Battered And Bruised 1

The quartet of women spilled out from the club onto the sidewalk, giggling and chattering. Pulsing music trickled from the open door until it closed behind them. Over by the curb, three men glanced over at the commotion, each one with a lit cigarette dangling from their lips. The four young ladies were dressed in similarly skimpy and flirty outfits, drawing appraising glances from the smokers, that attention unnoticed.

"Anybody want to go to the diner with Jenny and me?" Lisa asked.

"Nah," Emily said, shaking her head, "I'm going over to Greg's."

"Ooh," Jenny cooed, "a booty call, huh?"

"Someone's getting laid tonight," Natalie giggled, nudging Lisa playfully.

Emily grinned.

"Hell yeah. You girls have fun at the diner."

As she pulled out her phone, Lisa turned to Natalie.

"You coming with?"

"Nah, I'm going home. I have leftovers."

"You sure?" Jenny asked.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Want to share my ride?" Emily asked. "Your place is on the way, you know."

"No thanks, I'll walk home."

"Why do you always insist on walking home from here?" Lisa asked.

"It's like, five minutes. And free."

"Fuck, I'll pay for it," Emily groaned. "Just ride with me."

"I appreciate the offer, but no thanks. It's nice out and the walk will clear my head."

"Yeah," Lisa grumbled, "you could also get jumped or something."

"That's never happened to me before."

"Doesn't mean it won't ever happen."

"True, but I take care. I'm safe about it."

"It's dark out, and you always go through that construction site, where nobody is around. It worries me."

Emily and Jenny nodded in agreement.

"Guys," Natalie said patiently, "we always have this conversation. You try to get me to share a ride with one of you, and I end up walking home anyway."

"And we will always have this conversation," Emily shot back, "until you stop being stupid."

"Okay, now that's just hurtful."

"Well, the truth hurts."

"Look," Jenny began, "we trust you. It's the people who might jump you we don't trust."

"And like I said, nobody has ever jumped me."

The trio sighed together in exasperation.

"Fine," Emily grunted, "have it your way."

"At least let us walk with you," Lisa suggested.

"No, no, I'm fine, really. I love that you guys care about me, but I've done this so many times. I'll be good."

They sighed again, relenting further.

"Okay, okay," Lisa said in defeat.

"But you better text us the second you get home," Jenny told her.

Natalie smirked.

"I'll probably forget. Be too busy stuffing my face."

"If you don't text us," Lisa shot back, "we'll come find you, bitch."

"Yeah, yeah. See you guys later."

Ignoring their disapproving looks, Natalie walked away, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

Her apartment was close by, but thanks to a shortcut she had discovered a few months ago, the trip was made in less time than usual.

There was a construction site on the way back to her place. It was always bustling during the day, but at night, after all the workers went home, it was deserted. Luckily for her, there were two holes in the fence, one on either side of the site. All she needed to do was slip through them carefully, and she could get home quicker.

A cool breeze caressed her skin as she walked along, tickling both the exposed parts and whatever was covered by her dress, the material too thin to provide much protection from the elements.

I look good in it though...

It had been a fun night, this weekly staple of the quartet, gathering for drinks at a neighborhood bar before heading to the club. The bar usually changed from week to week, as every time a different member of the group chose where they went. The club was the same, and by now the bouncers, bartenders, and other staff were familiar faces, even if the other clubgoers were less memorable. None of the men inspired much interest, even if she did usually deign to dance or even indulge in a shameless make-out session with some of them.

After a few blocks, she reached the fence. At one of the support posts, the chain-link was slowly peeling away, offering a slim space for entry. Natalie held her purse close, and eased her way through, taking care to avoid the sharp edges of the chain-link.

As usual, the site was silent and still. The only light came from the nearly full moon hanging high above.

Gravel crunched underneath her pumps as she trudged along. Unused equipment stood here and there. There was always the same mischievous idea in her tipsy mind whenever she passed by one of the vehicles left unattended, of somehow commandeering one of them to wreak havoc. The thought of the stunned workers showing up to the sight of the wrecked site never failed to make her giggle.

And then something slammed into her from behind.

