of her bed. Her arms were stretched almost out of their
sockets. Then I tied her ankles to the corners of the headboard,
pulling the slip-knots tight. I satisfied myself that she couldn't
move by plucking the cords like guitar strings. She was drawn but she
hadn't been quartered yet.

	I picked up the panties she had reluctantly removed, reached
under her firm little bottom, and stuffed them into her to staunch the
bleeding. There was no footboard to get in the way and she hung off
the end of her bed facing the floor, her ponytail dangling down the
side of her neck. She emerged from her daze and discovered her
immobility. She tugged unsuccessfully at the cord and began to whimper
again, but I was holding the gun.

	I knelt on the floor and lifted her head by her hair so she
could see my face. Then I spoke for the first time since entering her
room. "Darling, what we're going to do is have sex. You already know
that, don't you?" She was unable to speak and I felt her feeble
attempt to nod. "But we're not going to do it the way you probably
think. You're bleeding, remember? No, we'll do it another way."

	I let her head flop back as I stood and heard her teeth crack
against the top of the wooden footboard. I dug into my other pocket
and then pulled off my sweatsuit and moved around to the side of the
bed. I set the revolver on the sheet, snug against her hip. Then I
knelt between her trembling legs, uncapped the nearly empty tube of
K-Y I had brought with me, and covered my middle finger with it. When
I pushed the finger into her, her buttocks jerked and tightened, and
she gasped with shock.

	"Loosen up and this will be easier." I made a hook of my
finger and lifted. She stifled a cry and made an apparent effort to
relax.

	"That's better, now." I smeared more of the jelly on the head
of my cock, which was now fully erect, and leaned forward, placing the
tip against the brown ridges of her sphincter. I have found it's
easiest to do this part quickly, so I took a breath and shoved hard.
She cried out when the head popped into her and began sobbing when I
thrust forward.

	"No, please," she begged tearfully. "Please, don't! It hurts!"

	A nice touch, I had to admit.

	Two more hard thrusts, and she was impaled to the hilt. A
young girl's hole is always a snug fit, but this one's slender build
seemed to include a particularly tight, particularly long rectal
passage. Then, as I put my weight across her smooth, warm body, I felt
a sudden wetness around my balls. She had lost control and peed in her
bed. The aroma of a young girl's urine is heady and acrid - probably
something to do with puberty. I enjoyed the added effect.

	I penetrated her again and again, increasing the tempo as her
natural moisture improved the lubrication. She was sobbing loudly in
syncopation with my movements and I reached under and cupped her
little breasts in my hands, squeezing them hard and pinching her
nipples. She wailed even louder.

	"Keep making so much noise, and I might not ever stop."

	She managed to smother her sobs and I let go of her breasts,
raising myself up on my elbows in preparation for the completion of
this phase. After a couple of minutes of increasingly forceful jabs, I
climaxed, ejaculating into her intestines.

	I rested atop her a moment to regain my breath, then pulled
out of her ass. There were small flecks of brown around the head, as I
knew there would be. As I backed up on my knees, I was careful to drag
my balls through the aromatic puddle she had made.

	I climbed off the bed and stretched my arms to get the kinks
out, then checked the cords around her slender ankles. Her toes were
turning blue. I licked the sole of her right foot and it twitched and
her toes tried to curl, so she still had some feeling.

	I went back to the foot of the bed, knelt, and lifted her
ponytail. Her eyes were blue and red now from crying; not very
attractive. One front tooth had broken on the footboard and a gash
where she had bitten her lip dribbled blood down her chin. She should
be more careful about her appearance. I gave her head a shake to get
her attention.

	"Now, what I'm going to do is put my cock in your mouth, and
you're going to lick it and suck on it. Do you understand what I'm
talking about?"

	She hesitated and then whispered "Yeth."

	I knelt again before her face, naked this time. Her mouth was
at just the right height. I reached under her body and pinched her
nipple again, hard. She winced but made no sound; she was learning.

	My cock was erect again and trembling. I pulled the rubber
band off her hair so it scattered over her shoulders. I put down the
head and brushed her beautiful lips with the tip of my cock.

	"Lick it, darling. And keep your eyes open." Her little red
tongue came out and tentatively touched the underside of the head. She
could smell and probably taste her own body on it.

