Frightened, Anya slapped at their hands as they pulled off her coat, saying NO over and over. Johnny and Scott were grinning, pleased at her reaction. They were both head and shoulders taller than she was, broad-shouldered and fit. She felt pathetically small and helpless; and really, she knew her desperate slapping hands, one of them bloodied by the knife, were not going to fend them off. Muddled by the drugs and whisky, she wondered whether this was really happening, whether ghosts, or some kind of undead men were really trying to rape her. She shrieked in anger as Johnny's large pale hands tore down the front of her dress as Scott had found the zip at the back. Cold air rushed over Anya's skin and she gasped in horror as Scott unhooked her black lace bra, making her round white breasts tumble out. The men stood around her, fencing her in.
"Mmm very nice," Johnny said, pulling off her bra and burying his face into her bare breasts, running his mouth and tongue over her nipples. His hands massaged and grabbed. He was warm; his breath and tongue hot. He felt very real to Anya. Confused, she tried pushing him and he stayed firm, solid. He was no apparition, he was a materialisation, a man. She clawed at his arm hard, using her long black-painted nails and dug holes in his muscular forearm, but no blood came out - her nails had made weird little tunnels in his pale bluish skin. And Johnny had not even noticed his injury, he just kept tonguing her nipples hungrily. She shuddered, going limp and surrendering as Scott pressed against her back, grabbing a handful of her blonde long hair and kissing her neck.
Johnny pulled down the skirt of her dress. "No panties? What kind of harlot do we have here, Scotty?" He ran a finger along her shaved slit and Anya bit her lip, watching his face.
"She came here looking for something alright," Scott said.
"That's what she said when she summoned me," Johnny said with a smirk and laid his mouth on hers, hard. His fingers stroked the lips of her pussy and she flinched, trying to step back but finding herself pressing against Scott and his hard cock, which he had taken from his pants. Johnny's tongue roughly fucked her mouth, filling her and gagging her scream, as he inserted a finger into her pussy. His finger slid in easily, she was wet and she didn't want to admit it, but there was something terribly arousing about these two strange ghoulish men pawing at her, with raging hard-ons.
"Wet as rain," Johnny murmured into her hair and grabbed her breast hard with his other hand as he moved his finger inside her. She moaned in spite of herself, feeling the pleasure wash over her and her legs become weak. She was already warmed up from her previous orgasm and the drug and drink just made her even hornier. Her orgasm was quick and hard, making her knees buckle and she fell into Johnny's chest, gasping. He smelled odd - like straw and old books - and she had expected death to smell more nefarious and nasty. Pleased with her level of arousal, Johnny laid her down in the long grass and got out his cock. He fell to his knees between her split legs, his long erect cock in hand. Anya watched him, her mind fuzzy from lust and what she'd taken. A part of her didn't want this - it was sick and weird - but her pussy begged for his cock, her wetness seeped out and ran down her inner thighs.