That first impact knocked the air from her lungs and her purse from her grip. The second impact, her hitting the ground, momentarily stunned her. A weight settled atop her, that strange and sudden sensation breaking through the haze in her mind.

"What the fuck?"

The weight refused to budge. A dark chuckle sounded in her ear, and a moment later, a hand landed on her thigh. There was moment of confusion, wherein she was still stunned, unsure of what exactly was happening.

And then the hand slid upwards.

Her body began to struggle immediately, understanding before she did that she was in danger. She bucked underneath the weight, trying to throw it off, but it was too heavy, already securely atop her.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she shrieked, throwing her arms back to hit at whoever was there.

"Giving you what you deserve," came the answer.

A few of her slaps landed, hitting something solid, but there was no effect other than irritating her attacker. He grabbed at her flailing arms, and locked them in his grip, squeezing harshly. His hot breath brushed over her ear as he leaned closer.

"I saw you in that club."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw you dancing with all those guys, teasing them, shaking your ass, even making out with them. But you never intended to go home with any of them, did you? Or even do anything besides making yourself feel good, you dirty little slut!"

She bucked angrily, trying in vain to unsettle him from his perch.

"How is that any of your fucking business?!"

He laughed bitterly, squeezing harder at her wrists, drawing a squeak of pain from her.

"You need to learn. Bitches like you need to learn their place, learn that they shouldn't go around teasing guys. It only leads to trouble."

One of his hands darted back down to tug her dress up, reaching then to the exposed area between her legs. She kicked out, trying to stop him, her pulse pounding, her breathing quick and sharp.

"Stop! Please, stop, please, don't do this," she begged.

"It's happening," he grunted, easily forcing her thighs apart. "Deal with it."

"Help me, somebody!" she screamed. "Please, he's going to- "

His other hand clamped over her mouth.

"Shut the fuck up," he hissed in her ear. "Keep quiet or this can get worse."

The moment he let his hand slip away, she shrieked again, calling out to any passers-by.

The cry was interrupted when he slammed her head forward, knocking her forehead against the ground, lights erupting before her eyes. She gasped, disoriented, his hands now at her panties, yanking at the gusset, the fabric pulling tight against her flesh, a ripping sound following seconds later, the skimpy garment torn further until it could be easily discarded. Her sex was left naked, vulnerable to his attention. Out of the corner of her dazed eyes, she saw the scraps of her ruined panties flutter to the ground.

"Please," she whimpered, slapping weakly at him.

"Just accept it. It's happening. This is what you get."

"Please, I didn't do anything."

He laughed bitterly.

"Yeah, exactly, bitch. You didn't do anything after dancing up on those guys. Could've taken at least one of them into the bathroom and sucked them off or something."

She whined as he began to work on his pants, the sound of a belt unbuckling loud in the quiet night.

"You're doing this because I didn't suck dick?"

"It's more than that. You need to learn not to be like that. You need to learn what happens when you do shit like that."

Natalie whacked at him again, trying to kick out as well, but he was too secure in his position, his body holding her down while he either avoided or soaked up her fruitless attacks.

"Please don't do this," came her entreaty. "My purse is over there, there's money in it, just take it and go, please..."

He chuckled in amusement.

"Stupid cunt. How about I rape you first and then take your money?"

"No, please, no! Stop! Somebody- "

His hand clamped onto her mouth again.

"Shut the fuck up! If you won't be quiet- "

She bit down on his palm.

He snarled, jerking his hand away. As she enjoyed the minor victory, that hand landed in her hair, collecting a fistful of it, and tugged, forcing her head back.

"That's how it's going to be, then, huh? Fine by me."

She offered another round of resistance, wriggling underneath him, sending her hands back to hit at him, but that effort was not enough to do anything besides irritate him.

His hand moved back in between her legs. She gasped as a few of his fingers stroked at her bared sex.

"Please don't do this, please..."

Something hot and hard pressed against her pussy. She struggled vigorously, but it could not stop him from pushing into her, the first inch of his manhood slipping through her slit.

"Yeah, that's it," he sighed, yanking back at her hair as he drove deeper.

She groaned despondently, the sensation of being torn open impossible to ignore. Along with the physical intrusion came the humiliation of his gleeful and triumphant shout:

"This is what you get!"

