One of the effects of being tied to the table with my knees spread was that I could see my poor pudenda. The men had cleaned it with rubbing alcohol but it was bleeding again, from all the tiny punctures.
My entire crotch had been punctured and scraped by the tack-covered bull's saddle: my inner thighs, my bottom cheeks, the crack between them including my tender anus, and even my plump, clean-shaven pubic mound had all been slammed and scraped as the mechanical bull bucked and jerked. And of course my labia were not spared: my legs had been spread so widely that my pussy had taken the brunt of the assault, and both my outer and inner lips were in desperate need of at least ointment, salve, bandaging, and maybe even a visit to the doctor. Even my tiny clitoris had been punctured by one well-positioned tack. I would recover, just as i would recover from the teaspoonful of hot oil that had been dribbled into my open vagina earlier in the day, but for the moment my most intimate regions were in battered, bloody disarray.
The pain was incredible, but the sight was breathtaking. And despite my exhaustion and continuing agony i could could feel my nipples pucker and my ruined pussy dampen once again.
I knew i was ready to be raped. The conspiring sadist in me knew, and so did the masochistic little slut.
A deep shudder of anticipation made my teeth chatter as the men anxiously murmured and shuffled about. One man seemed to be stationed to my right, and he held the jug of isopropyl and kept splashing me with it every few minutes, causing me to scream anew at the terrible, all encompassing sting of each splash. He leered at me each time he heard me scream and moan. Another man, who seemed to be a little retarded, moaned sympathetically and wiped me, but much too roughly, after each dowse. In fact everyone leered at me as the dirty simpleton toweled my pussy and grinned. And it was not until I noticed their leering eyes that I realized I was making a spectacle of myself, thrusting my bleeding pussy up at the halfwit to meet his rough towel and bony hand!
Now please believe me: I did not want more of this. So sore was I that even the slightest touch added to my pain. But my tortured, bleeding vulva seemed to have a mind of its own! It would not stop grinding up at the man's bar towel, which was now bloody itself and it reeked of sin. And as if from a distance, I noticed a demonic smile creep across my own sick face, and I found myself leering, perversely, back at the men!
This was the sadist in me. My masochist was also in thrall to this horrendous situation, she was still very much alive in me, pleading guilty to all charges and begging for swift retribution and atonement.. But the sadist was in charge.
The men looked at me, and I looked at them. Everyone was smiling cruelly. I was grinding my tattered pussy like a stripper against a pole, and the men who did not already have their cocks out were fishing for them. Everyone was erect. Everyone was swollen and stiff and red, including my tiny, damaged clit which was standing at full attention under the ravenous male gaze. I was the prey animal, serving myself up on a plate. I was pornography, even to myself, relishing my own devouring gaze, both staring and being stared at.
And as the men watched, and as I watched, one glistening droplet of blood, glowing with fresh oxygenation, emerged from the punctured tip of my clitoris, slithering down the puckered underside and into the churning well of shame between my legs.
I could barely breathe. Neither could the men. There was a terrible pause. And then they pounced!
I would have thought they'd have taken turns, formed a queue, elected some officiate to assign tasks. But instead, the dam just burst, and they stormed me!
I was being crushed from all sides, hordes of pumping cocks cramming into me. Men were on top of me sideways shoving their stiff loins into my armpits. My tits were smashed and moshed, then squeezed such that my nipples could be inverted, circumcised cock-heads grinding inwards and forcing my nipples backwards into my breasts. They fucked my bellybutton, my love handles, my ribs. My face and ears were not left virgin. The backs of my knees were popular targets, as were my toes and feet. Each hand was gripped by a man's hand and wrapped like fleshy handkerchiefs around one cock after another, cum splashing up my wrists and arms. Some well-endowed fellow positioned himself to get his penis into my mouth and began furiously pumping my throat, despite every effort to keep that partition sealed. I am not a fan of having my gag reflex triggered, nor of tasting the resultant bile, but i couldn't stop him. I could barely breathe. And down below, the blood of my punctured thighs acted as lubricant to allow someone's enormous fist to skewer its way up into my anus as one heavy man after another climbed aloft and pummeled and pumped my helpless, burn-blistered vaginal canal.
They were not being mean. They were not deliberately torturing me. They were out of control, driven by an inexhaustible need to bury their seed in me. And my stupid, slutty body responded in kind.
I am not saying it didn't hurt: quite the contrary! And perhaps my brain was reeling from lack of oxygen, or my whore's hormones had wrestled me into a death-grip, but my bloody, burn-damaged vagina responded wildly and orgasmically to this avalanche of sensation. My clit and pussy and g-spot and ass exploded, thrusting me into a blizzard of sizzling technicolor wires. Electricity was spitting from my pores, I was seeing trailers and echoes and magical serpents writhing, fairies and elves dancing in the corners of my eyes. Everyone's cum tasted like ambrosia, every convulsion opened a world of delicious psychedelic perverseness, echoing through implications so ghastly and taboo they should forever go unnamed.
Each pounding cock penetrated to my core. I could feel the personalities of each man as he pushed up into me. I knew I was being impregnated, I don't know how I knew but I knew, and I could feel myself, in some time-inverted loop of celestial quantum physics, giving birth to a litter of glistening fish-men who swarmed and assaulted me in turn!
This was rape, and this was the animal experience my body and soul had always craved.
And how could this be, I asked myself agonizingly as the pain resurged and ignited a series of weirder, more disconcerting orgasms. And this second wave was very strange. Yes, these were thrilling too, perhaps more so, but they hit me in places dark and deeply buried, making me feel sick and dirty and more sinister than I ever had before.
It was all too much, and I started to cry and wail, even as i convulsed in waves of sickening pleasure.
And my mind reeled, thoughts and images swirling uncontrollably: ugly thoughts, distressing images. I thought about my mother getting raped in Europe, cornered by slavic hoods in an alley outside a pivnaya. I thought about the fear of a man on the bus when I was in high school, returning late to get ogled lecherously by a piss-smelling man with a bent face. How I prayed that he would not follow me, would not rise to exit at the same stop I did. But how later I masturbated, cumming on my pillow to thoughts of his dirty hands grabbing me from behind.
And these dark memories were sick enough, but sicker still were the fantasies, and they made me cry harder. And as each man burrowed into me, not caring what I wanted but merely following their animal urges, I realized if they were hungry they would be eating me alive. If this was not rape, it would be cannibalism. And here my swirling fantasms became stranger and more severe.
I was helpless. I was innocent. I was trapped in a malevolent machine. A fucking machine: that's all the world is, all nature is, genetics and biology and psychology conspiring to ensnare a single target, everything organically arranging itself into one intricate pattern like an incomprehensible spider's web, the very point and purpose of which is to pin me beneath a group of savage men who will fuck my fertile pussy-hole, and fuck it hard, battering and bursting into me whether I want them to or not.