	"Show some enthusiasm, darling, or I'll hurt you. Really hurt
you." Her eyes showed comprehension. She knew I meant it. She began
swabbing her tongue around the tip, licking it like a Tootsie Pop. I
moved closer and raised the angle so she could lick up and down the
length of it. I lifted it still higher and she began licking my balls
without prompting. For a beginner, she was pretty good. Or her fear
overrode her natural nervousness. I've seen that before, too.

	"You've never done this with a boy, have you? What's the
farthest you've gone with a boy? Answer me, and tell the truth." She
was weeping again.

	"No, I haven't," she whimpered. "I let a boy feel my tits
once, out in the field." A naughty girl, but I always preferred being
the first. A young girl needs an experienced, older man her first
time. But enough foreplay. I repositioned myself.

	"Now we're going inside. Suck on the head and run your tongue
around it." She took it in like a trooper and sucked like she knew her
life depended on it. Her mouth was drying up, though. I withdrew
myself and bent her head back against the nape of her slender neck.

	"Open your mouth wide and stick out your tongue, darling. Stop
crying now." She followed instructions and I spat a large wad of
saliva into her mouth. She only gagged once.

	"Don't swallow now, you're going to need that." I lowered her
head and pushed back into her mouth. She began sucking again. Much
better. It was my spit, after all, and I knew where it had been.

	"Very good. Now I'm going to fuck your face, darling - and if
you bite me, I will hurt you a great deal." I clenched my fists in her
hair for emphasis and she whimpered again.

	I began to plunge in and out of her mouth, but she couldn't
keep her teeth out of the way. Well, that wasn't really her fault. I
shifted one hand to the top of her head and took a tighter grip on her
hair. Then I hooked two fingers over her bottom teeth and held her
lower jaw down.

	I began pushing my pulsating cock into the back of her mouth
and then down her throat. She gagged in earnest and her breath, what
little she could draw, whistled in and out of her nostrils. I felt the
warmness stir my pubic hair.

	I was becoming concerned that she might strangle before I
could finish, but at least she hadn't thrown up. A few dry heaves was
the most she could manage. That was another reason why late night was
best: Most young girls had very little in their stomachs by that hour.
And, of course, she hadn't eaten because of the flu.

	Glancing at her hands, I saw that she had pulled so hard on
the slip-knotted cords that several of her fingers were turning deep
purple from lack of circulation. I could feel my orgasm rising and I
rammed past her epiglottis as hard and as deep as I could. On the last
lunge, I stretched her jaw a fraction lower and my balls bounced into
her mouth as well.

	I let go of her jaw then, because she already could hardly
breath and now my hair was poking up her nostrils. She hadn't the
strength or the presence of mind to bite me. I strained forward as I
climaxed deep down her throat. Then I locked my fingers behind her
head and pulled her face even tighter against my crotch. I jerked
several times as I continued to come and she jerked several times as
her air disappeared.

	I waited another two or three minutes until I felt her neck
muscles go slack and her body sag. Then another minute, just to be
sure. Finally, I extricated my genitals from her mouth. Her lower jaw
remained open at an unusual angle. Probably unhinged on one side. No
need to leave her like that.

	I probed the back corner of her mandible with two fingers and
found the spot, then gave the lower front of her jaw an openhanded
blow that snapped it back into place. Her jaw was undoubtedly broken
now, but it looked better.

	I went into her bathroom and splashed water on my face and
washed the residue off my genitals, and dried myself with one of her
towels, and brushed my hair with her brush. I went back into her
bedroom and put on my sweatsuit. Looking around, I remembered to pick
up the tube of K-Y. Its smooth surface was an excellent place to leave
prints. I knew from experience that the coarse hemp cord wouldn't take
prints so I left her tied. Anyway, I could see a few white wrist bones
surrounded by chewed-looking flesh. The cord had tightened so far into
her wrists and ankles, it would be impossible to remove it without
taking some of her with it. All of her had to stay here, though.

	I wasn't sure about the panties. Could that thin cotton fabric
retain prints? I reached over and pulled the wad of bloody, urine-
stained cloth from her vagina, and went back into the bathroom and
flushed it down the toilet.

	I paused again at the bedside and gently stroked the soft
hairs on the curve of her neck, her tanned shoulderblades, down her
spine to the small of her back, across her warm little bottom.

	Yes, a lovely, lovely girl. But I could spare no more time for
affection. I had to get back to the town meeting, so I could be seen
to leave with my wife and everyone else when it broke up.