That declaration was answered by her whimper:

"Please...stop...please..."

"No. Fuck that, I'm just getting started."

Natalie opened her mouth to beg for mercy, but he thrust forward forcefully, cutting that attempt short, forcing a cry from her instead. She kicked out, her legs scraping along the ground, the tremulous cry turning into a strained gasp when he thrust again. Using the assertive grip in her hair, he wrenched her head further back, a slight twinge cropping up at her scalp.

He began to fuck, jabbing into her cunt. The strength of the pace kept her trapped against the ground, the scattered gravel pressing at the fabric of her dress here and there, also scratching along the swathes of exposed flesh. As he punished her, all she could do was lie there and take it, occasionally mounting a brief resistance of a few seconds before a particularly rough thrust quieted the defiance.

"You deserve this," he spat, emphasizing the hateful statement with another tug at her hair.

His hips drummed against hers, the thick meat of his length opening her up more and more.

"You deserve this," he repeated angrily, hot spittle landing on her shoulder, his diatribe ending in a satisfied sigh from the sensations smothering his cock.

The insistent pace quickly resulted in full impalement, his shaft driving to the balls in several shoves to complete the conquest. That rhythm paused as he savored the moment, sighing loudly at the helpless way in which her channel twitched around him.

And then he started back up after a few seconds, returning to the rude rhythm.

She whined underneath the rough thrusts, launching another effort to unseat him. It was very definitively proven futile, as he stayed securely atop her. His hips pumped steadily, sending him deep again and again.

"Say it," he growled, "say you deserve it."

"No, please, no..."

"Say it! You know it's true, slut, fucking say it!"

The pace paused. It would have been merciful, but he had stilled with every inch forced inside her, the throbbing shaft keeping her stretched.

"Say it!"

With a meek murmur, she obeyed.

"I deserve this. I deserve to be raped like this."

He erupted in laughter, the sound leaving her burning with shame. As he continued to chuckle, his cock pulled back, dragging along her channel, until only the head stayed inside her.

"Say it again, slut."

"I deserve this..."

"Damn right."

He thrust hard, skewering her pussy, making her squeal. Her legs kicked up, and she squirmed wildly underneath him, his cock again pulling back.

"No, please, stop," she begged him, feeling the retreat stop, the broad head again positioned just inside her.

"I thought you accepted this."

Another thrust followed, and she bucked and whined, feebly protesting the ruthless rape.

The next thrust came quicker and rougher, whatever slight self-control he had possessed wearing thin. Natalie mewled pitifully, feeling the rhythm increase in force, his hips again beating at hers, the thick slab tearing her open, drilling down into her womanly confines. Her head was still forced back, and the construction site sat empty before her, as if mocking her for having chosen this way home. It had been a reliable shortcut many times before, but now the isolation and solitude were working against her, leaving her far from any passers-by who might intervene on her behalf.

His weight was heavy atop her, and along with the power behind the thrusts, made it more difficult for her to mount any concerted effort to fight back. Even breathing was difficult, as any attempt was usually defeated by either his next jab or the next tug on her hair.

And then he stopped again, his length retreating slowly but surely, the smothering warmth of his frame shifting slightly off her. This time, he pulled entirely out, the head of his shaft popping from her with a slick sound.

Natalie writhed as his hand shoved back between her thighs to stroke along her slit.

"Damn, you're bleeding a lot," he commented casually. "Are you a virgin or something?"

Her only answer was a whimper as the intrusive hand collected more of her bodily fluids. The grip on her hair eased up, the ache at her temple receding slightly. She took advantage of this brief pause in the action to gasp for a few much-needed breaths. The hand moved away from her sex, letting it rest, momentarily free from the harsh sensations of his assault.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "You're soaking wet down here!"

She moaned, the wanton sound falling unbidden at his exclamation.

His hand tightened in her hair, and he yanked back, her moan extending from that treatment.

"Are you getting off on this?"

All she could do in the moment was keep moaning.

He yanked back again, harder, her neck arching sharply.

"Answer me! Are you getting off on this?"