	Then we would go home together and discover Carol's abused
body and call the police.

Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but commercial rights reserved.

Subject: "Remembering"
From: mksmith@fohnix.metronet.com (Michael Kalen Smith)

			     Remembering
				  by
			   Michael K. Smith

	Do I remember? Yes, Doctor, I remember the incident very
clearly. It was on my thirteenth birthday and my brother, David, who
was nearly eighteen, told me it was time - according to tradition -
for me to be "initiated" as a woman. I had just started having regular
periods a few months earlier and I thought "How neat!" I didn't know
there *was* a traditional ceremony when you started menstruating...
which shows you just how naive I was.

	He told me to strip down to my underwear, and I trusted my big
brother - I almost worshipped him, truthfully - so I did it. Anyway,
there was never much of a nudity taboo around our house so it wasn't
any big thing.

	When I was down to my bra and panties, David had me lie across
this big leather ottoman that belongs to Dad's favorite Chesterfield
chair in the study. He held my arms down along the legs of this thing
and fastened down my wrists with lots of adhesive tape. I don't know
what I thought was going to happen. The tape didn't hurt and I guess
maybe I was expecting "birthday licks" with a paddle or something.
David was giving me this hokey evil grin but he always was a big
tease.

	Anyway, I was stretched out flat across the ottoman and it was
so large, and I was so small, the back edge came all the way to my
waist and bent me right in half. My knees barely touched the carpet.
And David had rolled up a couple of big bath towels and tucked them
under my hips crosswise so my little virgin ass stuck up even more.

	Pardon me? Oh. No, I wasn't exactly frightened at that point.
Nervous, sure. Maybe a little apprehensive. But like I said, I was
naive. I was squirming around and warning David he'd better not hurt
me,... but I was laughing and giggling, too. It all seemed like kind
of a game until he put the tape across my mouth. I didn't like that at
all... but, of course, by then it was too late to complain or yell.

	David moved out of my range of vision and a moment later he
peeled my panties right down to my knees. Now, *that* was
embarrassing! I was kind of afraid he was going to leave me there like
that for our parents to discover when they got home. Anyway, I could
hardly move at all. There was a long pause, and then a stinging,
open-handed slap on my butt made me jerk and squeal. I remember
thinking I was going to *get* him for that! I wouldn't tattle on him,
of course, but I'd come up with some equally embarrassing prank to
pull on him.

	He slapped me on my bare ass a few more times, waiting long
enough in between that I wasn't sure it was going to happen again -
until it did. I just squawked from behind the tape and steadied myself
by holding on tight to the legs of the ottoman. Then he stopped
spanking me and said something like "Now, this will feel better." And
he slid a couple of fingers between my legs from behind, stroking the
edges of my pussy.

	Now, you have to understand something, Doctor: I was one of
those adolescent girls who was very, very nervous about the sexual
feelings I was beginning to have. I was embarrassed and a little
scared by the tingles I used to feel in my breasts and crotch when I
was around certain boys I knew. A couple of my friends at pajama
parties had told how they'd learned to masturbate, and how great it
felt, and even how they had jerked off boys. Frankly, I was bewildered
by the whole thing. My parents were very uptight and would *never*
talk to me about such things, so I really was appallingly ignorant.

	So when David started touching me like that, especially
because he was behind me where I couldn't see him and I couldn't move
or talk, I was kind of frozen in shock. I didn't react or move at all.
And when he pushed one finger way up inside me, I moaned because now I
*was* frightened. But my brother said "You like that, don't you, kid?"
and put a second finger inside me and wriggled them around. I
stiffened and tried to jerk back, but I went in the wrong direction
and the movement made his fingers penetrate even deeper. David said
something like "Boy, you *are* hot for it!" And he took his fingers
out. I was too rattled even to cry.

	After a minute or so, when all I could hear was the rustle of
clothing, David moved around where I could see him. He was completely
naked. I'd seen him without clothes before, but only by accident. And
he had an enormous erection that he was slowly stroking with one hand.

	"Since you're such a hot little thing, I'm going to fan your
flames real good," he said. That sounds terribly corny, doesn't it,
Doctor? I suppose he thought he was being romantic. But he knelt there
for a couple of minutes with his eyes half-shut, fondling his dick two
inches from my face. Then he smiled and leaned over and kissed me on
the back of the neck, and then he moved back around behind me.

	I tried to scrunch up against the ottoman and close my thighs
together as tightly as I could, but I couldn't get any traction with
my knees against the carpet. David's hands closed firmly around my
ankles and pulled my legs back and apart. Then he moved up really
close behind my ass, his penis hot as it brushed against my thigh and
his knees keeping my own knees separated.

	I felt something that was both hard and soft rub up and down
against my cunt, dividing the lips and spreading them open. It took a
few seconds before I realized it must be his penis. That kind of woke
me out of my daze and I started thumping my forehead against the
ottoman and making groaning sounds and writhing around trying to avoid
him. But he just laughed and said "Patience, kid, we'll get there!" I
think he honestly thought I was horny as hell and *wanted* him to fuck
me. Yeah, I know - maybe I shouldn't be so understanding or
charitable.

				 ***

	And all of a sudden, his dick was sliding into me, bumping
against the end, moving in and out, and he was holding my hips steady
as he kept ramming it into me, and I was beginning to get hysterical,
and wanted to cry and scream and all that, but the damn tape - -

	Sorry, Doctor, sorry. I know I have to be calmer in telling
this. I can't break down now, not after all that's happened. Just let
me take a couple of deep breaths; that always helps...

	Okay. I'm okay now. Anyway, David just kept fucking me like
that, pushing hard and then even harder, and after a few minutes he
banged into me so hard it felt like he was going to poke a hole
through the end of my vagina. And he held me there rigidly and made
strange little sounds and jerked a few times as he shot off into me.
Since I was so small and the fit was so tight, a lot of his stuff
immediately leaked out and oozed down my leg. I could feel it and I
was terrified that it might be blood, but when he finally pulled out,
he checked between my legs and said something about there being only a
small spot of blood and that I'd lost my virginity "like a pro."

	I shook my head back and forth and moaned again, trying to get
him to understand that I wanted that damn tape off my mouth, but
either he didn't understand what I wanted or he was afraid I was going
to scream my head off. Honestly, I can't remember whether I intended
to scream or not. I just wanted my mouth free.

	David moved around in front of me again and squeezed his dick
to make a little more semen ooze out. That's when I understood what
that wet feeling was on my thigh. "Did you come, kid?" he wanted to
know. I wasn't even sure what he was talking about but I shook my
head, trying not to look at the way his cock glistened with the
moisture that had been inside my cunt a moment before. It kind of
struck me that maybe I *was* a woman now, having been fucked and all.
The fact that it was my older brother who had done it didn't seem to
make much difference. But I looked up at him with the most pleading
expression I could invent.

	He seemed thoughtful and asked me if I wanted him to take the
tape off my mouth. I nodded my head so vigorously I banged my chin and
bit my tongue. He reached down and took hold of one corner of the tape
and paused. "You're not going to make a lot of noise, are you?" I
shook my head "no."

	"Because I wouldn't like that," he went on. "I'd have to tell
Mom and Dad how you made me screw you, how you talked me into it and
all." I knew he could do it, too, and they would believe him. My
brother was a very persuasive person when he wanted to be. So I shook
my head again, and raised my eyebrows, and hunched my shoulders in a
kind of submissive way. I just wanted to get rid of that damned,
choking tape! So he peeled it off slowly and smoothly, being careful
not to hurt me - which is ironic, isn't it, now that I think of it.
David didn't want to hurt me.

	I licked my lips, which were kind of sticky, and whispered "I
won't say anything to anyone, David, I promise." He studied my face
and slowly nodded. But he didn't untape my wrists and I was afraid to
ask. Doctor, that was the first time in my life I'd ever been afraid
of my brother. It was not a nice feeling.

	David knelt beside the ottoman and his hands began wandering
over my ass and between my legs again. His fingers were poking and
exploring everywhere and,... well, he started rubbing one finger over
my clit, which felt much larger and more sensitive than it ever had
before. I don't know whether he knew what he was doing or whether he
just got lucky, but it suddenly felt like my soul was centered in my
clitoris. As he rubbed his fingertips slowly across the head of it, I
started to jerk and buck like I was being electrocuted. And, God, how
I moaned! I was completely shameless, Doctor. I'd just been raped -
there's certainly no other word for it - and there I was, trying to
squat down on his hand even farther and stretching my legs as far
apart as I could. David just said "Wow"... which, I guess, meant he
was impressed.