"Yes," she confessed, wriggling restlessly, the hostility in his voice intoxicating.

"You fucking whore! You like being raped!?"

"Yes...I love it...please don't stop..."

He laughed incredulously.

"Of course I pick the bitch who loves being raped. Just my luck."

She pushed her hips back towards him, wanting that cock to sheathe itself again inside her. An unrelenting need, a vicious craving, a desperate desire, had erupted the moment he had penetrated her, claiming her most intimate of parts as property, asserting his right to abuse her regardless of her consent.

This is going better than I thought it would.

For years, a certain fantasy of the more shameful variety had resided in the dark corners and deep abysses of her mind.

It had first sprung into existence some years ago when she had read a newspaper article about an attempted rape. Although the actual description of the act itself had been understandably brief, her imagination had quickly placed herself in that scenario, out of curiosity, to wonder about what she might do and how she might fare. Later that night, that same scenario had played out in her mind as she had lain in bed, unable to sleep. But instead of figuring out how to best fight off the shadowy, faceless attacker, a heat had bloomed inside her at the idea of him pinning her to the bed and then having his way with her. Before she had been able to stop herself, a hand had found its way into her panties, and she had brought herself to an intense orgasm, one that she remembered even to this day, partly because of that intensity and partly because of the shame and guilt that had followed soon after it had abated.

Due to that shame and guilt, the fantasy was until recently kept in those dark corners and deep abysses, only allowed to escape to the fore occasionally, during feverish masturbatory sessions that would leave her sweating, gasping, and eventually, worried about her mental state due to the strength of the orgasms that the fantasy helped create.

It was all about the helplessness, all about the possibility of this attacker completely ravaging her, using her like a piece of meat, ignoring her cries and pleas for mercy, concerned only with his own pleasure. Even though she had been brought up to value her own independence and self-sufficiency, eschewing overreliance on men and masculinity, the idea of an alpha male claiming her for his own use was intoxicating. Just thinking about how this imaginary attacker might ignore her pleas while tearing off her clothes, before fucking her into submission, never failed to arouse her, even when she tried her best to stave off the excitement that accompanied the fantasy.

This had been a great source of embarrassment for her at first. Fearing judgement, Natalie had not told anyone about it for a long time, and in fact until recently had only told two people.

The turning point in how she viewed this wicked craving had come when she had stumbled across an article about the psychology behind a rape fantasy, behind the abdication of consent and control, behind the idea of surrendering to such unforgiving power.

Like any chance to imagine her own rape, reading the article had provoked ragged breaths and restless squirming, but beyond that, it also had made her wonder about how widespread such a fantasy must be.

So, she had taken to the internet, and had checked out various sites, blogs, and chat rooms, where the discussions were devoted to rape fantasies. These other women admitted in these anonymous forums that they harbored such impolite desires, with the bolder of them outlining and describing the types of situations that appealed to them the most. With every lurid story, every sordid detail, every freeing confession, she had felt her own sense of shame and guilt diminishing, not fully leaving but decreased enough to not offer much protest moving forward. Coming to terms with having this fantasy had seemed a fantasy in and of itself when she had first discovered it, but after this period of research and investigation, she felt considerably less self-scolding and second-guessing.

Back in the real world, Brett adjusted his position atop her, his cock nudging at her slit.

"I'm guessing you want it, huh?"

"Yes," she mewled, nodding as best as she could.

"Beg for it."

His cock nudged against her folds, waiting to be plunged back inside those sopping depths.

"Please. Rape me, I deserve it, please, rape me..."

He chuckled.

"How can it be rape if you're begging for it?"

Natalie thought for a moment.

"Somebody help me!" she cried quickly, just loud enough for the possibility of someone hearing them, "he's raping me, help me, please!"

His hand slapped over her mouth, and he growled in annoyance.

"Shut the fuck up!"

She bucked back at him, struggling only enough to provoke anger.

The pretend defiance had its intended effect, as he drove his hips forward, once again tearing open her pussy.

"How do you like that!?" he snarled as she shrieked joyously into his palm.

He started to fuck her again, pumping into her drenched sex, sending out little splatters of her juices. When he removed his hand, she used the opportunity to praise his effort.