	And I found I was begging him to untie my hands, but not to
stop what he was doing, either. After maybe three or four minutes of
sexual self-torture, I had my first orgasm ever. All my leg muscles
twitched, and my butt vibrated, and my lower back kind of spasmed.
The most incredible, revelatory experience possible for a completely
inexperienced thirteen-year-old.

	Then he stopped and took his hand away and, God help me, I
wanted more! I was actually sobbing "Don't stop, don't stop!" like a
crazy person. But he had only paused to finally untape my hands. He
had to tell me several times to hold still because I was twisting and
writhing around so much. And as soon as one hand was free, it flew
straight to my crotch. Then both hands were free and I was lying on my
back on the floor, holding my labia apart with one hand and feverishly
strumming myself with the other.

	David was sitting on the ottoman while this was going on,
watching with a kind of awe as I masturbated, as if he were Aladdin
and I was the Genie. I don't remember whether he had an erection just
then or not, but pretty soon he was on the floor in front of me,
gripping my kneecaps and insisting he could help.

	What he did was to push my knees up and out so my ass was
pointing at the ceiling. Curling up my spine like that did give me
better access to my pussy, I guess, but he wasn't just being helpful.

	Doctor, have you ever been ass-fucked? Don't look so startled:
You're the psychologist, not me. People do it all the time. I'm told
that it's sometimes frightening or at least distasteful even to
adventurous college students. But think what it would be like for a
newly de-virginized adolescent...

	Actually, David *was* being helpful, but mostly to himself. He
dipped several fingers deep into my cunt and came out with a handful
of juice, which he lathered on his cock like hand lotion. Then he
slid a finger into my upturned ass and moistened it. I barely noticed
what he was doing - hell, I was up in the clouds somewhere.

	But I sure as hell noticed when he got a grip on my gaping
crotch with both hands and began pushing his penis into my rectum.
The pain was almost enough to overcome the ecstatic throbbing of my
clit - almost. As it was, I stiffened and tried to lower my legs -
David kept a tight hold and wouldn't let me - and I moaned and sobbed
even louder than before. It was probably a real turn-on for someone
who was into that kind of dominance thing and my brother was turning
out to be one of those people.

	He'd push in some, then withdraw a little, then grunt and push
again - only harder. After a few minutes, he was pretty much all the
way in and he paused to catch his breath. He let go of my legs but the
fit was so tight, I was like a nut threaded onto a bolt. I couldn't
move.

	And then he began seriously fucking my ass and the real pain
hit me. He got enough lubrication going that he actually could slide
in and out quite a bit, but it still hurt. Going in, I was terrified
that he'd split me open and I'd die of it. And pulling out, it felt
like my intestines were going to be dragged inside out by his cock.

	Part of me wanted to scream, but I didn't. I cried and sobbed
and begged him to stop, but I didn't make a single sound that might
have brought outside help. Why do you suppose that was, Doctor?

	No - I think it was something other than ordinary fear. I
think it was pretty simple, really: No matter how frightened I was, no
matter how much he was hurting me, I didn't *really* want my brother
to stop doing what he was doing. At some level, I *liked* having my
ass fucked. Well,... that's the only reason that makes sense to me, as
pathetic as it may be.

	So, anyway, there was about ten minutes of lying on my back
with my legs bouncing around in the air, watching David hovering over
me with his dick connected to my butt like they'd grown together. My
fingers were still jammed in my cunt but I wasn't masturbating very
much at that point. No concentration left, I guess. And then he
speeded up for a few seconds and came - hard. I couldn't really feel
it. Inside, I mean. And then he kind of just knelt there catching his
breath, with his cock still stuck up my rectum.

	He finally withdrew, rather suddenly, and the relief was so
great I'm afraid I actually whimpered. I suppose David thought I was
disappointed he'd stopped. He patted me on the knee and said something
to the effect that we could fuck again later, the next time we were
alone for the afternoon, and that he could teach me lots of other
things.

	We just sat and lay there naked on the floor for a little
while and felt the sweat dry on our bodies. I stayed on my back,
actually; I was much too stiff and sore to sit up. David kept watching
me with a faint, sort of pleased-with-himself smile.

	And then I said something I couldn't believe at the time. I
still don't fully understand it. I mean, my older brother, whom I
trusted, had just raped me - twice. Right? And what I said was, "Thank
you, David. I love you." Is that twisted or what, Doctor? What was I
thanking him for, anyway? So he patted me on the knee again and said
he loved me, too. He said it kind of offhandedly, like he was thinking
about something else. Then he said the next time he'd use protection
because he didn't want me getting pregnant and I wasn't old enough to
go on the Pill.

	I have to say, Doctor, that David kept his word. Every time he
fucked me after that, he used a condom. And about three years later,
when I was sixteen, he found a doctor who was willing to prescribe the
Pill for me, no questions asked. I'm pretty sure our parents still
thought I was a virgin at sixteen - can you believe that? I had ten
times as much mileage on my cunt as my mother had, I'm sure. And I had
probably done a number of things, at my brother's urging, that would
have made my mother faint.

	As I'm sure you've figured out by now, David and I kept having
sex - usually at least once a week, sometimes every night for several
weeks, depending on the circumstances. And by the end of the first
year, I was a more or less willing co-conspirator. Maybe I became
addicted, I don't know. I *do* know that there were days when my
school classes passed in a feverish haze and all I could think about
was screwing with David.

	What's odd is that this constant horniness didn't include
other boys, whether my own age or older. I didn't walk down the street
staring at strange men and wondering what it would be like to fuck
them. David never told me I *couldn't* have sex with other guys -
maybe it never occurred to him - but he was the only partner I ever
considered.

	We kept experimenting, too, Doctor. By my fourteenth birthday,
I was a pretty accomplished cocksucker. I could milk my brother for an
hour or more, building him up to a high pitch, then backing off just
enough to prolong things. And when he finally did come, it was nearly
always in my mouth. It never occurred to me not to swallow, either. I
guess I became pretty avid about sex.

	You know, from what I've read about situations like mine, the
victim - if that's really what I am - has fits of depression and
withdraws from outside contacts, and school grades go down, and there
are all these other symptomatic side effects. Well, that didn't seem
to happen to me. My grades were already good and they only got better.
I had plenty of girlfriends and none of them suspected a thing. When
my friends got giggly about boys and sex, though, I just kept my mouth
shut and listened.

	That's why it bothers me, sort of, that things turned out the
way they did. I guess I thought I had adjusted to my physical
relationship with my brother. It was all certainly a surprise to him.

				* * *

	What do you mean, "What happened?" Doctor, you know perfectly
well what happened. Okay, I suppose you want to hear it again.

	It was four years and two days after the whole thing began -
two days after my seventeenth birthday. I was considered a pretty hot
date by that time and I was always popular, but I never screwed anyone
but my brother. Of course, I knew the whole thing was abnormal but I
had accepted it for so long, I no longer thought about it much. I
guess, in a strange sort of way, I was pretty well adjusted.

	David had always dated a lot of girls but that didn't bother
me either, even though I knew - when I bothered to consider it - that
he was having sex with some of them as well. But that day just after
my birthday, David came home from school with an announcement. He was
going to a local college and he'd gotten involved with this girl in
one of his classes... and the announcement was that he was in love
with her and he had proposed to her and she had accepted.

	He was so happy about it, and our folks seemed happy, and they
expected me to be happy, too. But I was kind of in shock. It took me a
little while to realize that David would be moving out of the house,
away from me, to be with another woman all the time. It meant we
probably wouldn't have sex anymore, or only once in a while at best.

	Doctor, I went straight from shock to panic. I had to stop it
all from happening but I thought about it for two weeks and I couldn't
come up with a feasible solution. I had managed not to be home the two
or three times David had brought this new girl over to the house. I
just couldn't deal with having to meet her face-to-face.

	Then there came an evening when I returned home from a
girlfriend's house and found my brother alone with this girl he liked
so much. My girlfriend lived nearby so I had walked and no one had
heard me come in the back door. I heard strange but familiar sounds in
the living room and stuck my head around the corner to see what it
was. David and the girl were fucking on the big corduroy couch.

	I knew intellectually what they'd been doing... but actually
seeing it was completely different. They both were naked and they both
seemed to have their eyes closed, so they didn't know I was there, but
I could see everything, Doctor. I could see my brother's cock moving
in and out of her like a piston. She had one leg up on the back of the
couch and the other sprawled on the floor and her arms were flung up
over her heard and her breasts were jiggling and she was making little
sort of mewing noises -

	Yes, I know - I'm doing it again, aren't I? But he was the one
who had started it all and here he was, betraying me in our own living
room! And that's why I did it. I know you think I hated my brother,
Doctor, but I didn't really. I hated that girl for coming between us.

	That's why, when they were finished and David collapsed on top
of her and then kissed her, I was shaking so hard I had to go back to
the kitchen. I was just pacing back and forth, trying not to think
about what I'd seen, trying to think of some way to stop it before it
was too late... and the best thing I could think of, Doctor, was that
if David had never met that girl, he wouldn't be leaving me. Next best
was if the girl left *him*, now, quickly. Third was if I made her
leave.

	My mother was a good cook, Doctor, and she believed in keeping
pots clean and knives sharp. In the rack on the counter was a boning
knife that had always fascinated me. It was long-bladed and narrow and
it seemed more like a weapon than anything else I could find, even the
big cleaver.

	I took the boning knife back to the doorway and looked around
the corner again. The girl was still sprawled across the couch with
her legs wide apart and her arms folded behind her head. I could
almost smell her aroma. My brother was sitting beside her on the
couch, talking quietly and stroking her thigh, and she was smiling at
him.

	Then he got up and headed down the hall toward the bathroom,
still naked. She turned her head to one side - the side facing away
from me - and closed her eyes. She was still smiling.

	I moved quietly along the living room wall until I was
standing right beside the arm of the couch. The girl never heard a
sound until I cleared my throat and then her eyes snapped open. She
stared back at me upside-down with her mouth open and I stared down at
her breasts. They were a lot bigger than mine; maybe that was why
David like her better.

	Keeping my voice as steady as I could, I said "You have to
leave. He's my brother and he's staying here with me. Go away."

	She didn't move for a second, out of startlement, I suppose.
Then she blinked and said "Who the fuck are you?!" And suddenly she
closed her legs and drew her knees up and got a panicky look in her
eyes.

	"David... ?!" Her voice was going up the scale and rising in
volume. I heard the toilet flush in the background and I knew I had no
choice. There was no more time.

	She still had her head back, looking up at me, as I raised the
boning knife from my side and drove it down into her left eye.

	It was pretty messy, actually. The whatchamacallit-fluid in
her eye squirted out with a big gush of blood behind it and then the
knife scraped against the bone around her eye. She got out a half-
shriek and jerked once before she lay still. From the length of the
knife still protruding, I thought probably four or five inches of the
blade had gone straight into her brain, so it must have been
relatively painless. And when I wrenched the knife loose, bits of
brain and stuff came with it, and more blood.

	Why do you look so uncomfortable, Doctor? Isn't this what
you'd call a "clinical" description? I'm just trying to be factual,
you see.

	Well, my brother ran back into the room - I guess he'd heard
that sound she'd made - and he nearly ran into the coffee table when
he saw his ex-girlfriend. Everything had worked out so well, I
couldn't help smiling. And I said "You don't have to leave now, David.
I've taken care of it for you." But her looked at the girl and then he
stared at me, and,... God, he was so pale and his eyes were so huge.

	And I knew at that moment, with perfect clarity, that he was
going to leave anyway, Doctor. I'd done what had to be done, I'd
removed the barrier between us, but he didn't seem to appreciate that.
He was going to desert me no matter what I did.

	I'm afraid I lost control of myself a little bit, Doctor - but
I was justifiably angry so I don't think it was entirely my fault. He
didn't take his eyes off me as I stepped over to him, raised the
boning knife again, and brought it down where his neck joined his
shoulder. I didn't actually aim for that spot but the blade slid all
the way down behind his clavicle until only the handle showed.

	My brother fell to his knees and whispered "No... " and then
toppled over sideways.

	"That's right," I replied. "You're staying here. I knew you
would all along." He did, too, Doctor. He didn't go anyplace, not ever
again.

	I guess our parents got home later that night. I don't
remember much about it, except that I was sitting naked on the hassock
in the study where it all began. I was waiting for David to come and
tie me down, like he did that first time. I was sure he'd come, now
that the girl was gone, but he never did. Only some police and people
like that.

				* * *

	And that's about all I remember, Doctor, until I came here.
I've been here a long time now, and it's pretty dull, and I really
don't think it's fair. My brother is out there waiting for me; I'm
sure he is. Why won't you just let us be together, Doctor?

	Doctor... ?

				 End

Copyright 1994 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are
reserved.